by Shae Scott
Tears were streaming down my face now. I couldn’t figure out how he was staying so calm. His voice even, his eyes free of any of the turmoil that was seizing my heart.
“I just wanted to give you space to sort through it. I wanted us to get back to where we were. I just wanted us to be honest with each other. I don’t want to walk on eggshells with you,” I said. I was pretty sure I wasn’t making any sense.
“Here we are. Being honest. No more eggshells.”
“I don’t know what you are telling me,” I said carefully.
“Be honest, Quinn. Do you love me?” he asked. I couldn’t catch the sob that fell from my lips, I felt so tortured. I’d been ready to push, but instead it was him, he was the one ready to shove me off the cliff. Only he wasn’t coming with me this time.
When I didn’t answer he asked again, “Do you?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “And how does it feel that I haven’t said it back?” he asked. I cried harder, because it was him asking this question that had me feeling the knife landing in my heart. He leaned into me, his face close to mine, his voice low and finally breaking with some of the emotion he’d refused to show, “Because I don’t know how to say it back. And I don’t know that I’ll ever know how to say it back. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to give it back the way you give it. You want to know why I have been the way I’ve been since you said those words? There it is. You don’t see your face. You don’t see the hope in your eyes. You don’t know what it’s like to see that I’ve let you down over and over again. You think I’m not trying to fix it? You think it’s wrong that I want to lose myself in you physically? You don’t know that is the one place I know I can find myself again. I can’t promise you anything, Quinn. I can’t even promise you that I can find my way back. I don’t know that we can be fixed. It’s a real possibility that I am a dead end.”
He sat back in his seat and stared straight ahead. My heart breaks into a thousand pieces at the words he’s just confessed. The truth so raw, yet wrapped in so much anger and frustration that even with the honesty I’d been needing I know that we are still so far apart. I know that he is right. We may never make it back.
He put the car in gear and started driving back towards the hotel. I kept my head down as we made our way back upstairs, not wanting anyone to see my tear-stained face. We walked into the room silently. There was so much there, hanging between us. His words were on a constant replay in my head. I couldn’t land on one thing long enough to make sense of it at all.
He doesn’t say anything as he moves to his desk. Apparently he has said all he intends to say for the moment which is fine. I needed a minute or two to process everything. I go into the bathroom to wash my face, to find the space I need away from him. I shut the door and take a few minutes to just take a deep breath.
I wondered if he’d just been this honest with me weeks ago if we would be at this point now. If he’d talked to me then, if I’d encouraged it instead of letting him work through it alone, would we have been able to settle it before it turned into this?
I stared at myself in the mirror, my eyes were puffy and red and the truth was, I didn’t recognize myself anymore either. This was the kind of drama and angst I’d reserved for fiction. It was too harsh for real life.
I walked out and saw him instantly, staring out the window, watching the rain fall. He looked so handsome, so strong. It made my heart twist, fighting to maintain a steady rhythm. I wasn’t sure what to do. Usually, I would go to him, wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his back. But I stopped myself. Instead I took a seat at the small table near the kitchenette. It was only then that I noticed the small bouquet of daisies. My throat tightened and it was suddenly very hard to swallow. These simple flowers, bright and cheerful seemed to mock me now. I heard Keaton saying how he’d chosen them because they last so much longer than a week. I felt the tears fill my eyes again as I realized that maybe we should have stuck to tulips after all.
I’ve always believed that people come into your life for a reason. Each person, no matter how long they stay, teaches you something. I had been certain that Keaton was my lesson in being brave, my lesson in adventure and taking chances. At first I thought it was about me learning to jump first and ask questions later. Lately, I’d thought that maybe it was me who was supposed to remind him of these very same things.
Now, I was starting to wonder if his real lesson was teaching me how to let go. Maybe you can’t expect things to last forever. You have to let them run their course and then be brave enough to step away when they’ve given you everything they can.
Just the thought had me wanting to crumble to the floor. I watched him as he moved from the window and to the desk that held his laptop and a bunch of folders and papers. He glanced over at me, but didn’t say anything. We were back to silence. Back to the wall. It felt higher and stronger than it ever had.
Maybe he had been right. Maybe I’d been looking for something he couldn’t give me. Maybe I’d take us both down waiting for something that would never come. He had finally been honest with me. Now I had to be honest with myself.
"I can't do this anymore," I said softly. The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them. Maybe it was some sort of survival instinct, where the body just takes over to get you out of something that is going to end you. Because right now, it felt like I was precariously balanced on the edge of something I was unequipped to navigate. My heart burned. It sped up. It felt sluggish as it tried to remember how to beat.
This is what broken felt like, the sharp splintering, the ache that settled into every nerve, the ragged inhale of each breath as I tried in vain to find calm. It was crippling.
"Do what, Quinn?" he asked, the annoyance in his tone becoming too familiar. His tone left me cold and instantly lonely. His eyes found mine, locking in with a cold stare. I tried to return it, cold was better than hurt. But I couldn't manage it. This kind of warfare was too much for me.
"What's with the sad puppy dog eyes? What did I do now?" he asked. I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself so that my voice wouldn't shake.
"I don't understand you," I managed.
He rolled his eyes and turned away from me. And that was it. That was the moment I gave up. He was right. We couldn’t fix it. I may never understand completely the things that had turned this man from the warm amazing man I'd fallen in love with to this hard, jaded angry man who no longer had any patience for me. I would have done anything for him. I had gone all in. That was my mistake.
I watched as he moved stuff around on his desk, looking busy and not bothering to respond to me at all. His back was to me, the lines of his hard muscles tense. I could see from here that his breathing was unsteady. Was he angry? I envied him if he was. Anger was full of passion. I didn't even have the ability to be angry right now. I was too devastated. All I felt was loss.
I didn't want to cry in front of him. Not again. He wouldn't care about my tears. Not this man. Not this version. I longed to have him turn around and see the eyes I knew so well, the ones that had protected me.
But he didn't turn around. He didn't say anything. He ignored me. Like I was nothing. And it broke me.
I stood from my seat and I willed my feet to move. The air in the room was so thin that I could only manage shallow breaths.
I needed to leave. I didn't feel like I had control of my body at this point, but it was as if it knew to take over. My jacket was on the chair, where I'd left it earlier. After he'd swung me around and kissed me like we were in some movie. It felt that way now. Like make believe. Like fiction.
I gave him one last look, trying to decide if I wanted to see his face one more time. It was probably best if I didn't. As it was, that cold stare would be the only thing I remembered. I moved towards the door, each step seemed to take a lifetime. My limbs were so heavy; it was like walking through quicksand. One more step. One more step. I coached myself
As I hit the doorway his voice
pulled me to stop. "Where are you going?" It was rough, deep and full of emotion. I didn't want to turn to see which one. At this point it didn't really matter. My teeth sunk into my lip until I could feel the sharp bite of the pain. It grounded me. It was something I could focus on besides the way my heart seemed to be ripping apart from the walls of my chest.
When I didn't turn around he said my name. It felt like a bullet. His voice was a weapon. I told myself to keep walking, to ignore him. "Turn around," he demanded and there was an audible shake in his voice. It convinced me to turn around. As soon as I had, I wished that I hadn't. The cold mask had shifted and in its place was confusion and regret. His eyes met mine and I saw the instant he saw my resolve. I saw the moment he knew that I was done.
His chin fell to his chest and he sagged with the breath he released.
"You're leaving." It wasn't a question.
"There is no reason for me to stay," I said, my voice so low I wasn't sure he even heard me. It echoed in my ears. It didn't sound like me at all. I waited for him to say something. I waited for him to tell me to stay, to stop me, to try and change my mind.
He didn't. He didn't say another word. He didn't even look at me. I waited a long moment. Part of me still hoping, still trying to figure it all out, to put the pieces back together, but it was no use. He'd stopped fighting for this long before this moment.
It broke me further.
“I wish I’d never fallen in love with you,” I said softly. The words were out before I could stop them. I watched him flinch, but still he said nothing. Still he didn’t bother to look up.
I should probably say goodbye, put some kind of closure on this crazy journey. Didn't it deserve some sort of farewell? After all of the moments we'd shared, didn't we owe it something? How do you walk away from something that owned your heart and not even say goodbye? How do you walk away at all?
How could he not look at me? How could he shut me out so completely? Hadn't I meant something, anything?
Questions like that didn't matter. They just furthered the damage.
In the end I decided not to say goodbye. I didn't say anything else. What was there left to say? I allowed myself one last look, one last moment to take him in and remember what it had been like when we were happy.
Then I decided that none of it made this moment worth it.
I pulled in a breath and let it out slowly, and turned to walk out of the room. Luckily my bag was still sitting by the front door. I grabbed the handle and l walked out.
Away from the life I thought I had, away from the man I loved, away from everything I thought I'd wanted. And as my hand lifted to stop a passing cab the tears finally broke free of the dam that had held them at bay. Their steady stream writing the only story that mattered.
I WOULD NEVER commit suicide. Not because I could never give up on this life, but because I wouldn't have the balls. It takes guts to end something. To put that permanent mark on it, to decide that there is no hope to be found, that it will never get better. I try to imagine what it would feel like to know that ending it was your only choice. To walk away from something as amazing as life and feel confident that it was the right decision.
I couldn't do it.
I think I would just wander aimlessly, living in some sort of bitter void until everyone else wrote me off.
How do I know this? Because it's already my M.O.
I realize I shouldn't compare my relationship woes to something so important. Obviously something like a broken heart doesn't compare to the utter devastation that someone in that situation feels, but watching Quinn leave me has me feeling dramatic and philosophical. And honestly, the moment when I saw that look on her face and realized she'd given up on me, that her hope in me, in us, was gone . . . well, it had felt like the end.
And it was all my fault.
I didn't deserve her. I knew that.
I could have gone after her, but what good would it have done? I could tell her that I was sorry. I could promise to be better, to change, but those would be empty promises. I couldn't give her what she needed. I would always get in my own way and we both knew that.
I wouldn't run after her just to make the same mistakes. I wouldn't hurt her more than I already had.
I’d laid it all out for her and she’d made the choice.
I had to let her leave. And this time I had to let her stay gone.
I had to trust that she knew what was best for her heart.
It didn’t stop the regret that sat heavy in my chest.
I threw the vase of daisies against the wall.
I watched for hours as the water painted designs on the expensive paint and then I left the flowers there among the shattered glass, packed my bag and headed home.
WHEN I STROLLED up to the apartment door with my sad suitcase rolling behind me Lily was there to greet me with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other.
"I wasn't sure which level we were going to need," she explained with a sad smile. I loved her. I shut the door and went straight into her arms, letting loose all of the emotions that I'd been trying to keep tucked away. I'd done my best to survive on autopilot, trading my ticket in for an earlier flight, shuffling through security. I'd sent Lily a text right before I boarded that had simply said: I'm coming home. It's over. Then I had turned my phone off, not wanting to risk the chance of seeing anything from him come across my screen. Or maybe I didn't want to risk nothing coming across my screen. That would be worse, to know that I'd left and he didn't care at all.
But I already knew there would be nothing. I knew because he hadn't tried to stop me. He hadn't even looked up to watch me leave. That cut the deepest. How had I been so wrong about things? How had I become so blinded? I had always played by the rules, made the smart choice -- until Keaton. I’d risked, I’d lost. I guess it happens to everyone at some point in their life, but this was most definitely not a feeling I ever wanted to repeat.
I felt lost, broken, and more vulnerable than I'd ever been. It's one thing to be vulnerable and feel safe and cared for. That sets you free. It's an all together different thing to be vulnerable and face rejection. It scars, you bleed and it feels like you will never truly recover.
"I'm sorry, Quinn. You want to tell me what happened?" Lily's voice was calm and soothing. She was treating me like I was a frightened animal. And I guess in a way I was. I definitely felt skittish.
The tears streamed down my face, unabashed and beyond my control now that I was home. I cried into Lily's shoulder for a long while, right there in the entryway, unable to venture in any further.
She continued to say soothing words, smoothing my hair like a child until I was calm enough to be released from her hold. She gave me a careful once over, maybe she was looking for the broken pieces, the jagged edges that were sure to be jutting out from my skin.
"Come in, I'll pour you a shot and you can tell me what happened--if you want to," she amended quickly. I gave her a tiny nod and followed her into the kitchen. I pulled out the barstool and Lily rounded the counter so that she was facing me.
"What's your poison?" she asked. I pointed to the tequila. I wanted to feel numb and that was a sure fire way to get me there quickly. I watched as she poured us each a shot.
"Lime?" she asked.
"No need for frills," I said downing the shot before she could join me. I shrugged at her raised eyebrow.
I took a deep breath as she waited for me to explain what happened. I didn't even know where to begin, so I just jumped into the middle.
"I just couldn't do it anymore. I thought I could be strong enough for both of us. I just couldn’t. He’s just been so different and he finally just let it all out and I realized that there wasn’t a place for me anymore. We weren’t ever going to be on the same page again. It’s like part of him wanted to pretend it was okay, but when I called him out on it he just kind of went off on me. He wanted to push me away.”
"What did he say when you told him you were lea
ving?" she asked.
I shook my head, tears pooling in my eyes again, "Nothing. He didn't say anything. He just let me walk out. He didn't even look at me, Lil."
I watched her jaw tighten and I knew she was probably plotting his painful death right then.
"You know what gets me the most? The thing I keep thinking about over and over?" She squeezed my hand and let me continue. "He loved me. I know that he did. But he didn't know how to be in love. He didn't know how to be that person. But after this, he'll know. I'll be the practice relationship, the one where he makes all the mistakes and learns how to be better. He'll meet someone new and he'll know. He'll fall in love again and he won't hide from it. He won't let it walk out the door. He'll be happy. He'll make her happy. I keep thinking about her and hating her and she doesn't even exist yet," I admitted.
"You know you'll find that person too. You will be happy again. I know it doesn't feel that way now, but I know it," she offered.
I gave her a weak smile. She was so worried about me. Worried that I'd go back to my guarded, logical self and use this as an excuse to never jump again. Maybe she was right. I had no idea what tomorrow was going to bring with it. I couldn't think about any of that yet. "Maybe. Right now I just want to hide out for a little bit. Find my balance. Learn to breathe through it."
"I'm right here with you," she said pulling me into a hug. I held on, taking her comfort to help rebuild my strength. Because that's the thing about best friends, they are your anchors. They refuse to let you sink.
I WAS MOPING. My new favorite pastime was kicking my own ass for being a moron. For turning away from the best thing I'd ever had. If it wasn't so pathetic it might be poetic. I was supposed to feel better. The tug-of-war was gone. I didn’t have to decide anymore. She was gone. It was done. Someone forgot to tell my heart that it was a good thing.
