I Love You
Lex
3 Years Ago
“I’ll come with you.”
Brandon’s voice is strained and shakes like he is holding back tears.
I keep my eyes on my dresser, transferring clothes from the drawers into my suitcase. I can’t stop packing. If I do, I’ll have to look at him; that’s the last thing I need. I knew this was coming; he should have known it was coming. This could have been easy, but of course, he’s going to make it brutal.
Think, Lex.
“Lex,” He says, trying to get me to turn to him.
This isn’t new news. I told him weeks ago I was going to Torhaven for this job. How can I not? The position doubles my salary and gets me out of this damn town, away from these people who have known me my entire life and will never see me as more than the quirky kid with one friend. Until now, I assumed he was okay with this. It’s been barely a year since we started seeing each other. He’s cute. He will find another girl he ignored in high school to settle down with.
My suitcase is only half-full, clothes are everywhere, and half-packed boxes line the walls of my bedroom. I have so much I still need to do, and I wasn’t expecting him to fight me on it for so long. I look at the boxes to the left and then to the right. The room smells musty because of the dust I kicked up, pulling out things that haven’t been touched since I moved in. I rub my hands on my thighs, trying to remove the grime left by the cardboard boxes. Everything feels so heavy, suffocating.
“Lex!” He yells, frustration creeping in.
I stop what I am doing but don’t immediately turn around. Instead, I run over options. I could tell him I cheated on him. Make him hate me. I dismiss this thought as soon as it enters my head. I do not want him repeating that to others. Taking a deep breath, I drop my head, deciding to play up the sad girl thing. Slowly, I turn around.
He is sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward. His long, curly hair is pulled into a messy bun; his hands are clenched into fists, turning his knuckles white. He’s never yelled at me, but I don’t think he’s angry; I think his heart is breaking.
God. He looks so fucking sad.
What if I tell him I’ll stay? Lie. Tell him I’ve changed my mind to get him to leave so I can finish packing. The idea leaves my mind almost as quickly as it entered. I’m going and lying won’t make this any easier.
“Brandon, come on,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “You know you can’t come with me. Your whole life is here.” My tone is soft and sweet. “It could be possible in the future, but your mom is sick.
Fuck. Nice one, Lex. Straight for the jugular.
Brandon’s mom was diagnosed with cancer at the end of last year, and the prognosis is, well, bad. He stiffens at the mention of her, his eyes dropping to the floor. I cross the room and fall to my knees in front of him. I reach for his face tenderly, shifting it so his eyes meet mine. His skin is flushed and hot, and he reaches out to place his hand on my side, gripping me like he’s trying to keep me here.
“We have had such a great time together, and perhaps when the timing is right, we can continue, but I need to do this. I need to go, and you need to stay.” I know the voice is mine, but I feel like I am watching someone else.
“I love you, Lex.” He whispers, swallowing hard.
Those words. They should make me happy, but they make me internally cringe. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I don’t think he loves me. He hates losing control of the situation. He hates how uncontrollable I am at this moment. I am tempted to point this out to him, but I suspect it’ll just lead to us arguing about whether he feels what he is currently feeling. Instead, I wrap him in a hug. I think his shoulders shudder, and I am sure when we pull away, he will be crying. I hang on tightly to avoid the guilt his appearance will cause.
I glance at my alarm clock, then rub my hand down his back.
“Go. Your mom’s appointment is in an hour, and you’ll barely make it at this hour. I will call you when I land, and we can figure this out from there.”
He takes a deep breath but doesn’t argue.
I pull away, stand, and spin back to the dresser. Avoiding his face. I hear him sniffle behind me and stand. A moment later, I sense the heat of his body behind me, and his hands wrap around my waist, the rugged ridge of his dick pressing into my lower back.
Men are so fucking weird.
I force a little breathy laugh. “Go, Brandon. I need to finish packing, and this is just too much. We will figure it out, okay?”
He presses a kiss into my temple before heading for my door. I hear it open, then a pause—my whole body tenses.
Please don’t come back, please don’t come back.
I chant in my head, counting the seconds that crawl by.
I hear it after what feels like an eternity; the door quietly clicks closed, and he is gone. I sigh with relief. The room instantly seems like the sunshine after a rainstorm. I’m alone for the first time in months, maybe since I moved home. It provides a sense of liberation. My shoulders relax, and I release the dresser I hadn’t realized I’d been gripping. It’s as if I can breathe again after a long time.
I turn around, looking over my room, chaotic with the evidence of my departure. The bed is covered with donation items; my clothes spill over the sides of my suitcase from how I haphazardly threw items in. I slowly walk toward the door, needing to confirm he is gone. I see his key on the table and his sweatshirt draped over the back of the chair. The hoodie he’d slipped over my head one night while we walked home from the theater. I’d complained of being cold—it was such a tender moment between us, and I meant to tell him to take it with me, but I forgot. I pick it up, lift it to my nose, and breathe in. It smells like dust, his cologne long gone. I run my finger over it; the material is soft and worn, and years of wear and tear have broken down the fibers. Returning to the bedroom, I look at it again, and flashes of that walk home are in my mind.
I consider keeping it and stuffing it at the bottom of my suitcase for a second. Not because I want it, but because throwing it out makes this real. But real is the whole point, isn’t it? I toss it onto the bed with the rest of the items I plan to drop at Goodwill on my way to the airport.
As I lower myself to sit on the bed, my stomach shifts weirdly, and I feel a pang of guilt and sadness. I let myself fall back onto the bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling, and feel the first tear slip from my eye. I wanted and fought for this, so why do I feel so awful?
He and I both know there is no way to figure this out. I am moving across the country; he was never invited. This way, he can tell his friends and family this is temporary and that, eventually, he will move too. He can keep that until he finds someone new to distract him.
This is the fresh start I have been desperate for; even if it’s uncomfortable at the moment, I know it will be the best decision of my life. I sit up and reach for my phone. There’s already a text from him. I swipe it away and open the music app, pressing play on the first song that catches my eye. Loud, heavy music streams through the speaker, pulling my mind out of Sad Brandon. Before I set it down, I open his text thread, then his contact, and block his number. I hate to do it. He’s not a bad guy, but I also know I don’t want him checking in for months, begging to visit, to move.
I stand and walk back to the dresser. Instead of adding more to my suitcase, I grab everything remaining and throw it onto the bed. It lands with a satisfying thud, and I smile at the immediate lightness I sense from my shoulders.
Everything goes. It’s an entirely fresh start.