AllFreeNovel
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How will I survive without the best friend I've ever had? All the little moments we share? The secret glances. Eating together. Cuddling on the couch. Holding her hand. Our banter.
What’s worse? Another man will taste her sweet nectar. Look into her eyes with his cock buried inside her. Smile as she walks down the aisle to promise him forever. Caress the swell of her belly.
Catastrophic.
Nobody's taking those moments from me.
A seizing pain grips my heart and takes my breath away. I’ve never felt anything like it, like my lungs are on fire and frozen all at once.
After a few minutes, Jordan returns, dressed in her own clothes. The transformation feels symbolic. Her expression is composed, but her eyes betray the turmoil she’s feeling. She’s pissed.
No. Furious.
She sits in the chair across from me. “What happened to the symbolism of your tattoo? Did you forget about it entirely? As far as I can tell, you've failed at prudence by not being able to discern the appropriate course of action. You're a fucking coward for not telling me, so fortitude's a wash. What are the other ones?”
“Justice and temperance.”
“Ah, right.” She teems with frustration. “What, exactly, is morally right about lying to me? What kind of self-control did it take to keep quiet? You told me the design was a reminder to embody all of the virtues.”
She's fucking right. “I failed and I'm sorry. Can we talk about it?”
Our conversation continues for several hours. A back-and-forth filled with high emotions and solemn practicalities. We discuss logistics of a long-distance relationship, the impact on our careers, our personal lives. Unfortunately, the deeper we get into the weeds, the more it becomes apparent there are no easy answers. We love each other, but the reality of our situation is complex, filled with uncertainties and sacrifices.
As the day wears on, we’re at a stalemate. Jordan is rightfully hurt. I’ve kept a significant part of my life from her, and it’s threatening to tear us apart.
At the same time, it sucks I can’t be excited about Project SoHo with her. A sliver of resentment snakes up my spine. I want her to be proud of me, not sad, resentful, and angry with no reprieve in sight.
Doesn't she realize I’ll do anything to make our relationship work?
I'm exhausted. Frustrated. What I should do is table the conversation. Instead, my Vander genes kick in and I speak without thinking. “Jesus, Jordan. My life didn’t stop after Vegas.”
Her face drops. “What?”
“From the day we met, you were it for me. I realize I left you and you felt a certain way, but I’m not the one who immediately dove into an eight-year relationship with someone I didn't love just to feel safe. If you felt strongly about me…” It's like I'm in slow motion when I step in it further—I can’t help myself. “Forget it. You're fixated on a move that may never happen. It's not like I was going to disappear off the planet. This entire thing should be simple. Having you in my life shouldn't complicate everything.”
Jordan’s expression, usually so animated and expressive, freezes. There’s a sudden stillness in her features and her eyes widen in shock. Agony. The vibrant energy that usually radiates from her like sunshine visibly dims, replaced by a hurt so profound it’s almost tangible.
Her glittery green eyes, always full of life and warmth, glisten with unshed tears, reflecting a deep sense of disbelief. It’s as if she’s struggling to comprehend how the person she’s grown to love could destroy her trust and inflict such pain.
It’s unbearable to witness, and it’s all my fault.
“Oh, shit. That came out all wrong. Baby…I’m sorry.” I move toward her.
Jordan’s posture shifts in an instant. She wraps her arms around herself like a physical barrier to match the emotional one my careless words created. The vulnerability she’s shared freely, even today, is hidden behind a wall of self-preservation. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me.”
The room grows silent except for the faint, ragged breaths Jordan takes as she tries to compose herself. She leans on the wall, as if she’s trying to regain some semblance of control over the damage I’ve carelessly inflicted.
Seeing her like this, witnessing the direct impact of my words, fills me with a profound sense of regret and shame. I’m a fucking Vander through and through. I’m horrified. Ashamed. Devastated.
In this moment, I realize the gravity of the irreparable damage I’ve done to the person I love most in the world. The realization I probably won’t be able to repair what I’ve broken looms over me like a daunting shadow over the bond we’ve built.
“Peter, I’m going home.” Jordan’s voice is steady but laced with an undercurrent of sadness.
The finality of her words sting, even though I understand her need for space and time from me to process everything. “I’m sorry. I was thoughtless with my words. It’s not who I am, I’m …”
“Today has been a lot.” She avoids eye contact as she heads to my front door. “I need to think about all of this, and I can’t be in your condo anymore.”
More than anything, I want to reach out to her. Mend what I smashed to bits. Bridge the gap between us. Pick your fucking metaphor, but I don’t do any of it. She should be able to process what happened in peace, no matter how much it hurts. At this point, my feelings are irrelevant.
