It was going to happen. The way he was looking in her eyes, pupils dialated. It'd been a year since the bourbon fiasco, and now they were stood in his living room inches apart, breathing heavily, and it was going to happen.
Until his eyes dropped away from hers, and he stepped back. A minute shake of the head, as if trying to rid his brain of the fog.
"I'm sorry Jack." He sounded defeated.
She released the breath she'd been holding. The disappointment written over her face. Somewhere in the time between him stepping back and saying sorry she'd starting wringing her hands together. The dread sitting in the pit of her stomach. How quickly her emotions could change.
The corner of her mouth twisting up on one side, not quite forming a smile, "What for? Not like you did anything." Her tone was flat even to her ears, it sounded strange.
"I can't, 'm sorry, but I can't." He finally lifted his gaze. Flinching as he recognised the expression on her face for what it was, pain and disappointment.
She straightened up, her wall rebuilding itself as she did, "You can't what?"
"I can't," he exhaled harshly, "I can't do this, me and you, I can't do it."
The words hit straight into her, she almost recoiled as if she'd been burnt, but she wouldn't let him see her vulnerable. Not again, not after this.
"I'm gonna go, take care of yourself." She turned as quickly as she could and walked out the door. She got into her car and drove away. When she thinks back later she won't be able to remember how she got home, just that she'd got back and dropped straight into her bed. The dark and emptiness taking over her as she fell asleep.