He nods and says it back. “See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 16: Cody
Luc came by my house today... twice. I don’t know how to feel about it. During this entire empty week, I received no sign of life from him, couldn’t find him despite my best efforts, and now he suddenly shows up at my door, looking for me. For days on end, I’ve been pointlessly staring at my phone, waiting to receive a message from a number that wasn’t in there. I was dying for a call from him, and of course, nothing came.
I knew waiting for it was pointless. Luc didn’t have my phone number, and even if he wanted it, he couldn’t get it from anyone else but me. But I couldn’t help myself. My broken heart didn’t listen to logic. I simply wanted a text, a glimpse of him in the cake shop, or to run into him anywhere else. Often enough, I opened my front door, hoping he’d be on the other side waiting, but he never was. It was a disappointment every time until, at some point, I stopped hoping. As a result, my misery became more constant, but also more tolerable. And now, just as I’m trying to forget about him, he’s suddenly on my doorstep. Leave it to Luc to show up when I no longer expect him.
What am I supposed to make of this? After ghosting me, and treating me like I don’t exist, he suddenly waltzes back into my life, bothering my friend in the process. And there was something off about it. He looked a smidge too desperate, a fraction too unstable, and very different from how I know him. He’s usually so in control and so confident. No trace of that was left when he stood on my doorstep, looking absolutely lost... frantic even. With how he acted, this wasn’t the guy I’ve come to know, and not someone I pictured myself talking to about having a relationship with.
So, why now? At the very least, it’s strange timing. He shows up, looking like hell, telling me he’s been kicked out ofhis apartment. If that’s not a reason to be alarmed, I don’t know what is. It made his “I need you” much less meaningful. Everything he said seemed a bit selfish because of it, and I have to ask myself, am I only good enough as a safety net? Is that all I am?
No matter how hard I try, I have no chance of answering that question, so it’s probably a good thing that my doorbell rings, pulling me from my thoughts. I think I know who’s at the door; it’s most certainly Joyce, but that’s only if Luc hasn’t decided to show up a third time. Who knows anymore?
But the bell only rings once, briefly and subtly. If it were Luc, he’d be pounding at the door. So why am I disappointed that it’s not him trying to knock down my walls to get in? Something has got to be wrong with me.
I walk to the door, open it, and just as I thought, it’s Joyce. I texted her when Luc left because that’s what she asked me to do, but I also think having a friend to talk to will be nice—or at least I hope it will be.
I already have an idea of what she’ll say, though. Knowing Joyce, she’ll tell me not to trust him, and maybe she’s right. But am I going to listen to someone who’s had her heart broken badly and who’s scared to believe in love again? Honestly, I don’t know. I’m at a complete loss as to what to do right now, other than to welcome my friend into my house.
Her stare is a little cold when she steps over the threshold. “So? Did Pretty Boy apologize?”
Pretty Boy... interesting choice of nickname. I know it doesn’t mean anything coming from her. After all, just like me, Joyce is gay. “What do you mean?”
Joyce takes her denim jacket off and places it on the coat rack. “When I was here, he never once apologized for hurting you. He said a lot of things, made some demands even, but I didn’t once hear him apologize. So, did he?”
I think back. “I don’t know. I’m sure he did, but I—”
Joyce doesn’t waver. “Has he, Cody? Has he actually used the words ‘I’m sorry?’”
I replay the conversation with Luc in my mind, and when I realize the answer, an icy cold feeling overcomes me. No, he actually hasn’t apologized. I’ll be damned.
“No, he hasn’t,” I reply, my jaw clenching and unclenching. How did I miss that? I hadn’t realized it yet, and now that I have, a sudden anger takes hold of me. The unexpected heat of it courses through my veins and mixes with my other emotions until it takes over. Joyce is right; Luc came here, desperate to talk to me, demanding to know if she was my girlfriend. At some point, I even thought he would ask if he could move in with me. He didn’t, but he most certainly didn’t apologize either. The nerve of that guy, just showing up like he owns me, doing whatever he wants... and dodging actual accountability.
“I’m not surprised,” Joyce says, her expression serious. “He looks like the type who only cares about himself.”
Is he? I never saw Luc that way, but maybe I was wrong. Feeling angry and defeated, I let myself fall onto my couch. Preoccupied as I am, I hardly notice Joyce doing the same beside me.
I hate this. So many feelings are coursing through me, and I don’t know which ones to listen to. Part of me—the part that’s in love, I suppose—wants to forgive Luc so badly. My heart doesn’t care if he’s only interested in having a place to live. I could give him that, we’d be together, and I wouldn’t have to be sad anymore. It might be fun, but... no.
I’m smart enough to know that will only make things worse in the long run. Because if he’s with me for the wrong reasons, he’ll leave me anyway when someone better comes along. It could be weeks, months, or years until it happens, but the longer it lasts,the more it will hurt. And I refuse to be with someone who’s only using me.
But maybe . . .
“Maybe he’ll still apologize. You saw how riled up he was, how anxious. And when you left, he told me I’m it for him, that he wants only me. He said it just took him a while to realize it.”
Joyce scoffs, and the sound cuts through the flutter of hope I allowed myself to have.
“Do you hear yourself?” she asks loudly. “You’re making excuses for him! He’s not sorry, and if you forgive him, he’ll leave you when it matters most!”
The words feel like a kick in the gut, not only because she shouts them at me but also because they’re similar to what I was just thinking. Maybe she’s right. What if it’s all pointless and I’m about to fall into a trap? I want to forgive Luc so badly, but what if it’s a lost cause? Or worse: what if my love life is?
Just before I lose myself in the hopelessness, I remind myself who I’m talking to.
“Not every situation is like yours, Joyce. Not everyone gets left at the altar.”
The words come out harsher than I mean them to, almost judgmental, like I’m suggesting it was her own fault. I regret it as soon as I say it.
Her eyebrows quirk in a way that tells me my words hurt her. That makes sense; it must be a painful memory.
