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The frog had been stung once by the scorpion. No reason to give him a second opportunity to do it all over again.
I hadn’t kissed him back at the studio. I hadn’t made a pass at him. I hadn’t asked for any of that.
Then why did I feel so awful, so guilty?
Maybe because I knew that I was more physically attracted to Derek than anyone else I had ever been with, and it felt like a betrayal of Ryan.
I cringed to think it. I did. I felt like an awful person.
But it was true. And if I couldn’t bear to face the truth in the quiet of my own mind, there was no way I could even hope to be honest with anyone else.
But Derek was toxic. He was bad for me. He’d hurt me once, and he would do it again.
I loved Ryan – I did.
Did I love him more than I had loved Derek? Before he hurt me, before he cheated on me?
…no.
No, I didn’t.
But I still loved him deeply.
They were both amazing men. Ryan was a brilliant musician who had written every melody the band had ever recorded; Derek was a brilliant showman who had made those melodies come alive.
Ryan was the better man, of that I had no doubt. He was kind, and considerate, and loving, and affectionate. He had character. He had morals. Not old-fashioned ‘no sex before marriage’ morals, but the kind where I could count on any promise he made me. It was utterly, completely inconceivable that he would ever cheat on me.
Derek was a supernova. A burning star, blazing hotter and brighter than all the rest. He was charismatic, and unpredictable, and impetuous, and exciting.
He was also self-involved, and selfish, and self-absorbed.
Notice all the repetitions of ‘self’ there.
Or, at least, he
had
been. He claimed he had changed, though I hadn’t seen much to support that, other than his Zen centeredness the first night I saw him. That was probably premeditated and contrived, too, just like when he said he only wanted to ‘sort through stuff and say goodbye to the past.’
Riiiiiight.
Ryan was the better man, by far – so what was wrong with me that I wasn’t drawn to him as powerfully as I was to Derek’s shooting star?
That was what made me miserable. I had always seen myself as a good person, who would recognize that in others and respond to it. Now I had the perfect man… and yet I was still looking over my shoulder at the one who had stabbed me in the back.
Maybe I wasn’t a good person at all, but someone who
deserved
to be stabbed in the back.
My greatest fear of all: maybe this time around Ryan was the frog… and I was the scorpion.
86
As I made my mental lists, I drank half a bottle of wine, then made myself stop. I didn’t want to be a sodden mess when Ryan got back.
But he didn’t come back.
9, 10, 11PM… no sign of him.
I tried calling and texting him, but there was no answer. Which I sort of expected.
I thought about phoning somebody else to check up on him, then nixed
that
idea. Who was I going to call?
I didn’t know Killian’s number, so… Riley?
Ha.
Miles?
Noooo.
Derek?
Don’t make me laugh.
I ate some leftovers from the fridge and drank the rest of the bottle of wine.
Tired, emotionally weary, and drunk, I stumbled off to bed… just to lie down and rest, fully clothed. Just until Ryan got home.
Within minutes I was out like a light.
I awoke to the sound of slow, sad music… the tinkling of piano keys. A beautiful, haunting melody. Like
Für Elise
or the Moonlight Sonata, but more halting, as though the player couldn’t remember the notes.
I lifted my head. I was still tipsy, but no hangover, so it couldn’t have been morning.
I squinted at the clock.
2:40 AM.
I stumbled out of bed and walked down the hall to the main room of the house.
Ryan sat at the piano, slowly picking out a melody, as though he wasn’t sure what note would come next. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the piano lid.
I stood there behind him, half-entranced by the music… half-afraid to begin the conversation.
During a lull in the notes, I decided someone had to be the adult.
“That’s beautiful… did you write that?”
He glanced backwards slightly, more at the sound of my voice than trying to see me. Then he turned back to the keys. “Writing it now,” he said, a slight slur to his words.
I walked around to the side of the piano so that he had to face me, even if he didn’t look at me. Which he didn’t.
“You ought to record it,” I said. “You might not remember it in the morning.”
“I’m not sure I want to. Remember it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not sure I want to remember anything about today.”
My heart hurt when he said that.
“Ryan,” I whispered.
He looked up at me, and I saw a flash of pain in his eyes. Then they hardened.
“What happened last night?” he asked. “The truth.”
I breathed deeply and took the plunge.
“Derek took me around to all the places we’d been to four years ago. He talked a bunch about how he was trying to let go of the past. But it was all just a plan to soften me up. At the last place, he hit on me.”
Anger blazed in his eyes… and then the pain returned. “Did you…”
“No.”
A tiny bit of relief in his eyes. “You didn’t sleep with him?”
“GOD no.”
“You didn’t… kiss him?”
“No.”
“What about this afternoon?”
“He was trying for part two of last night.”
“He tried to kiss you.”
“And I turned my head.”
