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“Oh, you mean leaving the room after seeing you flirt with another woman?”
“Leaving the room to get fucked by another man!”
“Please, like you wouldn’t have done the same thing if I hadn’t been there.”
“Exactly, if. Do I need to remind you that you were the one who asked me to do this?”
Stop talking. Just stop. You’re making things worse, I told myself to calm down.
But I couldn’t. There was a part of me that was screaming. She was mad at him and at me for putting her in this situation.
“Well, don’t let me keep you from your paramour. Sleep with whomever you want, and I will do the same thing and get pounded by every dick and tom I meet.
It’s not like we love each other or anything. We haven’t even seen each other because you’re a fucking coward.”
Would you shut the hell up, Murdoch?
“I’m not a coward. We’ve had this conversation before,” he growled, staring at me with irritation.
“What do you call flaunting your affairs in my face?” I groaned because what I just said made no sense.
It turns out that setting your feelings aside over and over instead of dealing with them has one enormous downside. I had these complete meltdowns that made me irrational and a colossal pain in the ass.
They didn’t happen often, maybe once or twice a year, but when they cropped up, the emotions came out wrong, like mangled pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit because you forced them into another.
I don’t know how people deal with this shit every day. Even I was tiring of hearing myself talk, and it was MY meltdown.
“What fucking affair? You think I’ve had time for women? Have you forgotten what I do and who I work for? I’ve been building SF’s army. For you. All of this is for you. So you can be free!”
Guilt constricted my throat, making it hard to breathe. Sadly, there was no more room for the emotion, so instead of taking it in, I lashed out.
“You left me! You didn’t just turn your back on me once, but twice!” I screamed, and the pain in my voice halted Eric in his tirade.
He stared at me silently for a long time before his head drooped in defeat. I knew I wouldn’t like what he was about to say.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“This. Running after you, being pushed away. Pretending you aren’t mine.”
“We don’t have a choice, Eric.”
“Yes, we do. You may be fine with living in limbo for the rest of your life, but I’m not.”
“What are you saying?”
“I want you to stop running. I want you to stop pretending that it doesn’t kill you to not be with me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I will walk away.”
“What? You promised me you wouldn’t. You said I was your endgame.”
“And you are. But I’m done waiting.”
“We are so close, just a little more time.”
