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We’ve had three great years without trust issues, without petty arguments, or even any major conflict. It seems incredible, considering our age and lifestyle now that I think about it. But it’s true; we’ve been supportive and honest. I don’t want that to change now, though I know it already has. He’s been distant this past week and I’m simply not stupid enough to think Trina isn’t a big part of the reason why.
He goes deathly quiet for a few long moments. I know it’s coming, his admission. The truth, finally, that all isn’t well and fine between us anymore.
“It’s been hard, Isla. Being away from you, it’s been hard.”
“For me, too, Cillian. But be honest with me. Because what has been hard for me is not being able to see you every day, not being able to be at every game to support you in person the way I want to. Not being able to tend to your bruised body after a tough game,” I ramble. “It’s not tough for me to ignore the guys in my face every day at school. It’s not tough for me not to grow close to them because I miss being close to you. It’s certainly not hard for me to not be turned on by them.”
“Fuck, Isla. I hate everything about this. I mean, except for playing, everything else about me here and you there is shit,” he says with no small amount of fear in his own voice. “I don’t want you to be worrying.”
“Well, I am. I can’t help that, especially not when you post stuff like that. If you’re putting that in the open, what’s happening behind the scenes?”
“Nothing has happened,” he says with conviction.
“Yet?”
“I’m not seeking out other women. I hope you know that. I love you and I want to be with you,” he says, but it’s not an answer to my question. Not really.
He hasn’t said nothing will happen. He hasn’t said he’s not attracted to Trina. He’s said so much, but none of it has been the words I need to hear him say.
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t a willing woman consistently putting herself in front of you though, does it? Loving me and wanting me doesn’t stop you from being aroused by her,” I tell him, completely defeated by this entire conversation. I knew when I called him this was coming, but love makes us stupidly hopeful. “You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Isla,” he admits after another quiet moment. “But I don’t want to lie either.”
“Too late,” I say with a sob. “Where do we go from here?”
“Nothing has to change,” he demands. “I don’t intend for anything to happen with Trina or anyone else. Yes, sometimes, my body reacts, but that’s because my dick is an asshole, Isla. I’m not giving up on us, so please don’t give up on me.”
“How am I supposed to keep fighting for us when you throw that kind of thing in my face, Cillian? How? It kills me to see you hard for her! But I’m supposed to just accept it as what? Fucking biology?”
“Nothing has happened, okay? I haven’t done anything, and neither has she. I’ll be more careful about what I post.”
“But you won’t be more careful about what you do? Or, who you do it with? Jesus, Cillian. How much time do you spend with her anyway?”
Again, he grows quiet, giving me my answer.
“I’ll set some boundaries there,” he finally says.
“I don’t trust her.”
“Then trust me.”
I’m trying. My stomach is in more knots now than it was before this conversation. For days afterward, an ominous feeling shadows me. As if the ghost of my future is trying to warn me that my relationship is already over, and I should just succumb now. Give in to the inevitable and start my grieving process so I can move on.
My stubbornness won’t allow that. I’ll hang on until the bitter end. If he wants to end this, he’s going to have to do it. Whether with words or actions, it’s his call. I’m not the one walking away until I no longer have a choice.
Willa doesn’t agree with my attitude. She’s always adored Cillian, but she’s not keen on giving him the benefit of the doubt right now. I can’t blame her, her anger with him comes from a place of love. We’re fiercely protective of one another. Nightly, she reminds me that she’s ready and willing to fly to Boston to ‘cut a bitch’.
Part of her attitude is fear. I’m not handling the stress very well. The following days, I am restless, and my appetite is all but non-existent. If I can’t get a handle on it soon, Willa threatened to tell Dad and he’d sic our mom on me like a bulldog. I won’t get a moment’s peace.
Willa has even warned that she’ll take my phone away from me just so I’ll stop scrutinizing every post that Cillian, Trina, and even Torsten post. I obsess over them all to glean some sort of information that says either, yes you can trust him. Or no, no you most certainly cannot.
I’m losing my grip on reality fast. Though I can see that, I can’t seem to stop myself from letting it happen. My brain is bombarded with intrusive thoughts all day, my nights filled with nightmares. It’s like watching a movie of my own life play out in front of me. One where I become the stupid girl hung up on a guy that’s already moved on.
Except, he says he hasn’t.
Days go by with nothing new happening. And yet my stress level hasn’t subsided. No matter how often I tell myself everything is okay, I can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t. My obsession has morphed into depression. I barely leave the house for anything other than class.
When knocking sounds on my front door, I blink as the intrusion brings me back to my reality. Which consists of me staring at the television for so long that I don’t even know what I’m watching anymore. It’s definitely not what I put on, but I’ve been so in my own head I hadn’t even noticed that one movie stopped and another started.
