29. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Sunlight streams through the curtains, raining down on my face in obnoxious demand of acknowledgement. I turn over and press into the bed, trying to get a little more sleep. As my eyelids begin to drift shut again, my phone rings with my hourly call from Errol. These attempts at reaching me start at 10 a.m. and go until about midnight. For the last three days, he has been relentless with the calls and texts. I’ve ignored them all. Hitting silence on my phone, I roll over and stare up at the ceiling.
The pain sears to life as any reminder of him brings on the heartache of not having him. I thought time and distance would subdue it, but every moment I am awake I feel the hole of where he used to be. Even my dreams are plagued with memories of our nights together. I fall asleep alone, only to be with him in what are now nightmares. It’s never ending. My eyes prick with the sensation of building tears that come every time I think of him.
Sitting up, I try and shake it off. I can’t though, every part of me is plagued by our history. Just a few days ago, my entire life was wrapped up in him. Even now, as those ties turn dark and harmful, it’s hard to unravel myself.
Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, I move out of the blankets. My hand comes to my chest, rubbing in circles, trying to soothe the ache there. It’s only been seventy-two hours, and I miss him already. I try to shake that feeling away. Standing, I stretch out the last of my sleep, then sit back onto my childhood bed.
I look at my phone as another text comes through. At some point I’m going to have to face him, but today doesn’t seem like that day either. Instead, I take a sip of the water on my bedside table and swallow my feelings.
It’s just like it was with Christian. We had a small problem, and he cheated and then left me. It is happening again with Errol. Except this time, I’m the one who left. This time I’m the one avoiding the conversation.
Maybe that’s what makes this so different. I’m having to process the cheating and not a break up. I have to come to terms with the choice he has given me. Christian told me I couldn’t handle making this choice for myself, that I would choose wrong. Will I do that now? What is wrong here? Can I make any choice without talking to Errol?
If we sit down and talk about it, then I have no choice but to face the fact that he hurt me. I’ll have to know that the love I thought we had wasn’t that.
My entire relationship with Christian, even the friendship, all boiled down to one disagreement. That resulted in him deciding to throw everything away. I’m trying to move past it. I really am, but if Christian, my best friend, one of the loves of my life, could do that to me, what is stopping Errol?
This entire time I have been operating on the hurt that still echoes from my past. But how could I not compare? Most of me knows he has never done anything but try and gain my trust by being open and honest, but this one part of me that is still shattered, is like a spike in my foot every time I try and step towards him.
I look up to the ceiling as I process my tumbling thoughts.
“What if he did cheat?” I speak the fear that has been pushing me this entire time.
What if he didn’t?
I try to go beyond my perceived betrayal and find out the truth. This whole time, I didn’t allow myself to consider that nothing happened. There was no alternative in my mind to the path I laid out. He cheated, and that was that.
But what if he didn’t?
If he didn’t cheat and I just ran out like this, I would be leaving him without any explanation. That would mean I didn’t believe in him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, which is kind of messed up.
On one end, I didn’t see either of them the whole time I was at that party. On the other, I didn’t actually walk in on them doing anything. And it is Mira, she could be lying. But the lipstick.
A back and forth is created in my mind as I play with these opposing thoughts. I’m not going to get anywhere on my own, so I need to hear him out, starting with the texts and voicemails he has been leaving. I open my messenger app and look at the thirty messages from him, starting from the top
Where are you?
I read the first few messages as he tried to seek me out in the party. When he saw I wasn’t responding, that’s when he had started to call. The next five are just requests to call him so that he could explain. It goes on like that, interlaced with the words I love you stated over and over again. Looking through the texts, I hope that in at least one he asserted that nothing happened.
I want him to call me crazy and send laughing emojis at my reaction. When all I see are requests for us to speak, a pit opens up in my stomach. I move on to phone calls, opening my voicemail app, I let them play one by one. At first they are also just requests to call him, but as I reach the fifth one, they grow in length.
“I don’t know if you’re going to talk to me, but please, if you hear this, know that I didn’t touch her. Please just call me back.”
What does that mean that he didn’t touch her? It could be as simple as an admission that nothing happened, or a coy explanation that he didn’t reciprocate whatever she did to him. It isn’t enough. The last message he left me is the longest, he filled the full three minutes the line gives.
“ Farrah, I need you to hear me out. I have been going over the night, and I can see how you took it the way you did, but it is not what you think. I’m in San Francisco. After showing up at your door for the last few days, I realized you weren’t there. Please just meet up with me. I love you.”
He is here. He has come in search of me all the way to my home. He knows me well enough to know where I would go.
I hang up the line feeling unsteady. All I need to do is text him and he will be here. I can finally get answers. I take a deep breath, and respond to his messages.
I never know what to wear when it comes to this man. The only time in my life where I am at a loss for how to dress is when I know I’m going to come face to face with Errol. The same can be said now, as I wait for him to show up. Hopping in the shower, I quickly wet my hair, letting the curls come through. Deciding to put on water-proof makeup in case I cry, all that is left is picking my outfit.
Practicality called for me to choose pajamas and be comfortable. But if this is possibly the last time I’m going to see him, I want to leave an impression. Choosing tan wide length plaid pants with open sides, I pair it with a brown corset and gold jewelry. Now all I can do is wait. I sit on the couch, fingers nervously drumming out a beat that matches my heart. My taps are frantic as I try not to check my phone for the time.
We agreed on 2 p.m. so my parents would be at work. The last time I looked it was 1:50, meaning he should be here any minute. I just need to focus on what I’m going to say. I deserve to know the truth, and at the end of this I will.
When the knock echoes through the house, my fingers stop in perfect unison with my breathing. I walk to the door counting the seconds until I open it and am face to face with him again. You can do this . I repeat the sentiment until part of me starts to believe it. I finally inhale when I open the door and see him standing there.
Bags sit heavy under his eyes, like sleep has evaded him for days. He is in his usual t-shirt and jeans, but both are more wrinkled than normal. His locs are pulled from his face, letting me see the look of worry clear in his eyes. I step to the side and let him in, ignoring my urge to grab him.
The same thought seems to pass through his mind, his arms coming up to reach for me. Seeing my face shift, he drops them back to his side, stepping in until he reaches the living room. My palms are sweating as I close the door, causing my hand to slip off the handle. I turn to face him, gesturing for him to take a seat on the couch.
Not joining him, I sit on the edge of the arm-chair, unable to comfortably shift into the seat. His full lips twist into a frown when he sees I’m not coming to sit next to him. He looks me up and down as I do the same to him, taking him in.
“Hi,” I say, when the pain at just looking at him becomes too much.
“Hi.” He leans forward, placing his hands on his knees. We have come this far to have this conversation, but both of us go quiet. It seems like neither one is eager to dive into the painful talk that might be the end of us. I feel myself bristle at the idea of never seeing his face again. Never witnessing those dimples being directed at me. I can’t stand the thought that I fell for him just to hit the cold ground of infidelity. I don’t want to know if this is true, but I have to.
“So,” I try to open up the conversation.
He shakes his head a sardonic smirk curling his lip.
“Only you would make me chase you to an entirely different city.” Deciding to start us off on the foot of an argument, he remarks on my choice like it’s a character flaw.
Anger bubbles up my chest. “Was I supposed to stay and wait for you to show up at my door?”
“Yes.” He stands, throwing his arms in the air. “You were supposed to let me explain myself.”
I stand too, not liking the idea of him looking down on me. Having come to the same conclusion a day ago, I shouldn’t be disagreeing with him on this, but hurt is getting the better of me.
“There should be nothing for you to have to explain.” I bite down on my bottom lip, trying to keep the tears from coming.
“Farrah.” He says my name with all the weight of his resignation. Stepping around the coffee table, he tries to pull me into his arms.
I move out of the way, crossing mine so that he doesn’t try again.
“You wanted to explain yourself, so do it. Here’s your chance.”
He sighs long and heavy, moving back to sit on the couch. I sit as well, placing my shaking hands on my legs.
“When Mira showed up to the party, I looked at it as my chance to talk to her. Try to convince her not to tell everyone yet. I invited her to speak alone in my room.” Sighing again, he looks down at the floor. “In hindsight, that was a bad idea. At first it was fine, we were talking about what I wanted, and she was agreeing, but then she tried to kiss me.”
This is the part I knew would come. The details about all the ways he betrayed me.
We have barely gotten started, and already the tears are coming. I don’t know if I need all the particulars, but nothing in me is stopping him from going on. Like a masochist, I await the pain his words will cause when they slice into me. It will only add to the bruises and cuts that litter my body from him not catching me when I fell. I sit up and ready myself to hear the sordid facts of his disloyalty.
“It happened so fast I barely had time to do anything, but at the last second I turned my head and she got my cheek. She was pressed against me for a second before I pushed her away. I turned her down, then we were leaving, and that’s when you saw us.” He stops for a moment, giving me a minute to take in what he said.
I feel a gurgle of hysteria burst through my thoughts as I replay his words.
“She kissed your cheek?”
He looks solemn, nodding and I can see the regret pouring from his eyes.
My body shakes as laughter builds in my chest. As he sits forward in his seat, I laugh out loud, throwing my head back. The tears do come, but this time they are free from any pain. I wipe them away as I keep chuckling at his words.
“What?” he asks, throwing his arms open.
“That’s it? That is all that happened?”
All of this for a kiss on the cheek? I laugh again, hands clutching on to my stomach as I wheeze. I literally fled my home in the middle of the night from a failed seduction.
He quirks an eyebrow as he sits back into the chair.
“You want to let me know what’s so funny.”
I get up from my spot and cross to where he’s sitting. Easing onto his lap, I throw my arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. He wraps himself around me, pulling me tight against his body. I feel like I’m returning home as I breathe in his scent.
“I thought—” I stop, unsure of how to explain the insanity that is my brain.
I thought he had broken my trust. I thought we couldn’t handle one upset.
I thought he was Christian.
“I thought wrong,” I say, pulling back to look at him. “It was just a kiss on the cheek?”
He nods and I press my forehead against his. “I thought so wrong.”
He pulls my face back to look into my eyes, searching them.
“You aren’t mad?”
“At what?”
“I should have never been alone with her like that, knowing how she is. I should have pushed her off faster. I should have made sure you knew nothing more happened when you saw us like that.”
There were plenty of things we both should have done, but none of that matters now. Nothing actually happened between them. I press my lips to his and relish in the feeling of joy that jumps at the contact.
“I love you,” I say, because I do. Because he is the man I thought he was. Because all he has ever done is fill me up.
He is smiling, eyes beaming with a look of happiness that matches mine. I kiss him again and again and again until I’m satisfied enough to stop.
“I love you, too.”
When he says it, I believe him. I know he does, because he has shown me in every way that matters. Even now, when I doubted him, when I left him and thought the worst, he came for me, arms wide open to take me back.
“But what happened was not okay. I know I shouldn’t have been in that situation, but you shouldn’t have assumed the worst in me.” He sighs out the words, a sudden tiredness lining his face. “Can you do this? Can you be in a relationship with me and trust me fully?”
I can still feel the jagged edges of the broken pieces not yet fixed from my last heartbreak. These last few months, I have been putting some into place section by section, trying to rebuild. I thought his love had made me whole, but it was so easy for me to fall apart again.
“I don’t know.”
If something else were to happen tomorrow, and I faced another situation where his fidelity was questioned, would I react the same? I would learn from this situation, sure, but hurt doesn’t always respond to logic. Can I believe and trust in him no matter what?
“I don’t know,” I say again.
I go to stand, feeling like he probably wants space after an answer like that. But, he just pulls me closer, holding on tight.
“Do you want to get to that point with me?”
The answer comes instantly, my chin dipping down in an easy yes.
“Then we will work on it together.”
“That’s not fair to you. To be with someone who doesn’t trust you one hundred percent.”
I don’t want to let him go, but how can I ask him to stay, knowing I’m like this?
“You remember what I said about everyone having a past? Well, this is yours. We know it now, we can figure out how to move forward from here. Everyone has baggage, and if you can promise me that you are willing to work on unloading yours, then I will help you hold it in the meantime.”
More so than ever before, I feel overwhelmed with my affection for him. He has seen every side of me now: the good, the bad, the annoying. And he wants all of me.
All I can hope is that one day I live up to that love. I know I’ll try, and I know at some point I’ll learn to trust him with everything I have. I press my lips to his again and let all the good feelings swarm me.
“I love you,” he says again, and I feel them like I have never felt those words before.