“From what?!” I scream. “What the fuck do you think you’re protecting me from? From being touched? From being happy? From having any kind of validation that isn’t filtered through you?”
His head snaps up like he’s shocked by my words. Like he’d never.
But he did.
“Why?” I press, stepping closer now, the words pouring out faster than I can stop them. “Why do you do this to me? You won’t let me be with anyone else, but it’s not like you want me. Right? You hover. You interfere. You decide who gets near me and who doesn’t. And then you…you let me humiliate myself even further by giving me just enough to make me think you care. Like it’s a price you pay for something I need.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then tell me what is,” I say quietly. “Because something is making you act this way. And do not tell me you’re protecting me, because I swear if you say that again I will burn this house down with both of us in it. If you don’t want me to believe that it’s something wrong with me, you have to tell me what it is.”
I swallow, and Will averts his eyes, like the truth might spill out if he meets my gaze.
“What do you want from me, Will!?” I scream, the last of whatever grip on my emotions I had giving way to pure heartache.
The pit in my stomach grows wider and wider while I wait for him to say anything. The longer he stands there without saying a word, the more of what little hope I have gets sucked into the void. I won’t tell him that sometimes I delude myself into thinking he feels things for me, too. That he might want me the way I want him, and that’s why he won’t let anyone touch me. But then he turns around and does something ridiculous or callous like this and all I can see is blind, possessive cruelty.
Is he confused about his feelings, or is he a narcissist? Maybe it’s both. Or maybe I’m so hopelessly in love with him that I’d take anything he gave me if he’d just admit there’s something there.
“You don’t want me, but you want to own me? Is that it?” I ask, my voice breaking. “What. Do. You.Want,Will? Or is making sure I’ll be alone and miserable my whole life the point?”
Will rears back like I’ve hit him. He looks like I took a baseball bat to his chest and knocked the air out of him completely.
Well now he knows how I felt this morning when I overheard him tell Blake he’d threatened Julien and left me in a vulnerable position to be humiliated.
I don’t get any joy out of seeing him hurt, but once again I’m taking the wrong kind of comfort from him. Because at this moment, I’m thankful not to be alone for even just a short while.
Will doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t answer any of what I asked of him, he doesn’t deflect or make any more excuses, and he doesn’t try to stop me.
And that’s really the answer, isn’t it?
I swallow what remains of my dignity and zip the suitcase closed.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper.
Airports are significantly less fun than chartered private jets. Which I totally could have taken, but I’m avoiding Blake and his determination to assign a babysitter for my alone time.
I’m tucked into a hard plastic chair near my gate, knees pulled up, phone balanced loosely in my hand. I walked in, handed the attendant my credit card, and booked the first flight to New York. I don’t even care if my luggage arrives at the same time, I just needed a departure time that didn’t give me time to think too much.
Today has felt several days long, but it’s somehow not even noon. The rideshare driver who picked me up was the same guy who drove me to the club last night. It felt a little like beingkicked while I was down to smile and nod when he asked if I had a good time last night.
I avoided conversation with the driver by making some calls. I called the building manager for our condo to let them know I’d be coming last minute and to expect some deliveries. Then I ordered groceries and a few other essentials.
I texted Blake instead of calling him. I’m still not sure how involved he wants to be in our personal shit. He’s only been with us a few months, and while he’s nothing like Francis, I don’t exactly get the warm fuzzies from him.
Me: I’m taking some time. Will be in NY. Keep me updated. I’ll fly back for studio time if needed.
He called almost immediately, but I didn’t answer. I don’t know what to say.
A call with Jesse can’t be avoided though. I’d wanted to see him in person before I left, and almost convinced myself I could keep it together, that I could put on the right version of myself to make him believe there’s nothing to worry about.
But Jesse knows me better than that.
Who am I kidding? Everyone knows I’m a codependent puppy with separation anxiety. They have to know just how badly I’m hurting to take this step. But that doesn’t mean I want them to see me like this.
“Hey Ari,” he answers, cheerful but cautious, like he already knows something’s wrong.
“Hey,” I say, and immediately regret not waiting because my throat tightens. “I, uh… I wanted to tell you I’m heading out for a bit.”
