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I just want to get home. Now.
* * *
I stare at the door. Stare and stare until my eyes water.
It’s done. She’s gone.
It’s done. She’s gone.
I can’t stop the words on repeat in my brain. I know if I do then the other words will rage louder. The ones that repeat her words back at me...
I don’t need to change you; I need you to see yourself as I see you. As our friends see you...you are lovable, you are kind, you are honest, you are loyal... let me love you.
And her parting shot: You are not Eliza...
She’s right. I’m not. I would never, ever do what they did. They abused me.
I was
abused.
It’s the first time I’ve labelled it in such a way, and I shudder and shake as my gut writhes with the acceptance.
It doesn’t excuse the way I am now. It doesn’t take away the things I insist on in bed, the things my twisted mind craves...
But then I think of the night at her parents’, the sex in the dark, slow, loving...no need for control, no power dynamic in play. I think of the mornings we’ve shared, waking up with our bodies entwined. I think of the easy time with her family, the laughter and the fun...even the festive cheer.
I think of Eliza tonight, of how she’s incapable of love, but me, Christ...
Tell me you don’t love me.
Impossible. I know I love her.
You’ll willingly break both our hearts...
The pain swamps me. Is this how she feels too? This desperate, this alone, this broken? All because of me. And why? Because of some twisted notion that I could be like Eliza. That I am Eliza.
No, it’s more than that. It’s the loss of control; it’s the fear of opening myself up to loving someone and having them walk away, the fear of being broken again.
I drag in a breath and fork my hands through my hair.
She’s not the one walking away—you are!
The thought of life without her grips me and I fall forward, my hands clawing at my knees. What the hell have I done? I can’t breathe for it.
She loves me. She truly loves me. The first person in my life to ever truly love me and I’ve pushed her away.
I stumble forward, get to the door and yank it open. ‘Cait!’
I’m moving, running, my body and mind focused on one thing—to get to her and tell her the one thing I haven’t dared. That I love her.
God, how I love her.
I pound down the stairs, my heart thumping the same beat so loudly in my ears that I can’t even take a full breath, can’t pause long enough to walk to the next flight, I’m throwing myself down them, but I can’t hear her, I can’t see her.
How long was I like that for? Hunched over in indecision, paralysed by my own messed-up state?
I reach the pavement outside, scan the street, up and down. She’s not there. There are people, there are cars, but there’s no her.
