by J. R. Rogue
I aimed a glare at him. “No shit. A text? Mature.”
“I’m sorry.” Once again with the sincere voice.
“For the shitty way you did it? For moving on so fast? It doesn’t matter.” I waived my hand in the air, dismissively. “I’m over it.” I turned around and reached for the lock. He closed his hand over mine. I pulled away as if I had been burned by him.
“Please, just talk to me.” He pulled my hand into his. “I flew all this way.”
I ripped it away once more. “Not my fault you’re an idiot. And there’s nothing to talk about. You live in a world where rumors and speculation are always there. You knew how the tabloids were. And you used them to end it. You couldn’t even do it yourself. A relationship without trust is nothing.”
My voice was getting steadily louder. “Not just in your world. In the real world. Don’t you know what people think of me now? A lot of them hate me. Or feel sorry for me. At least that’s how I felt when my Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram feeds were jammed with pissed off fans calling me every name in the book when you were the one who cheated! But just because you’re the biggest movie star in the world, they somehow made it out that I wasn’t ‘woman enough’ to keep you. Maybe I wasn’t. In your eyes.”
“Who cares what they think?” The gentleness in his eyes was sickening. He actually believed the shit coming out of his mouth.
“I did! They think I ran away heartbroken from you and pathetic. That I couldn’t stay in New York. Maybe it was true. But the world didn’t need to know.”
“Is that why you came back here?” He stepped towards me, I stepped back.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I tossed the words at him. “I came back here to write. That’s what I am: a writer. I want people to remember that. I’m not just the ex-girlfriend of that movie star.”
He stared down at his feet and clenched his fists. “You have no idea how much I regret what happened. How much I miss you.” His deep voice, even at a whisper, echoed across the small bathroom.
I lowered my voice a little. I had been yelling too much. “Yet, you waited months to come find me.”
At the softening of my voice, he looked up. “I had to find you first. I wanted to come to you. I didn’t just want to call.”
“But a text was suitable to end a year long relationship? The only one I have ever been in.” I sighed. “Are you done with filming?”
“Yes,” he replied.
I chuckled to myself. “Oh, okay. So, now that you’re done with your little fling you want to come back to me. Now that it is getting close to when we begin promoting the last film, you want to patch things up. Well I may not be an actress, but I can pretend to like you just fine for the cameras. We are done here.” I huffed.
I made my way around him, widely, and set my sights on the door again. Tristan reached for me. I backed up again, avoiding his touch.
“There’s someone else!” I blurted.
“What?” His tone deflated.
“I’ve met someone else.”
“Who?” His voice was loud again.
“It doesn’t matter. But you need to go.” I pointed to the door he was blocking.
“Who is he?”
“He isn’t anyone you know. Just let me out! Please.” I felt hysterical. I was in this drama again. I wanted out.
“Who is he?”
“He’s just some kid. Now get out of the way.” I waved wildly with my hands. I could feel my anxiety kicking up a notch with every word, every breath. I was trapped in a bathroom by a man. A man I didn’t want to touch me. If he kept me in here much longer, I was going to throw up on his expensive shoes. My skin itched and my eyes watered.
“Is it serious? I can’t leave if it’s serious. I won’t leave.” His voice was determined. I knew how Tristan was when he was determined. There was no stopping him. I had once admired it. Now I hated that trait.
“It isn’t serious. It’s just a fling. It doesn’t mean anything.” I was okay with lying to my ex. I didn’t owe him the truth. I didn’t owe him my heart. I just needed to be out of this situation as quickly as possible before I broke down.
“You’re just using him for a story right? Just like the ones before me. I know it was real with us because you didn’t write about us.” The pleading tone had returned.
“Who told you about that? Wait, my assistant right? Yes. I am writing again because of him. I am writing about him.”
“Can we talk when you come back to New York?”
“Yes, fine,” I groaned.
I didn’t intend to go back, but if that’s what he needed to hear to get out of my damn way then fine. Lying to him was of no consequence.
I was more than rattled when I finally made it home that evening. I stopped by Kat’s to fill her in. Twitter began to blow up. Someone at the library took a photo of Tristan and me walking into the bathroom. We were now a trending topic. I called my assistant and fired her.
I was ready for Chace to get home so I could talk to him about everything. I wondered if he had been informed. It was a small town. The world was my small town. I felt sick.
My anxiety was not unfounded. I had texted Chace after I left the library and still had no response. He always answered.
I polished off a bottle of wine before I got the nerve to text again. It was nine o’clock already and he had been off work for two hours.
Me: Where are you? I’m a little worried…
Chace: I’m staying with Andrew tonight.
Me: Oh. I wanted to tell you. Tristan flew here. He ambushed me at my book signing.
Chace: I heard.
Me: Oh. Are you mad at me?
Chace: No. But maybe we should cool this.
Me: Cool what?
Chace: Us. I don’t think it’s going to work.
Me: What? Why are you saying that?
Chace: It’s okay. I know it was nothing serious.
Me: Yes. It was. It is. It could be. Whats going on?
Chace: I know you told Tristan that. I know that’s how you feel about it. I just don’t want the games. I said that from the beginning. I’m going to stay here for a while. I don’t want it to be weird. Can you please feed Artax tonight?
Me: No, wait. Please just come here and I will explain. I just said that to get him out of here.
Chace: I’m sorry. I don’t feel like talking. Goodnight.
Me: No. please, let’s talk.
Chace: I can’t do this. You say you didn’t mean it, that’s fine. But with me, you mean what you say and you say what you mean. No drama. No mess. I don’t want this. Goodnight. I’m turning my phone off.
I screamed into the silence of the field in front of me. Artax, lying next to me on the deck, jumped. I wiped at my eyes and threw my wine glass into the yard.
There was only one person I felt could have told Chace about the bathroom. His ex. I needed to find her. I was too tipsy to drive, so I called Kat to take me to the bar. It was a small town, maybe I would get lucky and find her.
As soon as Kat parked, I flew out of my seat and into the bar. Everyone turned when I walked in. They turned any time the door opened. It was habit.
There she was, perched on a barstool laughing. She turned her face to the door as I stepped in, just like the rest of them. I pointed towards the restroom. She rolled her eyes and slid off the stool.
She rounded the corner, entering the single stall room, I followed. Once again, I was having a confrontation in a bathroom. Awesome.
“What did you do?” I slammed the door behind us. I had no doubt she had done something. It was in her eyes. A victory.
“I sent your little conversation to Chace.” She shrugged, turning to the mirror to check her lip gloss.
“Please tell me you’re lying.” It was worse than I thought.
“No. Now he knows he is just a fling and you’re using him to write. You can go home now. You’re not needed. Chace and I are getting dinner tomorrow.” Her reflection raised an eyebrow at me ov
er her bare shoulder.
“That’s a lie.” I remember his words about her. He wasn’t interested.
“No? Here. Look.” She turned and shoved the glowing screen in my face. I read the tiny blue bubbles.
“He wanted you to delete the audio. Did you?”
“Yes.” She pulled the phone away. Glaring.
“Simply because he asked.” I laughed, condescendingly.
“Yes. I love him.” I believed her. I did not need to question why. I almost felt sorry for her. He didn’t love her.
“You really messed up.” I shook my head.
“How’s that?” She turned her chin up.
“You could have sold that audio to the tabloids and made money. You could have blackmailed me into giving you money. But no, you used it to try to get back with a man that doesn’t even love you.” I hoped the words stung. I needed her to hurt.
“Well he’ll never love you now, either. So, I guess it was worth it.” Her words hurt more.
“Are you okay?” Kat asked when we finally made it back to the parking lot. I had rushed past her from the bathroom. She quickly followed. I could feel the tears beginning to form. I hated crying. I rarely let it happen. I wasn’t a pretty crier. But then, who was really? I willed them to go back into my body. They did not listen. Then they began to fall onto my shirt collar.
“No,” I choked.
“What happened?”
“It’s over.” I knew it. I knew it in my gut. He had heard my voice. My voice saying words I did not mean. But they sounded real. It was over. I felt numb. I felt sick. I braced myself on the side of the car. I felt Kat’s arm on my back. I turned into her embrace and let go.
I never cried when a relationship ended. They didn’t warrant my sadness. They barely counted as relationships. I never cried when Tristan and I split. Well, I teared up a few times when the tabloids ripped into me, out of frustration, but never over the end of our relationship. I was sad, yes, but never sad enough to cry.
I felt as if something inside of me was gone. A hole was there. A piece I never knew lived within me, had flown away. A romantic. The one that died in me as a child. I felt Kat pulling away from me. She held me at arm’s length and stared into my eyes. My face had to be a mess.
“I’ve never seen you like this. How serious was it between you two? Barely anything had happened right?”
She was right. We hadn’t even had sex. Back home in New York, I wouldn’t have counted this as anything, but here with him, it was different. I was myself with him. A self I didn’t know existed.
The poet. The woman who wrote for herself, without fear and without worry. I was better because of him. Now, he was leaving me because he thought I was still the user I once was. The evidence was damning. I could not argue with it.
I stared into the sky above. Into the same stars we had been under on the deck. They taunted me. Magic didn’t happen beneath them. My heart was breaking now under their gaze. The truth was a bitter pill to swallow.
“I love him,” I said, broken.
I met Kat’s eyes. She knew this sadness. I walked around her car to the passenger side. I got in and pulled my phone out. I loved him. So, I had to do the only right thing.
Me: I know your phone is off. I know you won’t get this until morning. I just want to say how sorry I am. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I break everything I touch. And you, you’re the only one I will mourn. I know you don’t believe me now. You don’t trust me now. And that is my fault alone. I will be gone in a few days. You shouldn’t have to leave your own home because of me. It is just as much yours as it ever was mine. I couldn’t stay if I wanted. You’re in every room. In every space. I will let you know when I am gone. Be happy. You gave me that gift. If only for a moment.
It seems I fell
in the spring.
That’s me,
always tossing rules over my
shoulder,
dancing with
a siren’s laugh in my throat,
warring with virginal ways
that do not do not do not suit
my inky flesh.
Summer is here & she
is lifting her skirt, begging
for a ride, playing
an unflinching game with
my grief-ridden eyes.
My haunting grounds cascade from
her whitewashed pockets
& she cackles with her sherbet lips.
Mulberry Project wine stained napkins
& promises to wipe
your phantom
amour away,
litter the hardwood.
Next to my resting place,
this bed you will never see.
My eyes narrow at
my white converse
by the door,
haphazard gravemarkers
smiling
at me.
Soles begging to
beat down to Albertine,
to become lost in words
that are strangers to you
& the way you
wounded me.
I’ve been here too long,
with shades drawn just as my eyes.
With the glow of a phone you never
send notes to, dimmed.
My knees keep my beating chest warm
& the mail is piled at the door.
I’m a runner.
It’s what I do. You knew that.
You knew me.
The stars were afire the night
you pressed your ear to my breast
on that four post bed.
You listened for the chorus,
& the cadence,
& the cry.
There’s a rhythm to goodbyes,
& I’m afraid you
were just waiting for one.
Soulmates aren’t supposed to wound this way.
That’s fairytale bullshit.
It’s Disney dreams,
& I had others.
Before you
& the beat,
& the breath,
& the beauty you pulled out.
Now I believe
& it’s not supposed to sound this way.
Like shattered glass & balloon drums.
I’m filled with a nameless taste,
some part of you
that won’t go away.
I’ve been here too long,
with your goodbye
clutched tightly in my palms
that I hope the others
never have to know.
I named you Ben today.
Last month you were Kyle.
The week before, Avery.
New names, every time.
I think I was writing about
you before we met.
I think I will write about
you long after
that lingering ache
from your lips
leaves me.
You fell for me before you touched my skin,
& I felt my essence in every note
you dropped onto the page.
I felt it in the songs you refused
to sing & the ones I caught
on that rainy balcony the
nights I held my breath &
inhaled the sound of your guitar.
I felt it in the way you lost
yourself in me, hidden
away on that mahogany bed
with the canopy & the rain.
I felt it when you
stopped taking my calls.
I felt it when I boarded my plane.
I felt it even when you
didn’t stop me from running away.
New York City is angry with me.
Her wails reverberate off the
volcano walls that
surround me.
We built a structure out of wickedness
& broken heels.
My sex, my sweat,
my sins were sweet.
She’s a fiend, wait
ing
for old habits to itch my skin.
She smirks & ticks off temptations
on her tramp fingers.
“Terminal 5 & the man with the black hat?”
Yes, that was nice.
“Pianos & the cherry smoke he kissed into you?”
I think I can taste it, be quiet.
“Warsaw & the blue guitar?”
Oh, he was a fine lover.
She’ll run out of digits,
listing nights I no longer
lean on.
Nights that fell
from my ribs
next to an Ozark tree line.
Where he grabbed my hand.
Where we raced the spring rain.
I dig his laughter from my
collarbone on days like this.
I place it on my tongue
& savor the taste
of lovers I ruin away.
I’m thinking about running again.
Maybe to Alexandria.
I’ll christen myself Kebechet,
I’ll embrace my nature.
I’ll tip toe down the
city sidewalks -
graceful.
I’ll balance my halo,
I’ll embrace my name.
I’ll pretend among the
commuters
& work day warriors.
I’ll forget I’m a vampire.
I’ll fail to recall the flask
tucked
neatly into my coat pocket.
Let me pretend.
I tire of
being the villain.
The drapes don’t move.
I’ve pulled them perfectly.
30 percent light let in.
I’m not drowning.
I’m not.
