Session Ten
Hangover
He should’ve left me that day.
I’m convinced, that morning, Cole Ellerby should have walked out of my life and never returned.
But he didn’t leave, he’s waiting for me at home. I can smell my favorite tea – peppermint and chamomile – being brewed, his hand on the kettle, eyeing our mug wall thinking: “Would she want the black mug or the orange mug for when she comes back?”
My heating pad will be on the couch, tucked warm underneath the quilt we spent nine months butchering at the local library Fun Activates For Couples! incentive.
Because if he’d left, there would be none of that.
And for sure, I’m certain, if I called him right now, he’d say: “I hope the orange mug is okay. Black seems too depressing for the occasion.”
I’d laugh and say, “Mom’s passed out cold.”
He’d ask, “What do you need from me?”
And I’d say: “Stay.”
Stay.
One word, so impossibly simple, yet impossible to say.
I’ve thought it, throughout the course of my life, I prayed for it. Stay, please Dad. Why are you punishing yourself?
Mom, he’s gone. But I’m here. Stay. Don’t leave me.
Jace –
Jace, if we could work this out, maybe you could –
Maybe. Maybe.
Because I was never certain of an answer with him.
It could have been easy, with a distinctive yes, or a no. But it was too tall an ask. Always a will he, won’t he. A catch twenty-two.
And when I woke up beside Cole the next morning, the sunlight trickling through his blinds, touching my naked skin I believed it –
There was no way I would ever see him again.
We didn’t drink, not a lick of alcohol.
But it was the worst hangover of my life.
Oh, but no. Not the kind of nauseating feeling you get where you want to puke your guts out, and the acid burns your nose, and you want to crawl underneath the toilet seat and swear off tequila until you die.
No, this hangover was every prior mistake I’d ever made pressing down on my chest, forcing me to look at the beautiful man beside me and realize I’d just lost the first good thing that came into my life since he left it.
Why? Why do you do this?
Why can’t you just be normal?
Why!
Why do you fuck first and think later?
WHY! WHY! WHY!
Why do you think no one wants to stick around with a girl like –
“Morning sleepyhead,” Cole’s voice, gravelly and low sucked me out of my thoughts and into the crook of his armpit.
Literally.
“You stink,” I blurted out, grinning despite myself.
No, come back! You’re a fuck-up, you’re a waste! He won’t want to be with –
He sniffed his shoulder. “Must be you all over me.”
I swatted his chest and he laughed, rolling me against him. “Greatest dinner of my fucking life, honeybee.”
Waste! Temporary! Whore!
Come back!
What do you think he’s going to do to you?
You think he’ll fall in love with you?
He’ll leave!
Who the hell do you think you are?
I shut my eyes.
Come back!
Come back!
Come back!
Focused on the heat of his skin.
Come back!
The weight of his hands on my body.
Come back!
Inhale one. Exhale two.
Inhale one. Exhale two.
Who the hell do you think you are?
“Can you say my name, Cole?” I asked, softly.
Without asking why, he took a lock of my hair and tucked it gently behind my ear. “Beatrice Henderson.”
***
That wasn’t the bad part.
I managed to fight it off, fight me off, at least for round two.
Because that’s what I assumed it to be.
Never did I consider that round two could actually mean enjoying each other’s company without expectation.
No hidden agenda, no ulterior motive.
Just him. Just me.
Together.
But round three…
Round three was not a fight I could win.
It all felt too familiar, too dangerous.
My feelings, despite only knowing him for half a fucking millisecond, kicked me in the ribs. Say thank you for his time and politely let yourself out because that – that, is what I always did before anything got too real.
Leave. Make it easier.
Stay. Make it unbearable when inevitability hits.
And I’d already survived (barely) loving a man who could never love me back.
“I think I better go,” I’d said, moving away from his warmth and sinking into my coldness.
His face broke my heart, so I couldn’t look at it.
Just collected my clothes off the floor – underwear, bra, then socks – like a rehearsed routine I knew all too well. Don’t show your face. Don’t smile. Act cool –
Cool.
Even if you’re breaking inside.
He won’t ask you why. They never ask you why –
“Why?”
The word zapped me.
…
Did he –
Did he just –
…
“Why what?” My mind lagged behind my mouth, words spilling out like a tumbleweed. Did I just say that? Question his reasoning for wanting me there?
They…
They never questioned why I wanted had to leave.
Suddenly the room felt smaller, claustrophobic. Breathing felt like strangulation and I overstepped I overstepped I overstepped –
“Stay,” he said simply.
Stay.
“Stay?”
“Stay,” he repeated, moving to hold my hand.
Stay.
Stay.
“Stay,” I – “Why would I stay?”
He frowned, sitting up now. “Because I want you to?”
“But,” I was at a loss for words. Then, I laughed. Sardonically. “Why the hell would you want that?”
I don’t think he realized what I was telling him.
And for the first time, it felt like something good.
“I don’t understand,” he said quietly, shaking his head.
And he didn’t.
He didn’t understand what it was like to use someone. Didn’t understand the point of leaving if you had a good time.
He didn’t understand how I could believe he’d want me to go, after we spent the better half of the night buried beneath cotton sheets, holding each other like we’d done it a hundred times before.
No, he didn’t understand why I’d want to give that up.
Because he didn’t understand all the times I’d been trained to leave before he’d just asked me to stay.
Stay. Stay.
Are you na?ve? I wanted to shout. Delusional?
Instead, I aimed for the blow. “What do you think this is?”
Blu, you goddamn fucking mess.
Don’t say another –
“Like, do you think we’re going to date or something?”
He dropped my hand, looking at me with confusion. Or was it disgust?
Either way this – this, is the look I’m used to.
On the right track. Here we go. Carry on.
“Because,” I dressed myself, “honestly, Cole. I had a good time but –”
“Alright, I’m going to stop you right there.” He held up a hand, and I froze. Tee half on. One sock.
Frozen. Fucking. Statue.
He paused a minute, ensuring I wasn’t going to say anything stupid (because I was about to) and then leaned against his headboard. “Sit with me for a sec?”
I didn’t want to, because I wanted to so bad.
I obeyed, begrudgingly (not really).
“My ex –”
“Oh great,” I stood immediately, “here we go. Yes, please tell me about her. I’m dying to know.”
He didn’t react.
Didn’t sigh or groan, roll his eyes or protest.
He just looked at me. So, so patiently.
My cheeks reddened. “What?”
“Oh,” he nodded, “just wondering if you wanted to say more. I’m listening.”
Shame flooded my insides and I sat back down. “Sorry.”
“No,” he said gently, “I get it. But I wasn’t going to tell you about all her good qualities, just maybe something you could relate to.”
I frowned. “Okay. Um, ouch?”
“That came out wrong,” he laughed, “Jesus Christ, that’s not what I meant at all.”
And to my surprise, I believed him.
I’d only known calculation, manipulation. Indifference.
But Cole...
No, that wasn’t Cole.
Sincerity radiated off of him like sunshine, and I wanted to bask in it for as long as possible.
Because beneath it all, that feeling felt more intimate than anything physical.
He smiled, a lopsided grin. “Can I try again?”
I nodded, “Please.” And I meant it.
He told me about how his ex-girlfriend was the same. An avoidant through and through. They’d been together for a couple years and she never quite trusted herself around him, because she never trusted any man’s intentions.
“It’s sad,” he said. “Honestly. I tried, I mean, to get her to understand I wasn’t taking advantage or anything. I’m such an open person, and at the time you know, I was twenty-eight, maybe could’ve used some work –”
“Yeah, those eyebrows… they still have that archaic caveman feel.”
He chuckled. “Right, honeybee. Guess you’ll have to stay and help me out?”
I leaned forward to brush them out with my thumb and he took my face in his hands and kissed me. “You’re so fucking distracting sometimes.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
His laugh was glorious. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“I love secrets,” I said, sitting on my heels.
“When I used to edit your photos, I’d stare at them for hours picturing the girl behind the lens. Stupid, maybe, but I never wanted to look up the photographers I’d edit for. I like using my imagination to craft an image of what I think they look like.”
“Why?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He shrugged. “Keeps the mystery? I don’t know. One time, I edited for Marigold’s ‘secret hire’, and he took the craziest photos of cats and I just got curious. Guess who it was?”
“Who?”
“Channing Tatum.”
My jaw dropped. “No fucking way. Why the hell would Channing Tatum take photos of cats? Wait – back up even more, why would he be working with Marigold?”
“They’re friends, apparently! It was his cats, and I guess he wanted them published in Blog TO, whatever. Point is” – he leaned forward and kissed me again – “fuck, woman. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
I laughed so hard I fell onto his lap. Safe.
I felt…
So fucking safe.
Please let me stay in this feeling forever.
I never want to be hungover again.
“When I saw your photos I couldn’t help myself. I needed to know who you were.” And then he looked at me. “Visionary.”
I scoffed, disbelieving. “Visionary?”
“What?”
“Nothing, just –” Don’t. “No one’s ever said that before.”
“Pity,” he sighed.
And before I could blink, he took my face into his hands. “You,” he kissed my nose, “are,” then my cheek, “visionary.”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
I tried.
I tried I tried I tried –
Don’t say it. Say it! Don’t say it. Just fucking say it –
“I really like you,” I blurted, breathless.
Breathless, because it took everything in me to fight the feeling.
Breathless, because my world felt like it was closing in on me.
Breathless, because I was honest.
And now, now –
It was time for me to go.
“I really like you too, Beatrice.” He said, keeping me in his embrace. “What are we going to do about that?”
…
I was wrong.
I was so wrong.
Round three was not a fight I thought I could win.
But thoughts, after all, are just thoughts. You can’t see them. You can’t touch them.
But I could touch Cole.
And for the first time in a long time…
I think I earned a victory.