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Maybe, this is the real Helen.
I took off initially as a young kid because I didn’t want to get trapped in someone else’s idea of me. Any place that seemed to settle and expect me to play a certain part got left in the dirt behind me. I can’t even consider a relationship with someone that wants to control me.
I do feel bad for her though. I care about her in spite of all of that. It doesn’t matter if she’s a buttoned down Scaredy cat or a raging perfectionist monster, I feel bad for her. I want to help her.
I don’t want to hurt her.
I see how important the magazine is for her. She’s been holding things back her whole life and she sees this as a way to let herself out. I appreciate that this takes courage and she’s developed a fair strategy. I want to support her in this no matter what.
She deserves to be free. I can’t just give her my heart though, I don’t want to help her by hurting myself. But if I can help her get the real Helen out there in a way that makes her comfortable, I’ll do it.
So. I’m not running. I could be, probably should be. But I’m not. Did I just make a whole bunch of excuses, so I didn’t actually have to leave her? Probably.
I’ll hang out and do the girlfriend thing. I don’t know if I’ll actually support the idea of a fake wedding. I don’t want to do this. I know its going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
But I can’t leave. It doesn’t matter what argument I make, there is no way I’m leaving her.
Such is the state of the heart. If only we could dictate what it does, how it speaks.
Now that I’ve made my decision I just want to cry. I don’t want to stand next to her and fake being her girlfriend. I really don’t. Especially if we are going to end up fighting… And most likely, still ridiculously attracted to each other.
As usual, I’ve painted myself into a corner and I can’t get out.
Time to wear it.
It’s still fairly early in the afternoon. I can’t wait to talk to her, but I’ve had no text or call. Maybe, she doesn’t want to talk yet. We’ll have to, even if its just to say goodbye or maybe even ‘get the fuck out of my apartment’.
The one underlying thought to all of this is that I had a fantastic time last night. I’m not going to lose that, not if there is anything, I can do to keep it. Not only was it the most sensual experience of my life, I felt really connected for the first time.
My grin spreads slowly over my face. Sensory memories creep across my skin. Her scent. Her skin under my fingertips. Helen.
Okay. I might be in love.
That is exactly why I got so angry. Because I reali
zed from the first insult that she could say anything she wanted to me, and I was going to forgive her. I was angry with myself for allowing such a situation.
But I’m in it up to the neck, now.
I decide that I want to surprise her. I imagine she’ll be on her way home soon and she’ll be angry and worried. If I set up the table with some takeout and get her something nice, she’ll know that there is no need to worry and we can talk it out. That way she may have time to get through the door before firing both guns.
I go through my backpack and that’s when I remember that I don’t have a cent to my name. Normally by now I would have managed to get a few shifts at a diner or done a bit of busking. Because I’ve been hanging out at Helen’s I haven’t made any money.
Well. She said I could have anything I want. We never discussed the terms of our agreement, but surely, I was going to get something out of it.
How could she get mad about me taking a few bucks for dinner?
I start hunting in the kitchen, pretty sure there were a few notes in a coffee jar. I remember thinking how cute it was that she would stash her change in a coffee jar. After some hunting I find it and pull the wad of bills out. I don’t even look at it as I stuff it in my pocket.
My head is full of Helen’s favorite wine, chocolate and bread. I’m not sure what take out to get, but she really does seem to enjoy Italian.
I’m so stoked I bounce a bit on my way downstairs. I can’t wait to surprise her and get all this shit properly sorted out. It’s going to be fine.
The wad of cash is thick in my pocket. I didn’t even check to see what size bills they were. If it’s only her spare change, I hope its enough to buy dinner.
I leave the building, whistling a little tune. I’m proud of myself for being calm and thinking things through. I have the feeling that Helen is the kind of woman worth fighting for.
Twenty-Five
