By Sunday, all the good feelings I had about our costume shopping adventure had been flushed right down the toilet. I knew I probably wouldn’t hear from David much, if at all on Friday, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t at least text. None of my texts were answered.
I’d spent Saturday on the couch, sending him multiple texts. Still no answer. I sulked more and more with each passing hour. I usually ran when I got into one of those moods. The physical exertion helped calm me. But it rained all day, and I didn’t have a membership to any gym with an indoor track, so the couch and I became besties.
The problem with sitting around doing nothing was that it gives your mind a chance to wander. I kept rerunning the previous Thursday in my head, looking for clues for David’s abrupt cold shoulder. I thought we were on the same page. There had been a moment at the costume shop, when I looked into his eyes after the girl had taken the first picture, when I thought something had passed between us, like we both wanted the same thing out of this.
Maybe I was wrong.
I missed his shy sweetness. I missed how he smelled and tasted. I missed how he felt in my arms. I missed him. It had only been two days, but I already felt like I was missing a piece of myself that I didn’t even know I needed. He made me feel complete, whole.
So, there I was stretched out on my bed on Sunday morning, scrolling through my phone and sulking even more. I was fighting the urge to either go to his studio and lay into him for leaving me high and dry and ruining our non-planned weekend, or hit something. I couldn’t decide which.
Ryan popped his head in the door. “Got a minute?”
I looked around my room. “Do you see me doing anything else?” Yeah, I was a little irritable.
Ryan didn’t seem to notice. He stepped in and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. “You know I love you, right?”
“There has never been a conversation, in the history of man, that has started that way and ended well.”
He snorted. “You’re being a jackass.”
“Really? Hadn’t noticed. Leave me the fuck alone.” Okay, maybe more than a little irritable.
He ignored me, like he almost always did, and stepped into my room. The bed shifted as he sat. “I’ve never seen you like this, like you’ve lost your best friend. That tells me it can only be one thing.”
Not gonna lie, that was how it felt, like someone had walked out of my life and taken a piece of my soul with them. “And what can that be, Dr. Freud?”
He frowned, but continued to ignore my shitty attitude. “What did you do to David?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I said defensively. “Why is it something I did?”
But, truth be told, I had no idea if I had or not. David wasn’t talking to me.
“Because David is so passive, he wouldn’t do a thing to hurt anyone. He’d run out onto an expressway full of oncoming traffic to rescue a puppy.”
I blew out a heavy sigh. “I honestly don’t know. I thought we had a great time Thursday, but he’s not returning any of my texts.”
“Have you called him?”
“No.”
“Have you gone to see him?”
“No. But here’s the thing you have to know about him, and I’ll say it so you can understand.” I was clearly heading into “being a dick” territory, but I was incredibly annoyed. “Superman has that Fortress of Solitude thing, right, where he takes only the people he trusts. David’s studio is like that for him. He only lets people in he trusts.”
Ryan gave me a sly smile, like I had just given him ammunition. “And he’s let you in, right?”
It was a question with multiple meanings, but all of them pointed at the same answer, yes. My annoyance evaporated. He had let me in, into his home, his life, and, unless I was mistaken, his heart. But something had changed, and I couldn’t figure out what. I could read him like nobody’s business, and absolutely nothing had indicated that there was a problem between us.
“Adam, go to him. Talk to him. What have you got to lose?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know, Ryan. I just—”
“Go to him. Something’s off. David wouldn’t cut you out without good reason.”
The way he said it, the word “you,” like I was someone special in David’s life, hit me hard. I knew I was. He didn’t talk about family or friends, and barely ever talked about his coworkers. As far as I knew, he had no one else. No one but me. Ryan was right, if he was cutting me out, there had to be a good reason why.
I tossed my legs over the side of the bed and threw on my shoes, Ryan watching me the entire time. I brushed past him, heading to the door. “Go get your man,” he called out.
“Dick,” I shot back. But I threw him a grin, and he smiled back warmly. Brothers, gotta love ’em.
David would be in one of two places, so I stopped at the comic shop first. The moment I entered the store, Greg came flying up to me, anger radiating from him. The dude was huge. I mean, I’m a big guy, but he was the size of a mountain, and when a mountain comes at you, you get the fuck out of its way. So, I took a step back.
He looked around at the empty store, and poked a finger into my chest. “What the fuck did you do to David?”
Why the fuck does everyone keep asking me that?
I threw my arms into the air in the universal sign for “I surrender” and said, “Dude, first, stop poking. That shit hurts. Second, I didn’t do a damn thing. I haven’t talked to David since Thursday. We’d had a good day and when I left him upstairs, everything seemed fine.”
“Then what the fuck. He’s called off the last three days.”
Alarm bells sounded in my head. If there was one thing I knew about David, it was that he was dependable. Something must seriously be wrong for him to miss work. “I have no idea. That’s why I’m here. He’s not returning any of my texts, and I figured it’d be pointless to try calling him.”
“He’s not returning mine either.” Worry creased Greg’s brow, and I briefly wondered what his deal was. That question was pocketed for later research.
“Think he’s upstairs?”
“Probably. He doesn’t go anywhere else. And the bus stops running at six, so he couldn’t even if he wanted to.”
I headed toward the door. Greg grabbed my arm to stop me. I was about to deck him, but I saw something in his face that made me stop. Genuine concern. “Just…be careful with him, okay. Don’t go in all gang busters. Whatever’s going on…” He trailed off, not finishing the sentence.
I was touched by his concern. He was more worried than I originally gave him credit for. I squeezed his bicep, and said, “I’ll be careful,” and left.
I stood at the bottom of his stairs, just willing myself to stay calm. My nerves were shot. All I wanted was for David to tell me what was wrong. I was beginning to wonder if everyone else was right, that maybe I had done something to cause it, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it was.
I climbed his stairs slowly, feeling very much like a prisoner on death row being led to his execution. I wanted to throw up.
But more than anything, I wanted to hold him again, to feel his forehead pressed to my shoulder and kiss the side of his neck. I wanted to smell the soap on his skin, and taste his lips on mine. I wanted to tell him that I cared for him, that I lov—.
No.
I couldn’t do that. Not yet. He’d run, and I couldn’t risk it.
I knocked on his door and waited. Light from the peephole shifted, and I knew he was on the other side. I could feel him there. I heard the scrape of metal on metal and glanced at the doorknob, hoping he was opening the door.
He didn’t.
“David, it’s me.”
I waited.
Nothing.
I knew in that moment I was losing him.
No one could have ever told me what it felt like to have your heart ripped out and have me fully understand it until then. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything physical I had e
ver felt. I felt the hot pinpricks of tears in my eyes, and I tried to blink them away.
“Please let me in. Let me talk to you.”
I sounded needy, but I didn’t care. I was needy. I needed to make whatever I had done right again. I needed him.
“David, please talk to me. I don’t know what I did. Please tell me what I did.”
I knocked again, and pressed the palm of my hand against the door. I knew he was there, just on the other side. I could feel the connection between us, even through the door. Like a jolt of electricity, connecting David and me, running hot and powerful up my arm and into my heart. I would swear his hand was in the exact spot on the other side, but it would be impossible for me to know. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part. Maybe he wanted help with whatever the problem was, and I would gladly give it to him. Anything he wanted. Everything he wanted. But I had to know what it was that I was fighting first. Because I would fight for him, I would go to hell and back for him, but he had to let me in first. The tears came unrestrained. I was done fighting them.
I looked down at the ground, feeling complete defeat for the first time in my life. “I don’t understand,” I said, in almost a whisper.
I stood a moment longer, then slid my hand from the door, severing that connection. I turned to walk down the stairs and stopped, just on the off chance that he was on the other side and he could hear me. “I’m not giving up on you. On us.”
Then I made my way down his steps and into my truck. I didn’t remember the drive home. Honestly, I’m surprised I made it in one piece. I couldn’t see through my tears half the time. Once at the condo, I headed straight to my room, closed the door, kicked off my shoes and crawled straight into bed fully clothed. I didn’t care anymore.
About anything.
I SPENT THE WEEKEND SEQUESTERED in my studio, curled onto either the couch or bed. Every sound, real or imagined, made me jump. I found myself glancing at the door or out the window or testing the lock repeatedly. I was terrified to leave. If my father was the one that had left the note, then he knew where I lived. If he knew that, it wasn’t a stretch to wonder if he was watching my comings and goings. I had no idea how he had found me. Granted, I lived in the same general part of town that I had lived in as a child, but I had gone to great lengths to ensure I was as under the radar as possible. And yet, somehow, he had found me.
It had to be him. That was the only thing that made sense. I remember the call I had received from the corrections officials a few weeks previous. Then the mystery call at the shop and the lights on in my studio when I got home, knowing I had turned them off. Everything added up to added up, and I had never seen it. Why hadn’t I considered the possibility that he would come for me? Why hadn’t I prepared for this? Why had I allowed myself to get distracted by Adam? I knew better.
He had made his intentions perfectly clear in the note. It wasn’t just about doing bodily harm to me, but also to toy with me, to frighten me, and to make me realize he was still in control after all these years. He also wanted to prove the same point to me that he often made when I was younger; I was unworthy of being loved. And he’d accomplished that by including Adam in the threat. Anyone remotely connected to me could be a target, and because of my relationship to Adam, and, by extension, his family, they were all easy prey.
Lucas’s face swam through my mind repeatedly. The kid had already been through enough, and was well on his way to complete health. The last thing he needed was to be threatened by the likes of my father. He was too young and too innocent to have to deal with that.
And there was Adam himself.
Adam had been texting me since Thursday night, but every one of them went unanswered. Every time my phone chirped, I knew it was a message from him. He was the only one that ever called or texted. And every time I heard that chirp, a tiny piece of my heart broke off. I would never be able to explain it to him. Not without him looking at me with pity in his eyes. If I knew Adam the way I thought I knew him, he would look for a way to fix it. And it was unfixable. I had to protect him from this. He could never know about my father or what I was responsible for. And the only way I could do that was to cut off all communication with him.
I hated it. I hated every second I was in that studio that weekend. I wanted nothing more than to call Adam, have him wrap me in his arms and make the entire nightmare go away. I wished he could take me somewhere far away and never come back. Just me and him. He would protect me, and I so desperately wanted that. For the first time in my life, I truly felt that there was someone out there for me that would cherish and protect me. I felt safe when I was with him, like nothing could ever hurt me again. I knew he would never hurt me. I could feel it. And I would never hurt him either. Yet, that was exactly what I had to do, hurt him to protect him.
I couldn’t let my father anywhere near him or his family.
I would rather die first.
Adam came by the studio Sunday, I knew it was him even before I heard the knock on my door. I could tell it was him by the sound of his truck engine. It’s funny, really, how in tune you become to certain smells and sounds. I had learned to recognize the sounds of his engine. On reflex, I went to the door to open it. My hand was on the knob when the knock came, soft and gentle, like he knew that I was on the other side, scared.
Three gentle raps, followed by, “David, it’s me.”
I looked out the peephole, for no other reason than to look at him. To see the beauty that he had brought to my life for that brief period of time.
“Please let me in. Let me talk to you.” He looked so…broken, defeated. I had done that to him.
My heart was shattering, I could feel it, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had to follow through, I had to cut him out of my life, I had to protect him, and it was breaking me to do it. Tears streamed down, but I didn’t utter a sound. If he heard me, he would do everything in his power to get to me, and I couldn’t have that. He couldn’t be around me. I was toxic. And I couldn’t allow my poison to infect him. I cared for him too much to allow it to happen. He couldn’t be hurt because of me.
“David, please talk to me. I don’t know what I did. Please tell me what I did.”
He was begging. I was responsible for that too. He was the strongest, gentlest soul I knew, and I was forcing him to grovel. I kept telling myself, over and over, that it was for his own good. But regardless how often I repeated it in my head, I couldn’t convince myself.
He’d knocked one last time. I watched him do it, and I mentally screamed for him to continue, keep fighting, knock down my defenses, understand why I was doing that. Help me, please.
He didn’t take his hand off of the door. He simply stood there, hand pressed to metal as if he was willing it to open. I could see the tears on his cheeks. I pressed my hand to the door, and I swear I felt him, like something, some energy, was connecting us, binding us, through the metal of the door.
“I don’t understand.” He hung his head low as he spoke, defeat finally sinking in.
I heard his fingertips slide down the door, and I felt the loss of that connection. He turned to walk down the stairs.
“I’m not giving up on you. On us.”
I watched him descend to the parking lot, climb into his truck, and pull away.
I don’t know how long I stood at the door, staring out of the peephole. I prayed he would come back, that he meant what he said. I’m not giving up on you. On us. But I wasn’t giving him a choice. He would have to. It was for the best.
I told myself that over and over as I slid down the door and onto the floor. I repeated it to myself as I pulled my knees to my chest and sank my head down, and sobbed.
It was for the best.
I had to return to work on Monday. I had little choice. I literally couldn’t afford any more time off. I still had to support myself, regardless of personal drama.
I raced down the stairs from my studio and into the back door of the shop, all the while glancing from side to
side. I fully expected someone to be lying in wait for me, either my father or Adam.
It didn’t happen.
Mondays were slow, only requiring two people to work, and thankfully, Greg was there. I knew that there would be no risk of talking. Greg and I didn’t talk. We weren’t friends, we were coworkers. Business didn’t mix with pleasure where he was concerned, and at that point, I was perfectly fine with that. At least I was trying to convince myself of that.
I was still feeling raw from my “visit” from Adam and the decision I had made. I knew I was taking the coward’s way out by avoiding him, but I also knew that I would never be able to tell him face-to-face. I would crumble and tell him everything. Part of me believed he deserved to know the truth, and that same part knew once he heard the truth, he would leave anyway. The other part believed I was doing the right thing by keeping him in the dark. He would want to fix whatever was broken, which would be impossible. I had wrestled with the two notions all weekend.
Greg and I spent the day in virtual silence. The occasional customer would come in, and he took care of them all. I would catch him periodically looking in my direction as I worked, an odd expression that I had never seen before was on his face. But when I’d caught him, he would turn away. I thought it was a fluke the first time I saw it, but the more it happened, the more uncomfortable it made me.
Finally, the last customer left, and Greg followed him to the door to lock it. I made my way back to the office to clock out when he came in with that odd expression again and said, “We need to talk.”
My mind raced through the past eight hours, trying to find something that I had done wrong, and came up empty. He motioned for me to sit in the empty chair and he sat on the desk.
“Adam was here yesterday.”
The mention of Adam’s name drove a dagger through my soul. He had probably gone to the store first looking for me, and when he found out I wasn’t there, the next logical place to look was my studio. Memories from the day before flooded my brain, and I felt myself sinking further into the chair. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Adam.
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