She hesitates, her hands fidgeting together in front of her. Mine itch to come together as well, to crack a few knuckles, but I hold back. “I, uh, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
It’s so far from what I expected that my eyebrows come together with surprise. “A favor?”
“Yes, I—I was wondering if you could be the one who makes sure we don’t… get too close again.” Her request breaks my heart in a way that feels like we should both have heard it. “I’d do it myself, but clearly, I don’t know how to stay away from you. God knows I’m trying, but after what happened on Friday, it’s clear I’m not good at it.”
I process her words, doing my best not to show just how much pain they unleash in me. When I decided to let her go, I was convinced she would move on fast. This thing between us was so quick and flammable, like a flash fire, that I told myself there wouldn’t be much of an aftermath. Not for her, at least. She despised me once, so I thought she’d learn to do it again in no time.
But it’s been almost a month now, and here she is, begging me to give her the space she needs to heal.
Because I’m silent for too long, she averts her eyes, her hands still twisting with discomfort. “It should be easy for you since you’re the one who…”
Her words die off, but their intent lingers in the air. She’s right, it should be easier for me, shouldn’t it? But breaking up with her was thehardest thing I’ve ever done, and staying away from her… Well, I’m no better at it than she is with me.
“You’re the one who offered me a ride, Andrea. I tried to refuse. Several times,” I remind her.
“Yes, I know. But you’re the one who did the rest.”
“Don’t I get a free pass for a drunken car incident, too?” I ask, reminding her of our first kiss.
She squints her eyes at me, displeased by my answer. The strategy slowly building in my mind doesn’t sound good, but I can’t think of anything else. If she can’t stay away from me, and I can’t stay away from her… then maybe the best thing to do is to make her hate me again.
“If I remember correctly, it wasn’t a free pass because you made it a whole thing. And we also both know it was more than the alcohol. Back then,andon Friday.”
I do my best to keep my face neutral, worried she might see just how much I hate having to do this to her. “I was drunk, tired, and I wanted to fuck, Andrea. Nothing more. You were there, willing and easy, and I—”
“Fuck you!” she stops me with pure outrage. There. This is easier than her pleading looks. “I don’t know what’s your fucking problem, Alexander, but I don’t deserve this. You don’t have to be cruel.”
Already, I want to take it all back, to kneel at her feet and beg her to forgive me for what I implied, for breaking her heart, for ruining what we had… But I’ve been enduring it all for weeks, and deep down, Iknowit’s better this way. So I stand there and watch as anger and sadness make it hard for her to find her words.
“I’m tryingsohard to get over you,” she continues, her voice slightly uneven. “I’ve never had to do this before, so I don’t know how to, but Iwillget over you, Alexander.”
I can’t tell if she means it as a promise or a threat, but it feels like the latter to me. It’s all I want for her, but the idea of her moving and meeting someone else, someone more deserving, breaks the last piece of my heart that hadn’t shattered yet.
“Maybe I got carried away, and maybe I imagined things that weren’t there, but some of it was real, no matter what you say,” she insists with a dark glare. “We were so happy together, and now…”
My throat is so tight that even if I wanted to say something, I couldn’t. It gets even worse when I notice the shift in her expression. Overwhelming sadness replaces her anger, and her doe eyes fill up with tears.
“I’m trying,” she repeats, her voice cracking. “I’m trying, but I’m not strong enough. It hurts all the time. And I’m confused, and sad, and angry, and I don’t know what to think or what to do… And then, when I’m finally doing better, you roll in, tell me I’m so ‘fucking beautiful,’ and make me think you still want me. Only to break my heart all over again.”
I can’t do this. I can’t stand there and let her be in pain when all I want to do is wrap her in my embrace and call her a fool for believing that I don’t want her anymore. My hands crave to touch her, to graze the freckled apple of her cheek, to tug her against me, to hold her and tell her everything will be alright…
I told myself she was better off without me, but seeing her now, I’m not sure it’s true anymore. What if she genuinely and utterly loves me in the same way I love her? What if this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, where no one else will ever compare for both of us?
My mind is still wracked by conflicting thoughts and questions when she begs, “Please, say you’ll stay away, Lex. Promise you will. I can’t keep doing this otherwise.”
My mouth opens, but the many things I want to say at the same time are all jammed in my throat. Yes, I’ll stay away from her because I hate seeing her like this. No, I can’t stay away because there’s no future for me if she’s not in it. Yes, I’ll give her the space she needs to heal from what I did to us. No, I won’t give her an inch because being around her is the only way I feel like I can breathe again.
When several seconds have passed without my answer, something seems to snap within her—like an epiphany, the solution she’s been so desperate to find for weeks.
“Then I quit,” she asserts.
“What?”
“I’m done. I’m moving to California to get a new job.”
“You can’t quit,” I refuse.
“Why? Because I’m a ‘valuable asset?’”
