Years back, I had categorized my weakness as a strength, often boasting that I rarely had arguments, fights, or disagreements, and most women appreciated that about me.
But, Macy?God, Macy. She always pushed, digging her questions into me like a blade, jabbing and prodding until I bled nothing but answers.
Contrary to what she may have assumed, believed, or guessed, my propensity to lean toward avoidance wasn’t always for my benefit alone. Sure, there were instances where I needed time to process, take in, and figure shit out on my own. Yet, many times, avoidance supplied me with comfort in knowing, in the heat of any given moment, I wouldn’t say something stupid that would inevitably end up hurting her feelings. Seeing Macy hurt fucked with me—and in that sense, maybe avoidance was a form of self-protection.
I knew the burning question regarding why I proposed to Harper would fire up eventually. Perhaps I should have chosen to proactively clear the air, provide her the TMI rundown. At the same time, part of me was ashamed that I’d asked a woman I didn’t love to marry me, simply to avoid the woman I was crazy in love with.
A word to the wise. Don’t be stupid.
I had to get the fuck away from you.
Thinking back, that wasn’t the best delivery, not when her voice was already shaky, eyes on the verge of spilling tears.
“Yeah? Well, Lucas Stone, let me make that easy for you.”
She pushed past me, ponytail swaying back and forth as she stomped off. I should have gone after her but didn’t because,hello, conflict-avoiding jerk here. Before long, I heard the front door slam shut, the sound of her shoes hitting the pavement, and seconds later the sound of her car starting.
Way to go, asshole.
I woke up in a panic,hand reaching over to Macy’s side of the bed, only to find her gone.
Still.
I got out of bed to check in what was once her bedroom before we became a couple. Flicking on the light, I was met with nothing but an empty guest bed and the desk she used when blogging, which she didn’t do much of ever since bloggergate.
Hours had passed since she stormed out, phone calls and texts left unanswered.
I’d given her some reason to be angry with me, but I wasn’t really sure why nor did I expect her to become the avoidant.
Back inside our room, I climbed back in bed, then checked my phone.
Nothing.
The time showed 2 a.m.Where the fuck is she?
Worry impaled my throat, making it difficult to swallow past the anger I had toward myself for being the world’s biggest idiot. It was all my fault and I wanted to fix it.
I fired off what felt like text number one billion fifty-seven.
Me:Baby, please come home, or at least let me know you’re safe.
Her reply whooshed in instantly.
Macy: I’m safe.
Me: Where are you?
It took about five excruciating minutes for her response to stroll in.
Macy: Everywhere you’re not.
Damn, when pissed off, she sure had one hell of a bite.
Not wanting to push any further I sent a simple reply.
Me: Glad you’re safe. I love you.
Of course, she never replied.
