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I need Alyssa here. I need to hold her and whisper in her ear how much I love her. I need her to know that this trip has nothing to do with us--I still love her more than anything. I still want to be with her forever.
But the weight of this is so heavy. I can feel it pressing down on us, taking up space between us. She knows I have to be here. She knows I don't have any real choice, and she says she understands.
But it still hurts her.
How am I supposed to reconcile this? I hate hurting Alyssa, but I can't leave Samantha to whither away on her own. If I leave now, Samantha will sink back into her depression. She'll try again. And even if all these suicide attempts really are cries for attention... if she keeps trying, she's going to succeed eventually.
I take a deep breath. I've only been here two days. Two days is nothing in the scheme of my life with Alyssa. And she's an actress. There are going to be so many times when she's out of town filming a project. There are going to be so many times when I have to survive without her.
I need to get used to it.
I call Alyssa, but I only get an "I'll call you back" text.
I resort to killing time--leafing through a faded paperback I've already read half a dozen times, flipping through channels on the TV, staring out the hotel window at the awful view of the parking lot.
And then my phone rings.
I answer with a calm, "Hey."
She laughs. "That's a lot more restrained than I expected."
"You're obviously trying to kill me."
"Obviously." She clears her throat, nervous. "Did you get my email?"
My lips curl into a smile. "I did."
"Did I sound like a rambling idiot?"
"No, it was really sweet. I loved it."
"I love this pour-over. And this coffee is amazing." She sighs like she's in heaven. "I didn't realize how desperate I was for an easy supply of good coffee."
"I'm glad," I say. I shift the phone to my other ear. "You were amazing on Model Citizen. Really amazing."
"I was okay."
"No, you were amazing."
"But that scene in the laundry room--ugh! I was acting so hard. I could see it on my face."
"You're the only one."
She groans. "You're biased."
"Admit you were amazing."
"I was okay."
"Admit it."
"Good even." She takes a long breath, like she's waiting for me to respond. "Maybe even really good."
I lower my voice. "You were amazing. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot. If you tell me of anyone, I'll kill them."
"Kill him." It's a smug correction.
God, how I'd like to wipe that smug look off her face with my lips, to press her against the wall until there's nothing on her face but ecstasy.
