Chapter 12 #2
Ugh. I’m annoyed by my own angst, but I stub out my cigarette and head inside to find my notebook. Sometimes even a shitty idea can take shape when I write it down, or if I come back to it later.
Eyeing the candy dish, I opt for gum instead. Maybe having something to chew on will help.
The notebook is on the bedside table, but when I walk into the bedroom I pause.
The sheets are still tangled in a heap, the pillows still have indents from where we slept.
There are questionable stains everywhere, but I don’t care.
I climb into the bed and crawl over to the last spot he was lying in, pressing my face into his pillow and taking a deep breath of his lingering scent mixed with mine.
When Luc first arrived, he smelled like clean laundry, Irish Spring soap, and something earthy, like he’s spent so much of his life out in the sun that the grass and soil soaked into his skin.
By the time he left, he smelled more like my spicy shampoo and body wash, which made me feel a bit like a caveman.
Right now, though, it just makes me feel lonely. I’m not usually one to get very lonely, although I do occasionally need a distraction from my own thoughts. But today, even goofing off with my best friends, I felt disconnected.
I never knew there was such a gaping space in my heart until I met you.
Rolling over, I grab my notebook and jot down the last few thoughts.
I’m not in the headspace to write anything but sad emo ballads.
I flip through the last few pages, at all the lovesick scribbles about how he sets my veins on fire, how I could live on the press of our skin together, never needing to eat or drink anything but him. It’s honestly gross.
Fuck, I miss him.
I glance at my phone and note the late hour.
He texted to let me know he was home earlier, but was feeling tired and had a headache.
We’ve texted on and off throughout the day, but it doesn’t feel right.
With every text, I feel him pulling away as viscerally as I did when the car drove him away from me.
Staring at our text thread until my vision swims, I finally type something out. The only thing I can do is make sure he knows the ball is in his court.
ME: My day is finally over. I hope you’re getting some rest and feel better in the morning.
To my surprise, he texts back immediately.
Blushing Beefcake: I feel like I got hit by a truck.
Same. My heart kicks as I try to type out how I’m feeling, then delete it and go with something simpler.
ME: Physically or emotionally?
Instead of texting a reply, my screen lights up with an incoming call. He’s calling me?
“Luc?”
“Both,” he says, not bothering with hello. There’s a breath, then a chuckle, low and worn.
I lie back on the pillow he had his head on only twelve hours ago. “Tell me where it hurts.”
“You really want a list?”
“Read me your injury report, Mr. Safety.”
He huffs a laugh. “Points for knowing what position I play, but it’s called that because I’m the last line of defense. I’m not the team nurse or anything.”
“I know that.” Sort of. “Quit deflecting.”
“Well, there’s the obvious aches and pains from a certain overzealous rockstar keeping me busy for the last two days.” I smirk, pleased with myself. “Bit of a headache and overall tiredness, but I can’t tell if I’m coming down with something or just feeling…Weird.”
“Weird how?” I know how, but I need to hear him say it. I need to hear him say he feels even a fraction of the loss I do, like phantom limb syndrome, there’s an ache in an empty space.
Hmm… I open my notebook again and quickly jot down a thought.
You’re my phantom limb, I can’t cut clean
Ache in an empty space, I can’t breathe
Whole on the outside, wrecked underneath
I still feel you moving inside me.
“I feel like something has shifted,” he says. “In my brain, or maybe something deeper. I can’t name it.”
It’s love, baby. It’s love.
“I miss you,” is what I say out loud.
Luc lets out a heavy breath. “I miss you too. And I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to cause any issues with your manager.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. I heard you arguing on the balcony.”
I sigh heavily. “Did you hear what we were saying?”
“No, but considering how sincerely Blake apologized to me, I know you talked to him.”
“I did. I was pissed. It wasn’t okay for him to treat you like that. There’s no excuse, but it’s my fault he reacted like that.”
“How was it your fault? I get that you missed some calls, but he shouldn’t treat you like that.”
“Me? He was upset with me for a good reason, that was fine. I’m talking about how he treated you.”
“That was… whatever. I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Or at least you weren’t. I feel like I need to explain, at the risk of pushing you farther away.”
“I don’t need to know all your private business, Jesse.”
“I want you to know the real me, Luc. Even the ugly parts. And I have a lot of ugly parts. I told you about rehab. It was Blake who got me there. He came into our lives when I was at my worst and helped me. I might not be here at all if it weren’t for him.”
Blake didn’t just help me wean off the pills, he made sure I got the help I needed.
He was the one who found out our old manager was paying off multiple doctors to write me prescriptions.
The dosages were too high and too frequent.
There were pills to wake me up, pills to make me sleep, pills to treat the headaches, anxiety, and restlessness that the other pills were causing.
Add partying like a literal rockstar, and I was on a dangerous path.
Telling Luc all of this is both terrifying and incredibly freeing. If he can accept me as I am, then every ounce of effort I put into this relationship is worth it. And if he can’t, it’s better to know now.
“I didn’t tell anyone other than Cory and Tad that you were coming, so he had no idea you weren’t just some random guy I’d met on a bender. He was worried that I’d relapsed.”
Luc is quiet the whole time I’m talking, which makes me ramble more. Eventually, I cut myself off, afraid that he’s trying to find a way to tell me I’m not good enough for him. I know I’m not, but I’m also trying to be better every day. I want to be good enough. And I want him.
“That makes sense. I didn’t even think about that. I guess because I didn’t know you then, I don’t think of you that way.”
“It’s refreshing,” I say honestly.
“I need to know if I’m contributing to a problem, though. Not just to be courteous to the people in your life that are clearly worried about you, but also because I wouldn’t want to compromise your safety or stability.” He’s speaking in a measured, careful tone, weighing each word as he says them.
“You’re like a sexy Southern Boy Scout.”
“I was an Eagle Scout.”
“Of course you were.”
He chuckles. “Thank you for sharing all that with me, though. I imagine it can’t be easy. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to be honest with me.”
“Have I scared you off yet?”
“I’m not any more scared than I was before.”
“Well at least there’s that.” There’s a long moment of silence where I wonder if Luc has fallen asleep. “Luc?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re thinking about it, right?”
“Yeah, beautiful. I’m thinking about it. I’m always thinking about it.”