You don’t have to feel this way,my mind tells me. I scoff. Openly. Out loud. As if there’s someone else in the room that I’m having a conversation with becauseno.
“I can’t tell them. If I tell them, imagine how they’re going to feel.”
I don’t need to imagineit. Not when the effect of his betrayal has been alive in me for months now. I’m feeling it so they don’t have to.
I pull out of my child’s pose position, careful not to look at myself in the mirror, and lay on my back. The white ceiling becomes a canvas for my thoughts as I stare and think, think, think.
You can stop at any time, I tell my brain.
Yoga is supposed to help, or at least get me out of this funk, but seeing as that’s not the case, what’s better than just lying in my sorrows?
Time passes without alarm, and it’s Sunday, so it’s not like I have anywhere to be. I let go, and eventually, my thoughts quiet down. Rather than being all I hear, they’re just a murmur in the background underneath the yoga music that softly plays from my phone. The gentle melody is what my mind moves to. So much so that I don’t hear the door open. The only reason I know someone is with me is because a shadow falls over my face and a familiar voice washes over me.
“You’re breathing, so I know you’re alive.”
If I weren’t feeling so off, I’d open my eyes and take in Colson’s brilliant blue stare and alluring face, but suddenly, I’m mad at him.
Days passed, and he never came to see me, and because I didn’t want to cross any boundaries, I didn’t ride the elevator to his apartment and seek him out. If he wanted me to know what was going on, he would’ve come to me. It’s what I’ve been telling myself since I last saw him. That he doesn’t owe me anyexplanations. If I railed his ass over it, we wouldn’t be us. We wouldn’t have this safety net that cloaks us from the outside world.
My mood is off though, so despite taking that into consideration, I’m still annoyed. I know where it’s coming from but I don’t like taking things out on people.
Not normally. So, I keep my eyes shut and hope he gets the hint and leaves when I don’t answer.
He doesn’t.
His shadow shifts, but there’s never a soft click of a door that follows.
I should warn him off, shouldn’t I? Tell him I’m not having a good day, that my mind isn’t in the mood for basically anything.
He lets out a loud breath. I keep my eyes shut because I’m dead set on not having to deal with the world right now.
“Violet, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
For never showing up when you said you would?
I value the friendship we’ve grown to have but, in all reality, who am I to expect a damn thing out of him? Expectations are what flush relationships down the toilet.
Something lands on my bare foot—I always take my shoes and socks off during my yoga sessions since it helps me get into my poses easier and feels more natural, but there’s warmth there now. The pressing of fingertips. The weight of his large, grasping hand.
He squeezes, and all I can think about is how he’s touching my bare foot.
It doesn’t creep me out in the same way it would another person. Most likely because no matter what’s going on in Colson’s life, he calms me. His hand on my foot is more intimate than what happened at Lucy’s. An apology for not coming to find me sooner.
“I wanted to see you before today, but I had stuff going on.”
“I’m sure you did, Colson.”
“Violet.”
Violet, Violet, Violet.
Colson, Colson, Colson.
“It’s fine,” I tell him point blank.
“It doesn’t sound like it. You’re upset.”
