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“Don’t you see that this is what he wants? To create a divide between us? He’s manipulative and calculating…we can’t let him do this to us. We are stronger than that.”
“I don’t know, Charley…the brick, and then this…what’s next? Is he ever going to stop?”
Goosebumps rise on my skin instantly, the frost from his words chilling me to my bone. My teeth find my bottom lip as I look down sadly.Is he ending it? Is he saying I’m not worth the trouble?My lip trembles and his hand finds my face. He draws his finger along my cheek and my heart skips a beat at the minor contact. “Are you breaking up with me?” I ask quietly, and I hate that I have no conviction in my voice. I feel weak, something I swore I’d never feel again after I left Matt.
I’m stronger than this.
“I don’t know,” he whispers.
I let out a breath, doing my best not to fly off the handle. Trying my best to be the rational one as I understand that he’s not thinking clearly. “You don’t want this.”
“No shit,” he chuckles as he shuts his eyes. “You think I want to deal with Matthew Wells for the rest of my life?”
“I mean…” I start, wanting to make sure we are on the same page about what Will does and does not want, “I mean you don’t want to break up.”
“I don’t know what I want,” he says simply, and those six words feel like they’re enough to slide into those cracks Will warned us about.
I chuckle sarcastically. “So that’s it? Shit gets hard and you walk?” Despite my chuckle, the words that come out of my mouth are anything but funny.He promised he was in this with me.
“Gets hard? Charley, where have you been? Shit hasbeenhard. Or did you forget that he threw a brick through our window? That he recorded our sessions? That he has a private investigator following us. That he sent me a Goddamn sex tape!”
I feel myself starting to spiral, my blood pressure is rising, my heart is pounding so fast it might beat out of my chest, and I’m resisting the urge to scream. My breaths are coming out in short spurts and I feel as if someone is standing on my chest, making it hard to breathe. In short, I’m about to fucking lose it. I move out of his lap.
“You said we were in this together. If you do this…there’s no going back, Will. If you don’t want to fight for me…with me…for us…then let me go. Because I’m not going to go through this with you every time my ex retaliates. It’s been one week and he’s hurt and angry and he’s lashing out. This won’t go on forever. But I’m not going to be in a relationship where I feel like you could leave me the second things get tough. That’s not what I signed up for.” I’m out of his office door before he has a chance to respond.
Do I believe that his “I don’t know what I want” talk is just fueled by alcohol? Yes. But that isn’t the point. Somewhere deep inside of him he thinks those things. It had been a week, and he is already giving up. We are finally free to be together, and he alluded to wanting out. Why did he watch that fucking tape?My fists flex angrily as I think about what I’ll do to Matt if and when I ever see him again.Fucking dick.
I manage to get myself into bed, and as soon as I’m horizontal, the tears begin to fall more rapidly. I wonder how long before he comes to find me and argue with myself on whether I want him to stay away or come to me, wrap his arms around me, and rock me to sleep. I don’t have to wait long for my answer when I feel the bed dip behind me and his arms wrap around me tightly. The smell of alcohol is all around me but the faint smell of Will is what I cling to. I can’t make out what he’s saying over my cries but he seems to grip me even tighter every time he says something. I’m not sure how long we lie there, him holding onto me like a life raft as he desperately tries not to drown in all of this.
I’m asleep before I figure it out.
FUCK, THIS IS MISERABLE.
I already know what’s in store for me the second I open my eyes, so I keep them closed for a while longer, mentally preparing myself for the hangover I know awaits me. Those kinds of hangovers where you really canhearlight.The ones that cause a pounding in your head so loud it can’t be quieted even by an entire bottle of Advil. The kind where just the smell of food makes you sick. The type of nausea that is so overwhelming all you can do is lie still while you wallow in your self-destruction and the pity. And this was all while being under the age of twenty-five. It’s been years since I’ve been hungover, and I’m waiting for my body to tell meyou’re too old for this shit.
Prepared for the nausea, headache, and feelings of self-loathing, I open my eyes just as I feel Charley prying herself out of my arms.Fuck.Nothing could have prepared me for watching her climb out of bed, the tension radiating off of her in waves. My hangover is temporarily forgotten as a new feeling unfurls in my chest.Anxiety.“Baby, come back to bed.”
“I have to pee,” she tells me without another word or glance towards me.
I climbed into bed shortly after she’d stormed out of my office and held her in my arms while she slept, a sense of irrational panic washing over me that she may flee in the middle of the night. I manage to sit up, and I stare at the bathroom door, willing it to open. Charley finally appears, her face freshly washed and her chestnut locks piled in a bun at the top of her head. “Hey.”
“How are you feeling?” she crosses her arms defensively as her brown eyes bore into me.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” I tell her honestly.
She looks at me as if to sayserves you right.“How much of that bottle did you put away?”
I can feel my jaw tick, a sense of shame running through me as I think about the fact that she has no idea how hard her words hit me.You have to fucking tell her. Especially if you’re going to be drinking this aggressively.
No, Will. Never again. You swore to a lot of people you weren’t going down this road again.
I’m not.
My mind argues, and a pesky little voice inside of me whispers,“Denial.”
“I’m not sure,” I tell her. Now was not the time to tell her there was asecondbottle involved as well.
Having an alcohol problem was like riding a bike.Your body never forgot.
