I’m not a good person.
Not like her.
At a fundamental level, we’re incompatible.
It’s time to stop leading her on.
Time to stop leadingmyselfon.
But a part of me still wants to fight.
So I turn and pace away from her, until I’m standing on the windows at the opposite side of the room. Without looking at her, I speak.
“So what, the second we’re back in civilization this just ends?” My voice is ice now. “We go our separate ways and pretend this never happened?”
I risk a glance at her, and watch as she wraps her arms around herself. I hate that she looks so small in that moment.
So vulnerable.
“I’m just trying to be realistic,” she says.
Realistic.
My laugh is bitter. “Right. Well, it was a nice fantasy while it lasted.” I gesture toward the window. “Don’t worry. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be back in Boulder and I’ll be back in Manhattan. We can live our own lives, and forget we ever met.”
She doesn’t respond.
Just stands there crying silently while I stare out at the forest and try not to feel like my heart is breaking in fucking half.
The silence stretches.
Finally, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and moves toward the kitchen. Her voice is quiet. “We should eat something. We only had oatmeal this morning, and after the roof...”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t need to. We both know we’re running on empty... physically drained from hauling firewood, sex, the rooftop climb, the adrenaline crash from the cougar, and now this emotional devastation...
I recognize the move for what it is. Distraction. Something to do.
“I’m not going back outside to get food,” I say flatly. “Not for the rest of today. Not worth the risk.”
She nods without looking at me. “I wasn’t going to suggest it.” A pause. “I’ll just make something from the pantry.”
“Fine by me.”
And then she’s gone, leaving me alone with my dark thoughts.
For lunch she cooks whatever dried food she finds in the pantry. Noodles and some canned chickpeas. We add protein using one of my tubs from the gym stash.
Then eat in silence.
The food tastes like cardboard. Or maybe that’s just because I can’t taste anything past the bitterness coating my tongue.
After lunch I retreat to the gym. Hide myself in the unheated basement and force myself to work out. Deadlifts until my lower back screams. Bench press until my chest burns. Anything to stop thinking about how badly I’ve fucked this up.
How I let myself fall for someone who was always going to leave.
Hours pass.
My body starts to ache all over. In addition to sore muscles, I also get that shaky worked-out-and-didn’t-eat-enough feeling. But I don’t stop.
