“Not yet.”
Like his plea to let him in, I can’t fight it. Instead, I shift fully onto the bed and let him curl himself around me as clouds float by the tiny window. Lying here, the last of my strength melts away and I know I have to find a way to explain.
“It didn’t mean nothing.”
Noah presses his face into my hair and breathes his response. “I know.”
I could leave it here, and he would probably take it as the end. Admitting it all meant more answered his question, and I know him well enough to have faith in his promise to let it lie.
But for the first time since the one who broke me, I want someone else to understand.
“Axel was my last serious partner.”
His arm tightens, but I keep my eyes trained on the tiny window, sure I won’t make it through the story otherwise.
“We met when I was eighteen and he was the first person, aside from Nan, who came into my life and loved me for who I was, and despite where I came from. He made me feel like I could have anything if I was only willing to ask for it. Nan calls it my blue hair phase. It was the only time we ever truly acted like mother and daughter.”
I pause, remembering the terrible fights. The raw spot left over from our dark time pulses, but I push on, the words alreadyon the tip of my tongue, as if they’ve been waiting there . . . hoping for a chance to land with someone else.
“When Axel asked me to move in with him, I didn’t even think about it. Nan and I were already fighting all the time, so I figured I’d just quit my job at her diner and get a new one—something Axel would approve of, something bigger than pouring coffee.
“It was good for a while. Really good. He made me feel like I was everything he’d ever want, and back then I couldn’t see the purpose in having anyone else. But without a job, it wasn’t long until what little money I’d been contributing ran out. I didn’t know what I wanted with my life, and the only working experience I had didn’t make me a stellar candidate. At first, he told me it didn’t matter—that one day I would find my dream and until then he was there for me and I believed him.”
My body stiffens in anticipation of the next part, the part after the happily ever after when the inevitable cracks begin to show.
“Our break-up started slow—a nit picky fight or snide comments about how needy I was. I brushed it off as stress from him trying to keep his tattoo shop afloat, and told myself my getting a job would fix it. But the truth was, he’d stripped me of every ounce of outside support and then started to resent me for leaning on him.”
I close my eyes as I recall the rest of the story.
“When I finally secured financing to start school, I thought it would fix everything. I went out and spent way too much money on supplies to make a nice dinner to celebrate. But when he came home, he wasn’t alone. A girl I’d seen at his shop a few times walked in behind him and I was so shocked at the way she was hanging off his arm, I just stood there in the kitchen while they traipsed back to the bedroom. Our bedroom.”
“Lottie . . .” Noah’s arm, already a vice, shifts and he threads himself along my spine, every available point of contact meshed together.
I shake my head. “He wasn’t sleeping with her—not then at least, not as far as I could tell. But when she asked him who I was, he called me his roommate. Not even that, actually. Told her I was going through arough timeand that he was just helping me out, letting me stay there in exchange for cleaning his apartment. And then they left and I was frozen trying to figure out what happened. It didn’t make sense. In my mind I’d done everything he told me to. I made him my world. I felt so stupid when it finally hit me.”
I move my hand to my chest, remembering the way I collapsed into a tearless fit in that tiny kitchen, a wooden spoon still clutched in my fist. The way I hyperventilated over the dingy linoleum.
“He was addicted to the idea of taking care of me—coaxed me into being comfortable with relying on him, and even went as far as to poison me against the people who actually cared about my life. But when he realized it wasn’t fun anymore, or that I was a real person with real needs, he left. Went to find a new play thing.”
I take another deep breath, sliding my hands over to pick at a loose thread in the blanket.
“I left that night, took what little shit I had left and made my way back to Nan’s. I cried in her lap as she smoothed my hair and whispered about how I deserved better. Early the next morning, she took me to the drugstore to buy a box of hair dye that matched my natural color.”
I huff a laugh recalling the matter of fact way Nan handled it all. “She said I didn’t need the reminder of my mistakes staring at me every time I looked in the mirror. Granted, she wasn’t exactly privy to the tattoos I was stuck with.”
The floral rib tattoo Axel designed and inked into my skin stings under the memory and I bite my lip again. The branding he left me with hurt like a bitch at first—worse than when he inked it—but I’ve never covered it. Instead, I keep it as a reminder of what happens when you trust the wrong people.
“I’m sorry.”
Noah’s response, so simple and sincere, picks at the raw edges of my story.
“Don’t be. It was a tough lesson, but one I needed.” I twist around to face him, looking him straight in the eye, finally past the knot in my throat. “Ever since him I’ve made sure I always have what I need to take care of myself. I went back to school, finished my degree and set my sights on buying Nan’s Place so I could thank the only person who’s always been there. The only people I keep in my life now are the people I want, not anyone I feel myself needing.”
The weight of our situation presses in around us. We are fundamentally wrong for each other—professional roles aside. I’m a mess and Noah can’t help but try to fix it. On this side of things, it’s clear I knew it that first night we went to dinner, but I couldn’t put it together until the limits were tested. Noah is clean lines and boundaries, and I’m still a wreck of patched up hurt.
Noah props himself on his elbow. “Thank you for telling me.”
I chuckle, but it’s hollow—a half-assed attempt at lifting the stench of my story. “I figured you should know I’m not as crazy as I seem.”
