We waved goodbye and then Bianca and I went back into the house.
“I’ve been thinking about something all day, but I didn’t know how to ask,” Bianca began, taking a seat on the far end of the couch. Her voice was normal, but she was looking everywhere but at me.
I noticed the shift in her body language and I knew whatever she was going to say was not going to be good. Clearing my throat, I sat down on the other side of the couch and turned on the T.V. before responding. “What’s up?”
“In the email, it said something about loneliness and pain,” she stated, looking at the television. “I know we don’t talk about stuff like that. But…” She turned her head to look over at me. “I’m here for you. You know that, right?” She pushed her naturally coiled hair behind her ear and waited.
My stomach knotted at the words as I stared into her brown eyes. I didn’t want to lie to her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth either. So I didn’t say anything at all. The silence stretched between us as the music from the T.V. blared.
“I’m fine, B.”
She sighed. “Come on, Ro. I know there’s something going on with you. I’ve known it since I was assigned to your class three years ago. I’ve seen the way you interact with people. I’ve seen the way you keep people at a distance. And then with everything that happened last night and then seeing that email pointing out your loneliness and your pain, it just reminded me…” She shook her head. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I snapped. I picked up the remote and changed the channel.
She didn’t say anything, but I could almost feel the anger radiating from her skin. She was pissed. I stole a glance at her and she was glaring at me as if she were waiting for the opportunity to pounce. Her face contorted in a way that was almost comical. Almost.
Oh shit, here we go, I thought, refraining from looking away.
“I thought we didn’t lie to each other,” Bianca said icily. Standing, she put her hands on her hips. “I don’t trust many people to keep it real with me, but I trust you. And I thought the friendship we built over the last year meant something. Whenever I’ve been upset, you’ve asked and I’ve told you what was going on. Do you think it was easy to admit things that have happened to me in the past? With relationships? Work? Opportunities? The only topic we stay away from is family, but if you were to ask me something, I would tell you because I trust you and I’d tell you anything you’d want to know. That’s how I thought this worked. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, Roman. Don’t tell me. But don’t lie to me and say you’re fine. That shit is not okay with me.”
She’s right, I thought as I watched her slip her shoes back on. In the last ten months, we’ve talked to each other about almost everything. She’s confided in me about her ex-boyfriends and her dreams and her failures. And I’ve confided in her about art and life, but nothing dark, nothing from my past. But do I have to? She’s not my girlfriend so I really don’t owe her an explanation about anything.
I could almost feel Easy’s words getting in my head.
I stood up. “I don’t…” My words trailed off as I looked down at her.
I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t have to tell you anything. I don’t have or want a girlfriend so stop trying to play the role. Stop with this shit. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t ever want to talk about it.
My thoughts faded away the moment I looked into her eyes. I couldn’t complete the sentence. She didn’t look pissed, she looked hurt. And the knowledge that I was hurting B caused a crushing ache to fill my chest and deflated me a bit.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” I put my hands on her shoulders.
She shook her head. “I’m worried about you. Do you understand that?”
Sighing in frustration, I ran my hand along my jawline before folding my arms across my chest. “Yes. I understand that and I appreciate that you care about me. I do. But there’s some stuff that I just don’t want to talk about. Just like your stuff. We don’t talk about your family. We talk about what you’re comfortable talking about and I respect that. We don’t talk about my family or my past. We talk about what I’m comfortable talking about and you respect that. That’s how this works. That’s how it’s been working. Why does anything have to change?”
“Because when you were drunk, you told me that you should’ve died.”
“What?” I asked, feeling as though I’d been punched in the gut. I took a step back, shaking my head profusely. “I wouldn’t have said some shit like that.”
Looking at me carefully, Bianca’s eyes let me know she wasn’t bullshitting me.
Bianca nodded. “You said it, Ro. You said it. I couldn’t understand everything you were saying, but you said something about the guilt being too much and someone shouldn’t have died. You said you should’ve died instead.”
I cleared my throat. “Did I say anything else? Any names or anything?”
Bianca nodded. “Yes, but first, tell me what that means Roman,” she whispered thickly. “I’m worried about you.”
I sat down on the couch and ran my hands over my face.
No wonder she’s so worried about me. I sound like I’m unstable, I thought, clenching my jaw.
“It’s not what you think,” I muttered, my head still in my hands.
I felt the couch dip where she sat down beside me. The heat from her body didn’t radiate anger anymore, but concern instead. Her hand rested on the back of my neck and massaged gently.
“Then what is it, Ro? Please tell me.”
“What else did I say?”
“I need you to tell me you’re not…suicidal.”
My head popped up. I grabbed her face between my hands and brought it close to mine. Our noses were almost touching and I could feel her breath on my lips. I needed her to see the seriousness in my eyes. “I’m not suicidal. I don’t want to die. I’m sorry you spent all day thinking that.”
We remained in that position for a few beats longer than necessary, before she pulled away from me and out of my hands. She took a trembling breath before she asked, “What happened?”
“What?” I could hear the confusion in my voice as my mind raced.
What the fuck did I say? I struggled to think back and figure out what else I could’ve possibly said.
“What happened to you?” Bianca repeated softly, her voice breaking. I met her eyes and saw the glassiness. “I’m so worried, Ro. What happened?”
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” I asked, pulling her into me. She curled into my side and rested her head on my shoulder.
“Because I was completely thrown off by your secret admirer and I started worrying about that. I felt like I spent my entire day wondering who she is and how she got upstairs without anyone noticing. And then when I started thinking about the words she used—lonely and pain being the key ones—I remembered what you said when you were drunk. And tonight, when you got that call, I remembered…”
I stroked her arm absentmindedly, silently willing her to continue without me having to ask.
“I remembered what you said. I remembered the names you said,” she continued.
“What did I say Bianca?”
“I told you. You said something about the guilt being too much. You said someone shouldn’t have died and it should’ve been you instead. You said you wouldn’t forgive him. And you kept saying that Elizabeth lied.”
I felt my breaths coming faster. “Don’t say anything to anyone about this. To anyone.”
“I won’t. God, Roman, give me a break. Who am I going to tell? I just need to know what’s going on with you. Who’s Elizabeth? And who died? And who won’t you forgive? And now with this creepy secret admirer shit, I need to know that you’re okay.”
My heart drummed in my chest as I listened to her. I tried to bottle my emotions up, but I felt them threatening to erupt. I needed to put some distance between myself and Bianca. I didn’t want her to see me upset.
<
br /> “I’m going for a run,” I muttered as I stood abruptly, making her body tip over into the cushion of the couch. Without looking back at her, I strode purposefully out of the room. “Lock up when you leave.”
“What the fuck, Roman? You’re just walking off? I’m talking to you! Roman!”
Putting on the hoodie that matched the sweatpants I was wearing, I barked, “I can’t deal with this right now, Bianca. Leave me alone.”
Running by me, Bianca slammed her body into the front door, preventing me from opening it. “Who is Elizabeth?”
I stared at her angrily. I was losing it and I felt everything I usually kept under wraps threatening to spill out of me.
“Move, Bianca.”
I could easily move her if I wanted to, I thought, looking down at her curvy figure. But I didn’t try to move her because I knew she would fight me.
“I’m not moving until you tell me, Roman! I don’t trust that you’re okay. You need to reassure me. You need to answer my question! You can’t run away!” She was shouting, practically in tears.
I put my hand on the handle behind her back. With me so close, she was trapped between my body and the door. My heart was pounded from anger and frustration and I could see the same emotions coming from her. My breaths were coming in rough gusts and it made the hair framing her face dance.
Lifting her chin, she didn’t back down. She scowled at me, narrowing her eyes and clenching her teeth. Bianca did her best to be intimidating, but her face was too soft. My eyes followed the perfectly arched eyebrows to the high cheekbones to the full lips. Her warm brown eyes were reduced to little slits because she was glaring at me so hard. But even in those little slits, I knew she was doing this because she cared. Running my free hand down my face, I felt my resolve wearing thin.
“If I answer your question, will you move and let me leave my own fucking house?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms and waited. To prompt me, she asked again, “Who is Elizabeth?”
“Elizabeth is my mother.”
_____
Chapter Seven
The sun was setting and the blue and purple hues that streaked the sky fed my desire to express myself in the only way I could, but I couldn’t paint because Bianca was at my house, in my space¸ asking about my past. Letting out a frustrated grunt, I started sprinting down the street.
As my feet beat against the paved path, my thoughts continued to be a twisted mess. Just like my life, I thought, increasing my speed.
The temperature had dropped to forty degrees as I circled around the bend to finish my run. With each step, my body expelled the anger and sadness out of me. Each time my arm pumped and my lungs wheezed, I felt the past getting pushed further and further away. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was dark by time I came to a stop at the beginning of the path. I was the only one left in the park and my gasping breaths seemed to be magnified in the solitude.
With my hands interlocked and resting on the top of my head, I let the sweat run down my face as I started the slow walk home. As my heart rate started returning to normal, my mind filled with everything I thought I could outrun.
Walking up to my house, I immediately noticed that Bianca’s car was gone. My heart ached as a feeling settled over me that was a mixture of relief and guilt, but mostly guilt.
This is why I need to keep my distance from Bianca, I grumbled, storming through the front door. Trying to get me to talk about my feelings? Really? What the hell is that? Easy and Malik would never do some shit like that. Things with her were much better when she was in Italy.
Going into the living room to turn the lights off, I noticed a notepad flipped open. In her perfect cursive handwriting, I saw my name scrawled across the top.
*****
Roman
I need to know that you’re okay.
I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’m not sorry I asked what was wrong.
There have been so many times since we’ve become friends that I’ve given you the courtesy of not prying, especially while I was in Italy. You’re a private person, and so am I, so it worked.
But that shit ends today.
Because when I look into your eyes, I see you. Something is eating at you and I can see it. At first, I let myself believe it was the pressure of the showcase, but what you said when you were drunk only confirmed what I knew in my gut to be true.
I don’t know what to do with all of the information overloading my brain right now about the one person I trusted the most.
I find out that you are not an orphan, your mom is actually alive. That’s a shocker to me since I remember the night you told me your mom was dead.
Then there’s some creeper lurking around you, writing on your mirrors and sending you creepy emails.
My point is, I know you have a lot going on in your life. But I’m here for you.
You’re my best friend and I need to know that you’re okay.
I know you can only handle one crisis at a time.
So figure out who is fucking stalking you so we can deal with the rest later.
B
*****
I turned to the next page and my eyes scanned the list of names that we’d come up with in the kitchen. Bianca had even written a little description of each of the women. I smiled.
I know she means well. I shouldn’t have yelled at her, I thought, closing the notebook. Taking it with me, I shut off the lights and made my way up the stairs. Each step I took filled me with guilt at the way I treated her. If I heard her say God knows what in a drunken rant, I’d probably react the same way.
I wrestled with how I’d handled things with Bianca for twenty minutes. All throughout my shower and as I pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt, I kept thinking about the parameters of our friendship.
We don’t lie to each other. That’s why I can be myself with her. That’s why she can be herself with me. That’s why I trust her judgment of my work. That’s why I let her in, I thought as I flipped my phone over in my hand. But as soon as I apologize, I know she’s going to want an explanation; since I don’t want to explain, how am I going to get out of this? I fucked up by letting her in.
I’d never let my emotions get the best of me like I had with Bianca. I’d hurt women before, always unintentionally, but the women I hurt were almost exclusively women who wanted more from me than I was willing to give to them. They were hurt as a result of trying to change me or my mind. The realization that I’d hurt the one woman who I actually trusted and one of the few people I actually considered a friend gutted me.
“Fuck!” I grumbled, throwing my phone hard against the pillows at the top of my bed.
I was man enough to know I needed to apologize to Bianca. I knew I needed to do it before the night was over, but there was one thing I needed to do first.
Grabbing the notebook from my dresser, I padded over to my studio/office. Sitting down in front of the computer, I logged into my email account, quickly locating the email from the mysterious woman. With my fingers hovering over the keyboard, I hit a few simple keys.
“You have my attention,” I whispered each word as I typed it.
Hovering over the send button, I contemplated writing more for a minute. Will this be enough to get her to respond?
Glancing over at the list Bianca had compiled, I shrugged and hit send anyway.
Logging out of my email, I reclined in my chair and looked at the half-painted canvas I’d started two months ago. The flat green color was so dark that it was almost black. It coated the canvas in distorted streaks. The piece was dark. Not as dark as the work I put together for my showcase, but it was dark like the repressed anger that I often held inside. For my showcase I let it out in vibrant bursts and created something beautiful.
And now I’m exposed and someone sees me for who I really am, I thought, running my hands down the side of my face. The uncomfortable feeling that started in the pit of my stomach wormed its way around giving me a ch
ill. I shook it off.
Grabbing the notebook, I walked back over to the bedroom. Reclining on the bed, I picked up my phone, nestled between the oversized pillows. As frustrated as I was when I threw it, I breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn’t broken. Turning the ringer off, I decided that my phone call could wait until I had a clear head. I wanted to apologize and I planned to apologize, but I wasn’t ready to explain. I needed time to come up with something.
Turning on the TV, I settled back against the pillows and flipped through the channels aimlessly before settling on a college basketball game. I wanted to zone out and clear my mind. The game was close enough to hold my attention, but not close enough to have me excited about the outcome. I was slowly drifting in and out of consciousness.
What was that?
The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I heard the click of the front door. Muting the television, I sat up and waited.
Silence.
Laying back against the pillows, I listened to the quietness of the house as my heart rate slowed back down to normal.
I must be hearing things. That or I’m letting B and her stalker talk get in my head, I concluded, shaking my head.
Unmuting the television, I watched the game intently, trying to force myself not to check my email to see if I’d gotten a response yet.
A solid thump against the wall caused me to mute the television again.
Now I know that wasn’t from the T.V.
Sitting up, I froze. The quiet room didn’t do anything to appease the uneasiness I felt. I listened attentively and I didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary.
I climbed off of the bed, careful not to make a noise. Moving as slowly as possible, I made my way to the door and listened.
A few seconds of silence and then I heard the thump again, followed by a beep. It was faint, but I knew I’d heard it.
My heart started pounding and the adrenaline pulsed through me. Just when I was deciding if I needed to go to my safe for my gun or under my bed for my bat, I heard a voice. It was faint, but I heard it.
Bianca? I wondered, tiptoeing down the stairs. She was the last one here and she locked up, it has to be her. She has the spare key. There’s no one else it could be.
Heartache Page 8
