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Merrick
“Whatcha thinking about?” I ask, threading my fingers through Davis’s hair.
It’s late morning on another lazy Saturday. We’re lying in bed, draped only in a light blue sheet, our naked bodies covered in a fine sheet of sweat from the morning wakeup call we just gave to one another.
I’ve gotten used to waking up in his arms. I’ve gotten used to the sound of his laughter, the sweetness of his kiss, the warmth of his hand in mine. I’ve gotten used to seeing him standing in my kitchen, filling his to-go cup with coffee each morning before he heads to work. We’ve fallen into a beautiful routine, the two of us. It’s a simple life, but it’s exactly what I’ve been searching for always. It’s everything.
My only wish is for him to believe what I do, that we might have stumbled into one another’s lives initially, but we are meant to be together forever.
It’s not that I doubt him exactly, but something has changed in the past few weeks to cause a shift in the dynamics of our relationship. He’s not as quick to smile or laugh or talk. His eyes shift away at certain times. He’s had trouble sleeping, something he alluded to happening long before I came into the picture, though admittedly he’s had no trouble doing so in my bed. At least, not until recently.
He’s quieter now, more like he was in the beginning. And try as I might, I can’t figure out what has caused this change. I’ve asked….I’ve asked many, many times. I get a bunch of excuses, one or two ‘I’m fine, it’s in your head’. Maybe he’s right; maybe I am being hypersensitive to his moods. Maybe I’m looking for problems, finding things that aren’t there. But in moments like this, when he’s staring off into space and his body is tense and unyielding, I can’t help but be concerned.
Davis shrugs, not giving me a vocal answer to my question, and my gut twists uncomfortably. Something is off. I can feel it in the air, and in the lack of emotion in his eyes when he looks at me. The only time he’s my Davis now is when we’re making love; when we’re one person instead of two. That’s when the walls fall down and there’s just him and me and all this love I have for him that I’m too afraid to speak of.
Curling against his body, I bury my face into the crook of his neck and drink in the scent of the two of us on his skin. His arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me in close, our fingers weaving together on his stomach. It’s a perfect moment that feels tainted somehow by the ever-present secrets he carries, those he has so far refused to share.
Long, silent moments go by and finally I murmur, “Talk to me, babe. Tell me what’s bothering you.” I sigh against his skin and tighten my fingers on his. In this moment, the truth is all I have. “I’m scared something is changing.”
I hear the catch in his breath and something inside of me dies just a little. On the one hand, I want so badly for him to confide in me so I can fix whatever has gone wrong. On the other hand, I’m terrified to hear the truth. Any truth, actually. Because I know deep down, even though I refuse to fully admit it to myself, that he isn’t truly mine to fix.
“I talked with Chantal.”
Lifting my head, I frown. “You did? When?” I do a quick brain search to recall if we’ve discussed Chantal in the past few weeks, and can only remember that I once mentioned her in relation to the divorce and he quickly shut me down with a kiss. Was what I thought as his inability to keep his hands off me nothing more than a way to divert the conversation?
Color rushes to his face and he quickly looks away, but not before I see the guilt etched in his features. “A few weeks ago.”
Anger is the first emotion that I feel as it washes over me with a vengeance. I’m pissed. He should have told me when it happened, not as an afterthought weeks later. But then I have to ask myself why he’d withhold that information in the first place. I know he has a contentious relationship with her. I know there’s years of pain between the two of them. I also know he’s still committed to her, regardless of how many nights he spends in my bed.
I swallow back the resentment and ask, “How’d it go?” He may not be looking at me but he’s reacting nevertheless; face growing pale, entire body tensing against mine even more than before.
He shrugs. “We talked about a lot of stuff.”
The fury starts to build again and yet I know I have to remain cool and calm and reasonable, even if I don’t feel that way deep down. “Okay. Like what?”
Turning his head to face the window, he takes a deep breath and sighs loudly on the exhale. “Lots of things. The divorce.” He sighs again and shakes his head. “Us.”
My heart screeches to a stop. “Us, you and me? Or us, you and her?”
His pause is endless. Long silent moments pass before he finally answers, voice shaking as he speaks. “Me and her.”
Reasonable or not, I reach out and grasp his chin, turning his head my direction. “Please tell me why I’m having to pry these answers out of you. Tell me why you can’t talk to me or even look at me while we discuss this.” My traitorous, hopeful heart is bounding uneasily and I fear I already know the answers I’m seeking.
By now, I’ve spent enough time with Davis to understand his reactions to most things. I can tell when he’s worried by the slightly panicked look that floods his eyes. I can sense when he’s withholding words by the way he fidgets uncomfortably and tends to shut himself off emotionally. More than anything, I know exactly when he needs me; it’s written in the silence of a tender touch, in the way his mouth falls open slightly, as if he is struggling for breath. It’s in the way his eyes change from chocolate brown to kohl black. He’s a complicated man who I’ve spent a lot of time studying, watching, learning. A man I feel like I know completely, until a moment like this comes along, and then I doubt everything I’ve unmasked about him since the first time we spoke.
The man who looks at me now feels like the stranger he once was so many months before. There is a darkness to his eyes that has nothing to do with passion. There’s a greenish hue to his skin that speaks only to his fear.
And then… there are the tears.
Nausea rolls through me as I watch tears flood his eyes and refuse to spill over, as if he’s just stubborn enough to hold them back, fearing perhaps that they make him look weak. The pain I witness on his face is telling, but it’s the slight way he pulls away from me that gives me all the answers I need.
He’s saying goodbye.
“Baby….please don’t….” Pleading….begging even….I’m not above doing. Dread weaves through my bloodstream as I grasp at anything I can to keep him here with me.
“I have to.” He swipes at his eyes and glares at me through narrowed, tear-filled eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“Maybe not. I’ve never been married. I’ve never been through something as painful as the two of you have.” I swallow back the fear and pray he listens to me. “Please make me understand why you’re doing this to us.”
