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19
Izzy
Best Friends, Forever. Or Never?
My shoulders actually hurt from how tight I hold myself together. Though my dress has a built in corset that squeezes the life out of me and compresses my organs, if I let go, I might legitimately fall apart.
Perhaps that might be best.
I hurt so damn much, I don’t even remember what it’s likenotto hurt. I haven’t seen Jimmy in ages, not since the night he found out about Bean. That’s so unusual for us. For my whole life, we’ve seen each other almost every single day. I feel my body going through withdrawals, like I’m addicted to nicotine and gave up cold turkey.
But in my case, I’m addicted to Jim, and he doesn’t want to see me anymore.
Despite our separation these few weeks, it seems today, every single time I open my eyes, from the moment I literally tripped my way down the aisle toward him until now, I can’tnotsee him.
He’s everywhere.
I try and look the opposite way but somehow, he always ends up right there. And every time I see him, every time he doesn’t acknowledge or give me the unconditional love and friendship that I’d become so accustomed to, it hurts me, deeply. So much.
“Bubs.”
My nickname – the nickname only he uses for me – has my pulse skittering and my gaze snapping to the left. He nervously clears his throat as I die a little more inside. “Ah, Izzy,” he corrects himself, and adds another slice to my already bleeding and dying heart. “Dance with me… Please?” He extends a shaking hand and takes a deep breath.
Is he scared? Nervous? Is he repulsed by me? I don’t want a pity dance, or worse, I couldn’t handle it if he’s repulsed by me.
I don’t think I could survive it.
“Please… Bubs.” Eyes that are usually mocha are much darker today, harder, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know if I can trust them.
No matter what he wants to say to me, it’ll hurt. There can’t be a happy ending for us. “Please dance with me.” His eyes plead with me; they tear me in two.
I don’t want to hurt anymore. I want to be held by him.
The two aren’t mutually compatible.
“Come here.” Tired of waiting for an answer, he takes my hand and roughly yanks me from my chair. I trip as he walks ahead of me, but despite his anger, despite what’s happened, I still know he’d never let me fall.
A human being may be able to hate someone, they can even be repulsed by someone, but they can’t just turn that love off so easy. Not what we had. Not the relationship that we’ve grown and nurtured for so long.
Only a small handful of people here know about ‘us’ and the baby, and all of those people watch us right now, their eyes glued to us as though we were a car accident. They can’t look away, even though they know they should; even though they know it won’t end well.
“Don’t push me around.” I yank my hand from his grasp and scowl. It’s my only defense against the hurt in my heart.
“Well don’t look at me like I lit your puppy on fire,” he snaps back. He takes my hand and turns me onto the dance floor.
I feel like he did light my puppy on fire. Except I’m the puppy.
Pulling me against his chest, his hand clutches at mine almost painfully, like he’s scared I’m going to bolt – he’s right. And the other spans my back and almost has me whimpering. This is the closest to a hug I’ve had in weeks.
We sway in the silence as feral anger radiates from his chest. He’s so angry with me. I’m so angry with me. And our family continues to watch us, though they pretend they’re not.
My hormones have me swallowing back a sob of mortification. My best friend can’t even dance with me without being angry. A lifetime of being best friends, and like an alcoholic being cut off overnight, my addiction taunts me; he’s right there, but I can’t touch.
I liken us to an addiction and withdrawals, but that implies the addiction is bad. We’re not bad. We’re good. Maybe I should describe us more like oxygen and a human body. Another addiction, per se, but necessary. Without one, the other dies. I’m the lungs, and he’s the oxygen. I need him to be healthy and thrive, but now he’s gone, and I’m choking.
And despite it all, no matter what my heart thinks, my brain knows differently. There can never be a happy ending for us, because I’m having a baby now. The luxury of worrying about my love life ended the day I peed on that stick. I have a child, now. A brand-new human being with brand-new lungs that need oxygen, but this time, I’m the oxygen, and I refuse to let my baby choke.
None of my shit matters anymore; not me, not Jimmy, not fighting.
