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Vic’s mouth twitched at my imitation of him, then he broke out into a grin, nodding.
I shifted a little, trying to ignore the effect his smile had on me. It wasn’t okay for him to use me up like tissue and then come down here acting like nothing happened. But, I did want to try with him. Fuck, every molecule in my body wanted to try with him. There was no denying I was going to say yes. My mind wasn’t allowed the option to consent, because my being had already given itself up.
Still, I hesitated. I wanted to be strong, self-reliant, and deny that I needed him. Ultimately, I lost to the magnetic force that linked me to him.
“Okay,” I said, “because, for a tough guy, you’re kind of chicken-shit.”
Vic laughed. Oh, my God. It was a beautiful laugh. Loud and bellowing. It warmed me from the inside out.
“Well, Lennox,” Vic said, “you’re kind of scary.”
I stomped my foot. “Am not!”
Vic laughed at my petulance. “Yes, you are. You’re so like a diamond: hard, but easy to shatter.”
I frowned. I really was easy to shatter.
Vic lifted my chin up, like he’d done so many times before. “I love you, Lennox Moore, and I’m never letting you go again.” There was a finality to his words. The type of cadence you hear from a man about to be hanged, not one declaring his love.
I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say to that. I was still so utterly furious at him, but more than that, I was terrified. I’d tried to give myself to him so many times, and so many times he’d said no. I recognize that a lot of that was my fault. He’d told me that he wasn’t ready, that he couldn’t handle it, and I didn’t want to hear it. Notwithstanding, I’d done it anyway and I’d been hurt. And what about his wife? I wasn’t exactly cool with being a mistress; before, I hadn’t known. Now I did, and I didn’t relish being that woman.
Rationally, I recognized how fucked up it was to go back to him. I understood that it was a terrible, insane notion to follow him back to Santa Barbara. Sort of how I recognized watching a scary movie would make it hard to sleep, but I watched them anyway. Rationality flew out the window when it came to Vic, because I needed him like I needed air and water. So, even if it killed me to be with him, I would keep trying, because it was killing me to be without him.
I didn’t tell him I loved him back.
He went home after I agreed to stay with him until the threat passed. Vanished right out the automatic grocery store doors.
Maybe I was a fool for believing him so easily. If you look back at my life choices, a lot of them could be labeled foolish. It was foolish of me to date Dean in the first place. Foolish of me to drop out of college…
Maybe I was a fool.
We agreed the living situation would be temporary, but we were going to work on keeping our relationship lasting. He said he loved me, after all.
Still, I couldn’t tell him I loved him. I did love him, of course. Utterly and completely, and probably long before he realized he loved me. Which was why I wasn’t telling him. He had a history of breaking my heart, and I wasn’t giving him any more ammo. I didn’t trust him anymore.
And so, in our typical Vic-and-Lennox messed up way, we had established a solid start for our new relationship.
I didn’t want to stay in Seattle for Thanksgiving anymore. Everything was up in the air, and I didn’t know if I was up there with it.
My dad knew something was up, but he didn’t ask. He would never ask. He just wished me good luck on the return home and told me to call him. Absentee parenting at its finest.
Before I dropped my suitcase off at my apartment—or Vic’s apartment, I guess—I stopped by Zoe’s. She was home, by some twist of fate. I’d forgotten it was Thanksgiving Day and that people had lives and families. She looked mildly surprised.
“Moving in with me?” She asked, eyeing my suitcase.
“No,” I said, deflecting. “I just wanted to see how you were.”
Zoe eyed me suspiciously. There was so much shit between us now; I didn’t know where to begin. The last time I’d seen Zoe, she’d been unconscious on the floor. Before leaving for Seattle, I’d found out that she was still alive, but I hadn’t tried to contact her.
I know. Friend of the year award goes to…
We had
n’t talked since that night. I’d seen her occasional social media updates, but that’s the extent of it. (Yeah, now that Dean’s gone I’m on social media.) Zoe went from being the closest thing I had to a best friend to someone I stalked on social media. Everything is just so goddamn fucked. I don’t know what I can say and can’t say about Vic and Dean. I don’t know what happened to her after Dean threw her into the wall outside my apartment, and I don’t know if I can ask. So I just don’t. I just let the rift keep growing.
Twice before in my life, I’ve experienced a very bizarre feeling; it was now happening for the third time: my life isn’t mine, it belongs to another. The first time happened when my mother killed herself. The second time was when I tried to kill myself. And now, here it was again. You’d think I’d have some cheat sheet to snap myself out of it—I don’t. After years of therapy and medication, all I can say now is that I can recognize the feeling. I feel lost. I feel confused. I feel sad that my friend is gone. And I feel out of control. Years of therapy have given me the power to acknowledge my feelings. Whoop-dee-freakin-doo.
“I’m good,” Zoe said, still standing in the doorway. “There’s actually a lot of business over Thanksgiving. Families visit and screw up people’s home systems. It’s easy freelancing money.”
