Chapter 23 #2
His hands on my waist, he drags me forward onto his lap, and I respond with so much enthusiasm that we end up on the floor, one of my legs on each side of his waist, my dress pooling all over his dress clothes.
We grasp at each other desperately, and it’s still not enough.
I want our cells to fuse, I want our souls to intertwine, I want our minds to merge.
Our kisses grow rougher, our hands grow bolder, and our tongues have a conversation inside our mouths, speaking all the words we can’t or won’t or haven’t said aloud.
I’ve never been happier, and there are so many emotions inside of me, I can’t breathe. I think my face is wet from tears.
Harrison pulls back slightly, just enough to smile and say “I didn’t think our first kiss would make you cry” in a heartbreakingly lighthearted tone.
I shift my weight back a few inches, moving away from his lips and back onto…something hard. Underneath me. On Harrison’s lap.
Fuck.
Our first kiss, he said. Our first kiss, implying there will be more. More, implying…more. And more leads to…
Fuck.
I freeze, my heavy breathing stalled. The tears I didn’t know were falling stop falling.
Harrison’s expression shifts from a smile to a frown, his left hand still on my thigh and his right hand still on my waist, both touching skin and goose bumps. I shiver, already regretting what I’m about to do.
Is it possible to intentionally do something bad with good intentions?
“Em? What’s wrong?” he murmurs.
I can see the gears turning in his mind. All the air has been sucked out of the room. My chest is unbearably tight, even more so when I look into Harrison’s eyes and see his desire now competing with worry.
I’m an asshole. And I hurt him. Today, and before, and again and again. And that’s why this will never work out.
If you love someone, it shouldn’t hurt to be with them.
I untangle myself from Harrison’s arms, desperately moving away from the hardness on his lap that is, for better or for worse, bringing me back to reality and reminding me of the hard truths that haunt me every time I long for him.
Harrison knows what I eat for lunch every day. He knows what time I go to bed and what time I wake up. He knows how I take my coffee, and he knows how long it takes me to write an essay I procrastinated on. In many ways, he knows me better than I know myself.
But he doesn’t know this. Because I never told him.
“You should leave,” I whisper. My heart is pounding out of my chest, and I’m breathing rapidly from the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I can’t look him in the eyes.
“Em—please. I’m so sorry.” His voice cracks.
“It’s not you,” I say quietly, looking down at my feet, holding back tears. “It’s complicated.”
I can hear his breathing, still heavy. He shifts to get a better view of my face, and I take the bait, looking up into his eyes. I immediately regret it, recognizing the pain that’s likely mirrored in my own expression. Pure, raw devastation.
“But I love you,” he says, so quietly I’m not sure he meant to say it aloud.
“Harrison,” I say, reaching forward to take his hand. He doesn’t accept it, and I pull my hand back. “I love you, but not like that. We’re…we’re not compatible. We’re not soulmates. And I…don’t think we should be friends anymore.”
It’s intended to hurt him, and I hate myself, and I know I’ll probably always hate myself, but I don’t take it back.
“Why? Let me guess—because it’s complicated ?” he asks, malice entering his voice. I nod. “Then tell me. Tell me why it’s complicated.”
Because, Harrison. Because you deserve to be with someone who’s easy to love, and I wish that were me, but it’s not, and I’m not ready, physically, but I’m also not ready to tell you.
Maybe it’s because I need more time, but maybe it’s just because I know deep down that if I open up to you, you’ll realize I.
Am. Not. Enough. You’ll be afraid you’ll hurt me every time you touch me.
And so, you’ll leave me, or you’ll pity me so much that you stay, but either way, we’ll be worse off.
And then I’ll have to leave you, or you’ll leave me, and then I’ll never be able to find someone else like you, and I’ll never have you again.
But if you continue with this, you’ll never have him again, anyway, a voice in my head says. I ignore it.
With all the strength left in me, I look him in the eyes and try to disguise the weakness in my own voice. “Please. Go home.”
It comes out too forcefully, and I see the moment all hope drains from his eyes, molten lava turning to rock. Jaw clenching, chest tightening.
“No,” he says. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not in love with me. Then I’ll leave, and I won’t come back.”
I don’t take the time to think before standing up. The bottom of my dress falls back down to my ankles, and I storm over to where my heels had been tossed. Harrison’s scowl is piercing, even when facing away.
“You can’t say it,” he says. “You can’t say it, and I hope you know this is going to hurt you just as much as it hurts me.”
And god damn it, that’s the worst possible thing he could’ve said, because I can’t imagine hurting anyone as badly as I’m hurting myself right now. But somehow, I find the strength to do it anyway.
I face him one last time, just long enough to whisper “I’m not in love with you” and watch the devastation that paints his face.
I walk out, and that’s the last time I speak to Harrison for five years.
Skip Notes
* Soft smile · Raised eyebrows · Head tilted downward toward subject | Facial expression | Frequency: unknown
Love.