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When was I going to learn? When was I going to stop thinking I could find family, find love? When was I going to stop thinking stupidly that maybe, just maybe this time someone wouldn’t hurt me? When was I going to give up the dream that wasn’t ever to be mine? When was I going to accept that I was all I had? When was I going to learn? When was I going to learn that it would be a whole hell of a lot less painful that way?
It took everything inside of me to maintain my composure, to smile, to lie straight through my teeth. “Thank you, Rian. It does sound like a great opportunity.”
The bathroom wasn’t far from the couch, but in that moment, it felt like a million miles away. I felt Rian’s eyes on my back as I tried to not hurry my step, tried to hold back the tremor that threatened to run down my spine, tried to keep my nose from sniffling. The last thing I needed was for him to feel bad for me, to feel bad for doing as Conor asked, to feel bad for taking out the trash.
The bathroom wasn’t far from the couch, but when I finally reached it and closed the door carefully and turned on the faucet to full blast and sank without a noise to the floor, I was gasping for air like I had just run every single one of those invisible million miles.
It was while I was in there that I heard the little bell at the front door of the shop. Faintly over my gasps for air, I heard Conor’s voice speaking with Rian. Oh, so casually. Cheerfully even.
I don’t know if it was rage that filled me. Or pain. Or hurt. Maybe they’re not all that different from one another in the end. They all take hold of you. They all make your actions not your own. They all make you reckless, stupid, inclined toward self-fucking-imploding.
I pushed open the door of the bathroom so violently that the knob dented the wallpaper of the hallway.
“I need to talk to you,” I said loudly, brazenly.
Both Rian and Conor craned their heads to see the commotion down the hall. I didn’t have to explain who the hell I meant.
Conor stormed toward me. His hand grabbed my elbow. Hard. He hissed in my ear not to cause a scene. He was angry. Well, so the hell was I.
The back door of Dublin Ink slammed open just as violently as the bathroom door, but this time it wasn’t me who had done it. I tripped down the stairs and Conor let me catch myself against the opposite brick wall of the alley.
“Tell me to my face,” I said, not even giving him a chance to speak. I pushed myself back from the wall and whirled around to him. “Tell me to my fucking face that you’re breaking up with me.”
Conor dragged a hand through his hair. He looked exacerbated as he searched the deserted alley.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aurnia,” he said.
I advanced on him like he didn’t have a foot and a hundred fifty pounds on me. I jabbed my finger against his chest.
“You can think I’m a child,” I hissed. “But that doesn’t mean you have to take me for a stupid one.”
“Rian was just telling me—”
“Don’t.”
“You should seriously consider it, Aurnia.”
I was shaking with anger. The anger was fine. The desire to hit Conor was a-okay with me. I had no problem wanting to punch him and kick him and fuck him. It was this creeping need to cry, to weep, to sob that scared me. That made me speak quickly, stumbling over my words.
“Tell me you want me gone and I’ll go,” I said. “But say it to my face. Like a man. Like a grown man who knows not to mess with a child’s heart.”
Conor avoided eye contact with me. Was it because he couldn’t say it? Or was I already so gone from his life that he had better things to do? I hated this. I hated all of this.
“Say it,” I said, voice breaking like a little kid. I hated that, too. I fucking hated it. “Say it and I’ll go.”
“Aurnia,” Conor said, and my name didn’t sound right on his lips. Like it was a sweet fruit that had soured. Gone bad. “Of course we all love having you here—”
“We?”
He swallowed. Looked down at his hands. “I love having you here. But you must think of your fu—”
“Don’t say future,” I said bitterly.
Conor’s eyes darted only momentarily to mine. Too fast to catch much of anything. A train speeding by without stopping at the station where I stood alone.
“Just consider it,” Conor said in the same tone of voice as the school counsellors who pushed pamphlets for chess club across the desk at me without looking once at the dark circles under my eyes. “I have to get back to work.”
Conor turned his back on me and it was that first week all over again. Him dragging me out the back. Him shutting the door.
