He also ignores my return compliment. “And you’re not all pasty and white like me, from spending all day in the lab. You’ve got that nice tan—that sun-kissed glow about you.” His eyes dip down to my hoodie. “I bet you’ve got abs and everything.”
A laugh slips out, and I just know I’ve gone pink again. This guy could be so good for my ego. If he weren’t me. If I didn’t know better. It’s sweet that he’s trying to big me up, but we both know he’s just being nice. I wish I were like this with myself more often.
I’m not inclined to interrupt his flow of compliments, and thankfully, he’s not quite done. “I’m just saying, anyone should be proud to have you on their arm.” Then a few beats of silence, followed by a lowly mumbled, “I hope next time, a bit of flattery won’t be enough to make you throw yourself away.”
Well, this is embarrassing. Because judging by the beat of my heart, apparently that’s all it takes…
No.
Yourself from a parallel universe is not hitting on you.
Stop being weird.
“He’s… very charismatic, is the thing.” Yep. Talk about the ex. Not the diabolically smart, confident, and surprisingly kind version of yourself that’s walking about in those slutty glasses. “And a lot of people want him. And he chose me. And that felt good. For a while.”
“What do you mean ‘for a while?’”
“Well…” Maybe not such a good idea to talk about the ex. All of a sudden, that evening Victorian air feels suffocating. “The thing about him was… he chose other people too.”
August slows his pace. I wish there were a rock I could crawl under. He’s giving me one of those scrutinising looks of his, and I’m so embarrassed. I don’t want him to think less of me over this. He shouldn’t have to know he’s this much of a loser in another life.
“I knew what I was getting into,” I vomit out. “He’s not like other guys. He never pretended to be. He was… always going to need more than one person. And I knew that going into it. And that was stupid of me. Maybe. But…”He’s still looking. Jesus.“It wasn’t really cheating, or anything like that, because I knew about it. You know? It wasn’t like he tried to hide it.” God, this is getting worse and worse.Why isn’t he saying anything?“It was open, is what I mean. An open relationship. I guess.” I need to stop rambling. He needs to speak. I cannot handle the weight of this silence. “So it was all fine. And above board. Um… And I’m fine. All fine now. Definitely fine.”
Yeah. Sure. You’re doing a great job of showing that.
Finally, thankfully, he soothes my blathering with, “You thought you were going to be alright with that?”
Thank Christ.“Yes. I did.”
“But you’re not?”
“No.” Way to reveal the truth in about a millisecond. “It was complicated.”
Shoes on cobblestones, pregnant echoes as I wonder what he’s thinking, then, “Sometimes you have to find things out the hard way.”
That’s it?
That’s all he says.
I’ve felt so bad about this for so long that I’ve never told anyone. Not a single soul who wasn’t involved. And my own answer, straight from my own lips, is… simple acceptance? “You don’t think that’s bad?”
“No. Why would I?” His feet strike the road, punctuating the stretching night silence. “Unless, for some reason, you didn’t think that was going to be the situation?”
That hits like a knife. He can see it. He can see how stupid I’ve been. I drop my chin, but I know it can’t hide me from the moonlight. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”
“It matters if you’re sad about it.”
“I’m not.” I am. But for some reason, I don’t want him to know that. It’s not just because I’m ashamed. I feel the desperate need to clarify my feelings, not for myself, but for him. “Or…maybe I am sad, but I’m not sad that it’s over. I’m just sad in general, I guess. Because I still like him.” And before I know it, I’m very pointedly blurting out, “As a friend,” maybe a little too loud and a little too hurriedly. “He-he’s really nice. And he didn’t mean for things to be like that. And maybe if I’d had a thicker skin?—”
“Then maybe you’d be at home right now wondering who he’s out with?”
That nausea. It’s still so close to the surface. It’s still me, alone in my flat, just like he said. So many endless nights spent exactly that way.
But August snaps the isolated, ill feeling in half with, “It’s a good thing you’re here with me instead.”
He looks over, and my heart’s in my throat. I know he can’t mean that the way it sounds, the way my body’s reacting to it. But after all those nice things he said, after this whole night that’s been so… strangely magical.
A blast of cold wind shifts the hair about his temple. It’s like looking into a mirror, but it’s also not. Heisdifferent to me. He’s got a strength about him, in the tightly drawn curve about his cheekbones, in the way he holds his jaw with a certain defiance. I get a weird sense of safety in his presence, while I know full well I would never rely on myself like that.
