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“The night I left. I cried for three weeks in my sister’s apartment. What did you do?”
His face goes blank, confirmation I wish I didn’t have.
“Stella, that’s not fair.” He’s right, of course. It’s not. He had an addiction, something he’s worked hard to overcome and something that he feels immense guilt over.
I take a deep breath before saying my next words.
“This is our future, Riggins. People bringing up every fuck up, every rough spot in our relationship forever.” His brow furrows, and to his credit, he looks genuinely confused, as if he can’t fit the piece into the puzzle of what could be wrong with me.
“What?” he asks, stepping closer.
“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “Please, please stay there. I need… I need to keep my head clear.” Something shifts in his face, and his arms crossing his chest.
I know in my gut I’m being a bit irrational, that this is all just picking at old wounds, but wouldn’t it be easier to know now this isn’t going to work? That I can’t handle it before we get in too deep.
But I also know in the depths of my soul I can’t endure losing him the way I did before. Maybe if I take the power, if I make the decision myself, it will be easier…
“What’s going on, Stella?”
“Someone slipped these into my mailbox. It’s tabloids from this week.”
Again, to Riggins’ credit, when he pulls out the news article, he stares at it for a quick moment before rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He sighs and looks relieved.
“This is all bullshit rag magazines. This is just my life, Stella. Tabloids and magazines speculating about every aspect of my life. When I don’t give them shit, they start to piece together old photos, make it look like something new and exciting, and put questions and thoughts into people’s heads. You’re gonna have to get over it. This is who I am. Who we are gonna be.”
My mind tries to put together the idea of me just being okay with people repeatedly speculating that my….husband is cheating on me, the way that could fuck with me, the way I could start to believe it. If I have the backbone to handle this, this life.
“This is the reality of us being together,” he says, like that is an inevitability, us being together. He’s so sure in this, in us, but suddenly, I’m not.
I can’t imagine a world where I’m fine with people speculating about him, about us. A world where it doesn’t phase me, a world where it doesn’t eventually grate on my already wavering mental health. Maybe all of my concerns back then, the drinking, the partying, the lifestyle, maybe it was an excuse for me to leave before it became too much for me.
I love Riggins, but what if all those years ago, we didn’t work because we never would work. If it was all meant to be? Hell, I didn’t see him for years, and he wasn’t hurting for it; I never even fucking tried to reach out that first year after I left.
“What if I can’t handle it?” I ask, my inner fears breaking through.
“What?”
“What if I can’t handle this, this life? The speculation, the tabloids.” I admit the thoughts I’ve been stewing in for the past few hours, my deepest fears. Because even if it’s all fake, even if it’s just some PR fantasy like he said, it’s still going to eat at me. The lies are eventually going to dig under my skin until I start to believe them. “I’m already so fragile. You’ve seen what happens when I break when I start to drown.”
“And I told you I’ll be your lifeboat.”
“But what if you’re the anchor pulling me down.” His face goes blank, and I feel like I’m letting him down, but maybe this is for the best.
It’s better to cut this before we’re too deep, before it hurts too much before I get to the point once again where I can’t breathe without him.
I barely survived it last time.
I don’t know if I can survive that kind of hit a second time.
“What if I can’t do it? What happens then?”
“We figure it out then, Stella.” Somehow, I think he knows where I’m going with this.
“I don’t know if I can take that kind of risk.” The words tumble out low and pained, and I stare at my hands as I speak them aloud. They’re somehow still dotted with paint from the other day, from painting the room upstairs with him and what happened later.
How have I come so far in just a few days, from that high of being with him, being us, about talking about a fucking family and a future to here?
To ending things with the love of my life?
