Crossing the Line

by Annabelle Eaton

  I walk home from work because with the heavy Friday evening New York traffic it’s quicker than a taxi. Plus I don’t believe in gyms, so walking makes me feel a little better. Couples are everywhere. Before Aden, I never noticed how many people are holding hands and stealing kisses in the street. And before Aden I never wanted to punch them all.

  I keep my head down and walk faster, weaving through the crowd as I finally approach my building – well Christie’s building. Tonight I’m going to be alone, and I’m not looking forward to it. Usually Christie and I would do something every night, dinner and wine, bars at the weekends, but she’s on a date with a guy that she’s had her eye on for a while. As much as I want to warn her not to start anything in case it ends and she gets her heart ripped out, I won’t. Not every relationship is going to be difficult; I just wish that were the case for me and Aden.

  No, I am not thinking about him. I am fine. I wish I knew how many times I have to tell myself I’m fine before I’ll start believing it. I shove the key in the lock and open the door. Christie has already left; she said she might be gone before I got home, and she is. The apartment is too quiet.

  Three and a half weeks ago I would have travelled home from work with Aden and we would spend the night at his. Tears well in my eyes and I look up to stop them from spilling over. It’s supposed to be getting better by now, surely? If anything I miss him more. I love him more, and all I want is to collapse in his arms and never let go. I’m an idiot. A stupid, afraid idiot. I should have been stronger.

  Christie is right; instead of worry about being nothing while I wait for Aden to get home I should have been out there being someone until we both got home.

  I feel lightheaded. I’ve messed everything up because I pushed him away rather than taking a step back and thinking logically about what was going on. We could have sorted it out. We both gave up too soon.

  I pull my mobile out of my pocket, and speed dial his number. My heart races as I hear it connect to England and then it rings. Please pick up. Please forgive me.

  “Amelie,” he breathes down the phone, and I can picture his eyes closed, smiling faintly.

  “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” He says nothing and I start to cry. “Aden, I’m so sorry. I’ve fucked everything up, and I love you so much.”

  “You fucked up when you left, but I fucked up when I let you.” Down the phone I hear someone speaking over a tannoy, making it harder to hear him. “I spoke to Christie.”

  He did what? I wipe my tears and let myself fall to the sofa, pinning the phone to my ear because it’s all I can do to be closer to him. “What?”

  “She called me and told me everything, and she called me a few things too.” My eyes widen. That meddling cow! “I’m in New York, Amelie.” I breathe in deeply, finally getting the breath I’ve so desperately needed in three weeks. “She said you were days from coming home, so I thought I’d beat you to it.”

  I’m frozen, trying to work out if he said that of if I imagined it. I’ve dreamt about it so many times. “Where are you in New York?” I whisper.

  “Airport, just approaching the exit and then I’ll be right there.”

  I burst into tears again, clutch the phone harder and smile, all at the same time. He’s here. I can’t believe it. My heart rate spikes and for the first time it feels whole again. “You do know that in situations like this, you should already be at my door when I call, right?”

  “Damn it,” he says.

  “You’re not following the chick flick rules very well.”

  “You want to call me back and say all that in half an hour? We can pretend this conversations hasn’t happened yet.”

  I laugh, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. Good luck getting here in half an hour with all that traffic. Actually it’s probably best he’s not here yet, I need a minute to let everything sink in.

  “No, just hurry up, please,” I whisper.

  “Believe me, baby, I am.” He ends the call, and I sob again, this time with happiness.

  He’ll be an hour I think, forty-five minutes if the traffic clears a little. I open the door and pace the apartment, doing a circuit of walking around the sofa, into the kitchen and back again. He’s coming. I want to jump and dance, but until he’s here I can’t believe completely it.

  All I’ve wanted over the last three weeks is Aden, and he’s almost here. I’m giddy with excitement and nerves. I feel like I’m getting a part of me back. I can’t believe he’s not angry with me – I am. I’ve been so stupid and so caught up with one thing that I’ve missed the big picture. In all fairness, though, I’ve been taught my whole life to lock things up and keep the stiff upper lip. I’ve never dealt with things well because, honestly, I don’t really know how to – not in a healthy way.

  I want that to change because we have to work this time. I want us to be more open and talk about everything. I’ll never pull a Mum and Dad and not believe in myself – and me and Aden as a couple – ever again.

  I look at the clock, and it’s been fifty-three minutes since his call. My heart races and I shake my hands. Come on, Aden. I hear footsteps getting louder as whoever is out there gets closer. My racing heart leaps right up into my throat and I stop breathing.

  Aden steps into the doorway and the air I was holding in leaves my lungs in a rush. He looks tired but so beautiful I feel my heart constrict. Tears well in my eyes and it hits me just how much I’ve missed him and how impossibly in love with him I am.

  He walks in, dropping his holdall bag on the floor and closing the door without taking his eyes off me. “Hi,” he says, stopping in front of me.

  I look up through damp eyelashes. “Aden,” I whisper and reach out, touching my hand to his cheek. Oh God he’s really here. No longer able to hold it in, I burst into tears and collapse against his chest. I wanted this reunion to be romantic, not me soaking his shirt and sniffing, but I can’t help it.

  His arms are around me in an instant, and he buries his head in the crook of my neck. I’m tucked away under him, clinging on for dear life. He holds me closer. “Shh, it’s okay now.”

  As pathetic as it is, I need him. There, I’ve admitted it. I, Amelie Cohen, who can do everything all by herself needs someone. I don’t even care anymore because unless he cheats, turns abusive or tries to control me I want us to last. “I missed you so much I could barely breathe,” I say when I’ve composed myself a little.

  I sound desperate, and you know what, I am. And that’s okay because I love him and what happened between us is fixable. We need to find a way of being together that works for us both, but we can fix this.

  “I think I love you too much, Aden. We’ll go wherever you want, back to London is fine with me. God Narnia is fine with me.” He lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist, pressing myself to him closer.

  “Narnia,” he says and laughs. “We’ll figure it all out later. Right now I need to take you to bed and make up for the shittest three weeks I’ve ever experienced. It’s been hell, baby.” His lips capture mine in the softest but most passionate kiss we’ve shared and my heart soars. “Where’s your room?” he murmurs against my lips.

  I know he’s said something, but it doesn’t register what. He’s here, in New York, with me. We’re together again. “I don’t care. Narnia,” I reply and he pulls back, laughing.

  “You’re distracted.” No shit. “Bedroom. Where is it?”

  “Door on the left, I couldn’t care less about a bed. I’d have sex with you on a hoover right now.”

  He laughs and murmurs against my lips, “I love you so much, you fucking weirdo.”

  More books by Annabelle Eaton

  Masquerade – A short story FREE to download

  www.annabelleeaton.webs.com

 

 

 
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