“To be honest, I don’t know. It’s hard for me to let go of things because I still want to be enough for him.Wanted, I mean. Even after the affair, I wanted to be enough. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me that made him cheat. I doubted everything, replaying every single fight, all the nights he didn’t come home because he was ‘working’. But the more I replayed everything, the angrier I got. I guess you can say I’m weak.” My bottom lip begins to quiver. “I-I trusted him, and the one who called herself my close friend.” The familiar sting hits my eyes, but I ignore it. I won’t shed another tear over this. “Betrayal sucks,” I scoff before I release a hollow chuckle.
I pause, thinking of all of the amazing pieces I’ve created while sad or full of joy. Art is everything to me. “If I can’t draw, create, or dream… then I’m hollow. After everything that happened…” I pause, taking another swig to give me another coat of bravery to open up. “Art is the one consistent thing—it saves me. Without it, I’m alone, and it’s been a really long time since I’ve dreamed.”
His calloused palm rubs the top of my hand soothingly. I don’t flinch or cower away; I relish his touch. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me, but it feels so good to vent.
“You’re not alone, Coraline,” he says with the gentlest tone I’ve heard. I blink at him.
“Have you ever felt like that with something?” I ask, genuinely curious about what drives Gavin daily. What makeshim feel safe? What makes him excited to get out of bed every morning? Is it the horses?
“Like what?”
“A thing that brings you peace, joy, and infinite hope. Happiness?” I scoot closer to him on the floor until our knees touch.
He swallows before piercing me with a stone-cold gaze.
“Not necessarily.”
“Oh?” I breathe.
“Because it’s not a ‘something’ that makes me feel that way.”
His expression hardens. Taking the tequila bottle from my hand, he takes a swig, all the while locking eyes with me.
“Is it someone?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Did you have someone before? A wife or girlfriend?”
He changes the conversation’s direction by focusing on the fireplace.
“Coraline. Your ex sounds like a real moron.”
My shoulders rise and fall slowly.
“I guess. But I think I was the bigger moron for believing I was in love. For falling for his lies.”
“You’re not. You wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s not a bad thing.”
“It is, though,” I push back. “It makes me weak. It made me vulnerable—an easy prey for any ruthless, cold, and bitter predator to devour and leave nothing behind. Gavin, the betrayal stuck with me. The hurtful things they said, the broken trust, and my marriage falling apart. All of that…” I look Gavin in the eyes as the waves of his light-blue orbs crash into me like waves of safety. I don’t want to tell him I fell into a deep depression, but I think it is important to talk about it. “I wanted it to stop hurting. I didn’t want to live anymore after that.”
Another nod and the tear slips out. He gets in my face, his scent already peeling the shielded layer I hide behind down. With his fingers, he brushes the wetness away, and I hum softly.
“That’s why you stopped believing in yourself? Loving yourself?” he asks. His finger darts underneath my chin, lifting my face so I can face him.
“Listen to me, Coraline.” He grabs my face with both hands. “You are so fucking perfect because you’re you. He stole your spark because he doesn’t have one. He tried to steal the way you dream because he doesn’t own that power. You do. He wants you to be miserable because he is. Youthinkhe got to you, but guess what, sweetheart?” He places his hand on my chest. “Your heart is still beating.”
Another tear slips out.
Is he drunk? Or is this all coming from a place of honesty? Either way, I find myself drinking it all in.
“You’re alive. And if you feel like you don’t want to be, well,” he tucks a strand of my hair and places it behind my ear, “I can remind you that the fight is worth it. You are worth it.” His tone softens as he gets closer to me. His words hit me right in my wounded heart and into my gut. My neck tightens full of tension as I try to stop myself from getting overly emotional. “If you let me.”
I cast a grimace, shifting and flinching on the floor, stopping myself from crying. Is it the alcohol? Or is it Gavin’s sweet words that’s doing this to me right now? I feel drunk, but not because of the bottle in my hand. It’s because of the way he looks at me.
I want to let you, Gavin.
I can’t say it, though.
