Chapter 24 #2
“You want to talk about last night?” he whispers.
“I have no problem with you being a virgin, obviously. I have no problem with you having vaginismus, obviously. But I could’ve hurt you.
I didn’t know what I was getting into, and I didn’t know that I didn’t know what I was getting into.
That could have gone horribly wrong, and I had no idea.
I mean, you could’ve at least explicitly told me you weren’t comfortable with anything involving penetration yet, and I wouldn’t have asked any questions.
” He exhales a shaky breath. “You know how much I would have hated myself if I had hurt you. And you know it would’ve set your vaginismus back if you had gotten hurt and taught your body to expect that pain. But you did it anyway.”
A quiet sob escapes my mouth, and a less quiet sniffle escapes my nose. “How do you even know that?”
A tear trickles down Harrison’s face, glistening in the morning light. “Because I paid attention to my medical textbooks.”
Laughter bubbles out of my mouth before I can stop it, and Harrison’s frown deepens. I quell my poorly timed fit of giggles.
He opens his mouth again, and this time his words aren’t angry or frustrated or sad; they’re disappointed. “Five years and you still can’t have a serious, honest conversation with me.”
So much for Doing Better. I’m supposed to be a changed woman, but apparently, I haven’t changed at all.
Apparently, even attempting to get my life together and be an adult can’t hide that, deep down, I am a complete mess.
I will always be the same girl who didn’t know how to talk to her best friend about her problems at age eighteen, because here I am, almost ten years later, and I still don’t know how.
I take a step back, leaning against the side of the house.
“I’m trying to be better,” I say. Harrison follows my lead, resting his left shoulder against the doorframe as he faces me, arms crossed.
“I am, I swear. Back then, five years ago—nine years ago, even—I always, somewhere in the back of my mind, hoped we would end up together. Then, when you reappeared and were this perfect, sweet, organized, put-together man, I knew this was my second chance to do this right.”
“What could that possibly involve if not being open about what was going on?”
“Well…I actually meant that the original problem was vaginismus,” I say.
Harrison blinks slowly. “I needed some extra motivation to go through with pelvic floor therapy and to start actually taking care of this. And so, you may think I haven’t changed, but I am changing, and you’ve helped me get there. You’re my motivation.”
Harrison stares at me, his expression indecipherable. I count several heartbeats before he speaks again, and in those several heartbeats, I don’t breathe a single time.
“Do you really mean that?”
I nod, offering a soft smile. “Yes. I was rambling, but yes. I meant every word.”
I only realize that wasn’t the answer he was looking for when he reaches up and drags a hand across his face, letting out a tortured exhale.
Oh.
Oh, no.
That indecipherable expression on his face was pain.
“Emma, listen. I can’t be your sole motivation for figuring this out. To be honest, that’s kind of messed up. Especially since I didn’t know about any of it.”
Blood rushes to my head, my cheeks burning. I have that tingly feeling you get when you’ve been caught red-handed. “That’s not fair,” I say, even though I fear it might be both fair and true.
“Oh, please.” He laughs, the sound so pitiful it comes out as more of a sob. “This is classic Emma. You can’t be vulnerable with me, and that hurts. I know you think you’re protecting me, but you’re not. You’re hurting both of us.”
I straighten up suddenly, my fists clenched. “What about this weekend, huh? What about the whole last month, when you—” I stop. “Even though—”
“Even though what? What, exactly?”
“You told me you wanted to ‘get closure.’ And then you told me you wouldn’t be dating anyone right now while you figured things out with your mom!”
“It’s complicated,” he says, frowning deeply.
“Yeah, no kidding. She abhors me, and we both know it. I mean, why did you even bring me here? Was this some sick way of forcing yourself to come clean to your mom about us being more than friends?”
He clenches his jaw. “No. I brought you here because I wanted you to be here. She’s just trying to create conflict.”
I angrily walk a few feet away before turning around to face him again, giving him the most accusatory glare I can muster. “Funny, since her child is the single most conflict-avoidant person to ever walk this earth.”
Harrison inches forward again, a combative look in his eyes.
“Is that so bad? I mean, you have never tried to avoid putting me in the middle of a conflict. Ever. In fact, you spent four years of college willingly and knowingly fueling some insane conflict between us by leading me on and then gaslighting me when I tried to talk about the way we felt for each other. You lied to me.”
I jut my chin out defiantly. “And now you’re doing the same thing.”
“No,” he says. “I didn’t want to tell my mom we were together until she had warmed to you because I was trying to protect her feelings. And yours, if that even matters to you.”
“Is that the same lie you told yourself when you let me believe you broke up with Stephanie?”
This time, he stays silent. My phone buzzes aggressively in my pocket, unmistakable as my two-minute warning that I’m getting picked up by the rideshare I never got around to canceling.
“Why? Why would you do that?” I ask, pressing forward until we’re inches away again. “To lead me to believe you broke up with her for me? Because if that was your goal, I’m delighted to say you succeeded. Congrats. I feel like an idiot.”
“That wasn’t—” he starts to say, then stops himself. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel that way. But, for what it’s worth, we did break up because I wasn’t over you. I was in denial, but she could see it clear as day, I guess.”
My heart aches—with what emotion, I’m not sure. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”
He turns his back to the wall, sliding down until he’s sitting, legs splayed out in front of him. “Bad,” he murmurs. “I feel bad about it.”
The muscles in his jaw are clenched. But even amidst all that tension, there’s a furrowed tilt to his eyebrows: sadness.
“You claim you were lying when you said you didn’t love me,” he says, “but I’m not sure you really were. You have to let the people you love in. And you clearly can’t do that.”
Unwilling to spend another second in his presence while I consider that final comment, I stand up, just in time for my phone to vibrate again. “My ride is here. I’m leaving.”
“Fine, go home,” he says, staying on the ground and making no move to follow me. “Hope you’re happy.”
As much as it pains me to do so, I let him have the last word as I walk to the road and throw myself into the back seat of the car.
Skip Notes
*1 Narrowed eyes · Dropped jaw | Facial expression | Frequency: low
Surprised anger.
*2 Pink ears | Physical reaction | Frequency: high
Embarrassment.
May be embarrassed by own actions or others’ actions.