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“No, you just kept asking me if I was happy, and I can tell by that, you clearly aren’t. Why didn’t you tell me, Nat? You never talk to me anymore, not properly, about the important things.” Phew, I can breathe a little, no names mentioned. “I would have straightened him out, and I’m sure Xavier would have been right behind me. No one gets to make you that miserable that you don’t feel wanted.” He reaches his hand out across the table wanting to take mine. I can’t, I need to try to dig myself out of this shithole I put myself in.
“It’s nothing, just a lot of drunken rambling by the sound of it.” Yep, that was convincing, I’m sure.
“No, it was more than that. You think I believe that shit? We aren’t teenagers anymore. If you can’t be happy with me, then I want you happy with someone else at least. Not burying yourself at the bottom of a glass in misery.”
“Wait, hang on a minute!” My head is thumping but that just rocked my heart. “I’m not some alcoholic who hits the bottle every night. Last night was a one-off. Obviously, I didn’t eat enough yesterday and had a glass too many. That simple!” My temper is brewing, I can feel it escalating. I’m up and walking again.
“Geez, simmer down, no need to be so defensive. I’m just concerned. I never get to see you, but when I finally do for more than five minutes, you are all over me and telling me how much you want me. What am I supposed to think?”
Oh no, no, no, no! What the hell did I do?
“Did I say that I wanted you? I doubt it!” That’s it, bluff your way through this. Neither of us can sit still any longer. There is too much emotion in the air.
“Fuck, Nat, not in words but the way you snuggled into me as I carried you. Smelling me like I was your next hit of crack. Then you slept on my chest all night, sighing like you were so content there. You tell me what the fuck that means. Why after all this time can’t you grow the fuck up and admit you want me as much as I want you! Fuuuccckkk!” He slams his fist down on the couch and stands. We’re both pacing the room, circling each other like prize fighters. Neither of us want to get too close, otherwise the fireworks will finally explode, and I don’t mean in the way of punching.
“Why would I say that to you now, Jordan? Last night meant nothing!” And there it is, the knife I have thrown at his chest has landed the first blow. “And even if it did, what are you going to do, just screw me while the little wife is back home waiting for her faithful husband to come home to her? Or God forbid, leave your wife for me?” Shut up, you idiot. Why can’t I keep my mouth closed when I’m around him?
The room is deathly silent as he just stares at me, one word leaving his lips on nothing more than a whisper.
“Yes.”
I can’t breathe.
The walls are closing in. This can’t be happening. I’m not a homewrecker.
More than that, I can’t break his heart. That was the promise I made all those years ago.
I won’t make him choose between his dream and me.
Digging deep for the last piece of courage I have, I say the words that are needed but are ripping at my heart for the hundredth time.
“You need to leave, Jordan.”
“No, I’m not done. This is not how this discussion was supposed to go.” His voice is that tone that almost makes me drop to my knees. But this time, I know I can’t give in.
“We are finished talking. Please leave. I’ll get your shirt and things.”
Willing my feet to start walking toward the bedroom, his hand grabs my arm, trying to stop me.
“Don’t… please…” I say, almost begging him to let this go. I can’t even look back at him, otherwise I know I’ll crumble.
Slowly, one by one, I feel his fingers separating from the skin on my arm until they are an inch away, but I can still feel the electricity between us. He is doing what I asked, but why do I wish deep down that he still had hold and that he was fighting for me.
Walking toward my room, this time I don’t hear any footsteps behind me.
I pick up his shirt off the floor where it landed when I threw it at him, take his wallet and phone off the nightstand and shoes from beside his side of the bed.
Stop it. It’s not his side. It’smybed that he just rested on last night, that’s all.
Collecting it all in my hands, my finger brushes his phone, and the lock screen lights up. It brings tears to my eyes. It’s the same photo as the one on my nightstand next to my bed. The last photo I have with him before he left town. When life was simple and I could pretend he was just a friend. Xavier being in the photo allows me to have it in a frame with no questions asked.
I pull myself together. I just need to get this over and done with.
Everything that needs to be said is done. Not risking him touching me, I place them on the table, and I hear him let out a defeated sigh.
Heading to look out the window, I listen to the sound of him dressing and placing his shoes on, and then silence. Neither of us know what to say. So, we say nothing.
His footsteps start toward the door and then stop as I hear the handle turn.
