“Don’t be like that. I just want you to listen. Can you do that for me?” I plead.
But she doesn’t speak. She just stares at me with cold eyes. Her lips still covered by the tape.
I reach for her and she flinches away.
“It’s okay,” I say, “I’m going to take off the tape. Just, don’t scream, okay?”
She nods and I stroke her cheek.
“Good girl.”
I pull the tape slowly. I don’t want to hurt her and I can tell it is. Tears spring to her eyes, and the tape comes off, blood from her cut lip is attached to it. She’s breathing hard, her chest moving up and down as she pants. I can still see her nipples and I wish she would have worn a bra.
“Are you okay? Do you want some water?” I ask, and she nods.
So I pick up the drink, because I thought ahead and brought it hours ago (well done, Ethan), and I raise it to her lips. I put my hand behind her head and support it as she takes small sips of the water. When she’s done she runs her tongue along her bottom lip, feeling the small cut.
“It’s okay, it’s only small,” I say. “Do you want a cushion behind your head? I can do that.”
She nods but still doesn’t say anything, and I really want to hear her voice now, but I don’t want to push her or rush her into anything, so I don’t say that. Instead I grab a cushion and I help lift her head so I can put the cushion behind her head. She looks much more comfortable now. And this is all going much better. (Well done, Ethan.)
“What do you want with me, Ethan?” she finally says. And her voice sounds hoarse from the screaming she did earlier and I feel bad. But I know one day we’ll look back on this and laugh about it.
Hey, remember that time you screamed so loud and your voice made you sound like you were a sixty-a-day chain-smoker? Wasn’t that hilarious?
We’re not there yet. But we will be.
“I found you,” I say proudly. “I told you I would always be with you, and here I am.” I want to stroke her hair, but I don’t. I want to brush it too, because it looks like it’s getting knotty.
“I haven’t seen you in—”
“Twenty years, three months, and seventeen days,” I say.
“Jesus,” she says back.
“I’ve missed you.”
“How did you find me?”
I laugh lightly. “You’re not going to believe this, but it was by total accident. I saw Mr. Fancy Asshole and you the other night. You were getting in a cab together. I was across the road, in the rain. It was dark. You didn’t see me.”
I’m invisible.
I’m a ghost.
I’m the shadow of the man I could have been.
“Mr. Fancy Asshole?” She frowns. “You mean Adam?”
I grit my teeth, my smile faltering. I hate his name. I hate everything about him.
“He’s married, you know,” I say.
She frowns harder. The frown is ugly on her. “I know.”
“And he has kids,” I say, hoping she’ll be shocked by that. Hoping that she’ll prove me wrong because I’m beginning to think she’s as much of an asshole as he is.
She clears her expression of everything and looks at me blankly. “I know.”
