Both physically and emotionally.
I slide out of his arms and look around for my dress. For the first time, I feel self-conscious of my body with him. Of Squirt. Of the extra fullness in my hips and breasts.
“What the fuck, Charlie?” He sounds hurt but he also sounds irritated. If I tell him everything whirling around my brain, I’m afraid I’ll send him running. Everything will end before it’s hardly begun.
I don’t want it to end.
Maybe I’m being hormonal?
“I’m just tired.” I shimmy into my dress. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve ever been pregnant before. This. All of this. It’s new to me. I can’t pretend it’s not going to change my life forever. And I want it to.” Am I talking about Squirt or him? I know I’m not making sense. I wipe my eyes. Damn, now that I’m talking I can’t stop the vomit of words spewing from my mouth.
I’m gonna lose him.
Scare him away. “And… Being with you. Touching you… It’s addictive.”
He’s rolls off the bed and comes to me. “I know, babe. Fuck, I know. I feel it too.”
Which surprises me, but I still don’t think he understands. He’s going to leave me.
Another man, leaving me.
His arms are around me now, comforting. Soothing.
Only I’m not feeling comforted. I’m scared to death. “But I’m not the one who’s gonna leave.” There. I’ve said it. “I’m the person who’ll be left behind.”
He rests his head on top of my head.
Before the words escape his mouth– the mouth that’s worshipped me in every sense of the word– I know what’s coming. “I don’t have a choice. Max has spent over a year scheduling this tour. We have rehearsals in L.A. And the travel. Shit, Charlie. I wish I could offer you more. I just… can’t.”
There it is.
“I know.” I have a choice. End it now… or drag this out another week. A war rages between my heart, my body, and my head. My body, hands down, wants to laugh this off and stay with him tonight. My head knows I’m setting myself up for despair. And my heart– my heart’s torn. “I know,” I say again.
He releases me to pull on his own clothes. Cold fear squeezes my heart. Fear that this is over. Fear that he’ll check out and leave Colorado early. Fear that I’ll never see him again.
I follow him into the living room, and he hands me my shoes.
He’s telling me to leave.
I’ve done this. I’ve ruined this fling. Except it wasn’t just a fling. Already, I’m in way too deep. I grab my sweater, and he checks to see that he has his key card.
The air is thick with regret.
So many words trapped inside. Words I’ll never say to him. “So, how long is this tour?” This sounds like a casual question, but it’s really me trying to understand. It’s as though I’m his mistress, and his career, his fans, his band… They’re his wife.
And will be forever.
“Twelve months.”
“A year.” I know this. Why is it hitting me now? The fact that he’s gonna be traveling around the world for an entire year. The fact that I won’t talk to him every day. I won’t get to touch him. He won’t touch me…
He locks the door behind us and then walks beside me with his hands in his pockets.
He’s never done that before. Before he’s touched my back, held my hand… He never passed up some excuse to put his hands on me.
This distance is expanding.
“Yep.” His answer is terse.
