With his mind going over all the things he wanted to tell her and the best way to apologize for the shit he’d said a few days before, the guitarist finally reached the seventh floor. Taking a deep breath, he walked out of the elevator and down the corridor.
He dragged his feet towards the room, wanting to do this but also afraid of how she’d react. Søren might be right, and she needed a friend. No one wants to endlessly ugly cry in front of their loved ones for several days in a row, and knowing how stubbornly proud this woman was, Chris had no doubts she’d kicked him out of the room for that reason. But he’d been a jerk the last time they had talked, so maybe this wasn’t the best option.
707.
He stopped and stared at it for a few seconds, gathering all the courage in the world before he knocked on the door three times.
Nothing.
“Baby girl?” he called.
A minute later, Leah opened up.
“Hey...” he mumbled. Hazel-green irises fixed on his. Her eyes were red and puffy, dark circles under them. Lips dry and chapped. Strands messy and disheveled, sticking out of her braid. She’d definitely had a rough night. “Søren told me what happened,” he started, frowning with concern. “How are you?”
“I…” Leah’s gaze watered, making Chris grow anxious, unsure if he should hug her or not. Until she launched herself into his arms, washing all the fears away.
Walking her backward into the room, he kicked the door closed behind him without letting her go. She cried and cried. Yet, for some reason, he felt good. It was a relief that even after how he’d behaved, she still needed and loved him.
The days they’d been apart, sharing the same space but not speaking to each other at all, had been the worst. People came and went. Some just passed by. Some were there to feed your ego and pleasure. Some left indelible marks and changed your perspective of the world. Others… others stayed forever, so close to your heart they became an essential part of your existence. This was what Leah meant to him. The idea of having lost her was so terrifying he hadn’t even had the balls to find out if those intrusive thoughts were indeed a reality. But here they were, twenty-eight years into the rollercoaster that life was. And he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Leah… I promise he’ll never get close to you again,” he whispered, caressing her hair. No matter what happened between them, and as long as she allowed him, he would be her fucking rock against all the storms.
With her face buried in his chest, she shook her head. “It’s not that.” Her voice came out raspy.
“Then why are you crying and wiping your nose on my shirt?” He tried to lighten the mood.
“Because of you.” She sniffed, pulling away with a glare.
“I’m sorry about the things I said… None of them are true, you know that.” His guts twisted, making him feel all sorts of regret and pain. “I could say it was the alcohol and feeling cornered, but that’d be a lie. I wasn’t in the right state of mind. I-I—” He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry.”
“You were an asshole, yeah, but it’s not that either.” Leah walked into the bathroom, sniffling, only to walk out again with a roll of toilet paper in hand.
“What is it then?” Chris asked as he plopped down on the bed, the entire world weighing on his shoulders.
“The last few days without you have been shit.” Leah sat beside him on the mattress. “You… and Marc.” The guitarist tensed as she went on. “I hate this whole situation.”
“It’s just…” He let out a hefty sigh. “It’s complicated.”To put it one way.
“Dude, you’re talking to me. What can be more complicated than thecircumstanceswith my boyfriend and my abusive ex?”
“When you put it that way, it sure sounds disturbing.” He scrunched his nose.
“It is what it is.” She waved a palm. “Also, don’t change the topic. What happened?” Her eyes pleaded.
Chris sighed as he gnawed the inside of his cheek, then let himself fall back on the bed. “I don’t know.” He did know. He had freaked out.
“Chris…” Leah lay down, too.
“What do you want me to tell you?” He sounded harsher than he intended, but couldn’t help it. Afraid of the emotions swirling in his chest, Chris didn’t even know how to put them into words.
“Do you like him?”
He almost snorted. They hadn’t talked about this, and he doubted Marc had told her much, either. Yet, somehow, she knew something had happened between them.
Trying to think of an answer, he blankly stared at the ceiling. He had asked himself that question a thousand times since that night. He’d been living in a loop of memories that included Marc for days, wrestling with the most ridiculous imposter syndrome for not feeling queer enough as he’d only acted on his attraction towards women until now, and the implicit bias that being bisexual was wrong.
This shit was scary. Having to face the world with a new him blooming inside while ignoring all the pervasive negative ideas branded by society was nerve-wracking. Even so, he had to admit; he did. He liked Marc. At least that was what he thought.
