Chapter 4
Mateo
Traffic is fucking unbearable. It takes forever to get home, urging my driver faster, and when I get impatient enough, I hop out of the car and jog the rest of the way.
Dodging and weaving through groups of pedestrians, I probably look like an asshole. My phone vibrates in my pocket, my receptionist likely freaking out that I left in the middle of the workday, but I can't bring myself to care about anything but Lucy.
By the time I make it inside, ignoring the friendly wave from the doorman, stabbing the elevator button a million times as if that would make the thing move faster, I'm less pissed off, more anxious. It's not a feeling I'm used to. Lucy has it in spades, and I try to share her burden, but knowing how she probably feels right now is throwing me off.
Noah and Silas would know what to do, how to make her feel better. My best friends were always better at comfort than I was. This is why I'm shit at this—being a partner, a boyfriend.
My first time in a real relationship, and I'm failing spectacularly.
The shitstorm I've accidentally created is coming to a head, I just fucking know it, and it's got nothing to do with fake pictures. The air crackles with it, a storm cloud threatening to unleash an unholy fury of lies and secrets. It teases the edges of my sanity, my careful house of cards, the life I've been trying to build with Lucy hanging precariously in the balance.
Leaning against the wall in the elevator, I stare at my reflection, and somehow, it's still shocking that the anger bubbling beneath the surface doesn't show. I look like I always do. Indifferent. Stoic.
Time warps, moving simultaneously too fast and too slow. I'm upstairs within minutes, but my steps falter in the hall the closer I get to our apartment. I don't know what I'm walking into. My heart races in a rare state of insecurity.
But I love Lucy, and I don't want her to suffer. Slipping my key into the door, I step into the quiet apartment.
I don't know what I expected. A jilted lover, throwing clothes out the window from our highrise. Angry music. Her friends carrying pitchforks, awaiting my arrival. But it's eerily chill.
Walking through the apartment, I eventually find Lucy in our en suite bathroom, sitting in the empty tub.
It's a surreal experience to see someone you love and not recognize every detail.
For hours some nights, I stare while she sleeps, carefully memorizing the shape of her features, how her breath escapes her full, upturned, pillowy lips, and the striking contrast between her white blonde hair and thick dark eyebrows. I knew she wore a lot of makeup, but I didn't want her to feel self-conscious by asking her why she wore it 24/7, so I just accepted it was the way Lucy looked.
Her skin looks different. Rubbed red and raw from crying, the tears cleared away all the makeup, leaving a galaxy of freckles adorning her cheeks and nose. I knew they existed, but didn't realize how much she concealed them. Typically thick with eyeliner, her eyes are void of makeup as well, accentuating the watery tears. I hate how we got here, but I like seeing Lucy in her natural state.
She tries so hard to be everything for everyone, stretching herself too thin. She's been hanging on by a thread for months, years, probably. This was just the catalyst that sent her over the edge. She thinks she hides her anxiety well, but I see how much she struggles.
She doesn't acknowledge me. I stuff my hands in my pockets and stare down at her, but she keeps staring into space as if I'm not really here.
"Lucy."
The only reaction she gives me is a deep sigh, so I nudge her legs aside and climb in opposite her. She loves this tub. It's huge, with jets, the edges lined with all her favorite products.
Right now, it's empty of water and devoid of her usual infectious joy.
I bought this place because of the tub. And the view, and the pool. When we first started dating, I didn't invite her to my house because I lived with my two best friends, and for a lot of reasons, I didn't want to bring her home with me. So I bought this place and moved out. Lucy doesn't know I bought this apartment just for her.
I should have been honest with her, but I didn't want to scare her. If she knew what I felt for her… What I'd do for her. What I've already done for her.
"Lucy," I nudge her again. Finally, recognition sparks and she looks directly at me. Bright blue eyes framed by giant black fake lashes blink at me, contrasting her clean skin. She's tan, gold from the sun she gets when she runs around the city, lips bright red from crying and from licking her lips dry.
It's not the first time I've seen Lucy cry, but it's the first time I've felt this fucking gutted by it.
"Did you sleep with her?"
"No."
Tears reform, spilling down her cheeks. She nods slowly, lost in thought. "Why would she do that? Lie about…" She trails off, can't bring herself to say the words.
I've never fucking liked that girl and was relieved that Lucy seemed to spend less time with her over the last couple of months. That she lied about sleeping with me, and did this to hurt Lucy? I'm out for blood. I'm going to destroy Delaney. Personally. Professionally. All of the above.
I squeeze Lucy's barefoot, and she looks up at me. "I believe you," she says sadly.
I should feel relief, but all the other lies still weigh heavy on my shoulders.
"Lucy—"
"Do I really know you?"
I analyze her expression. She may have told me she believes me, but she still looks at me like I'm a stranger.
"Yes, Lucy. You know me."
"But not all of you."
"I—" But then I pause because this is the lie.
It was a white lie. A half-truth that I could get away standing behind because she'd never outright asked me, so I've never had to utter the truth. It's a choice to tell her a blatant lie or to keep something about myself from her to protect her. To hold on to her just a little longer.
But I hesitated too long. She pulls her foot from my grasp and comes to a stand, leaving the bathroom. She doesn't stomp or storm away. Laced with sadness, her quiet, graceful steps disappear down the hall. I get up and follow her into the kitchen, where she's pouring herself the world's fullest glass of wine.
She doesn't look at me, walking into the living room, sitting on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table, sipping her wine. Lucy's a diamond. In her beauty and uniqueness, yes, but also because she's so multifaceted. She has so many layers and sides. Happy, wild, anxious, sad, confused, adorable, focused. I've never met solemn Lucy. She looks like she's already given up on us, and I fucking hate it.
It's how I know this storm cloud between us isn't about fake pictures, a false affair, and her shitty friend Delaney.
She tilts the wine glass, some of the red spilling on her shirt. It doesn't phase her, she just shrugs and keeps drinking.
I sit beside her, giving her a little space, resisting the urge to demand she just forget about everything, let me handle the Delaney bullshit, so we can go back to normal like we were yesterday morning before I kissed her goodbye, rewind time to when everything was right.
But I can't do it. Because as much as I love her, I can't keep such a big piece of myself from her forever. It's been weighing on me for months, and the more my friends demand answers from me, the closer the lie creeps into my life.
"I need space, Mateo." Four words hammer into my heart.
"Look, Lu—"
"No. Something isn't right between us. I know you didn't do this thing with Delaney—I do believe you—but something else is off, has been for a while. Maybe we moved too quickly."
"Lucy, no. We didn't move too quickly. I love you. We're good, this is good, what we have."
"But it's not enough for you, is it?"
I grit my teeth, "Yes. It is. I don't need more than you." I think about Noah and Silas, what they'd say in this situation. They're better at this shit than I am. Communication. Bleeding honesty.
How do I tell her what I really want without scaring the shit out of her? Or repulsing her.
"I'll pack a bag. I'm sure Portia won't mind if I stay with her for a little while."
"No. Absolutely not."
"It's not up to you, Mateo. This is just a lot. I'm… stressed. I'm so stressed. My anxiety is the worst it's ever been. It's not just you and Delaney—"
"There is no me and Delaney."
"It's this thing that's missing between us. I feel like I want more from you, but I don't even know what that means. You're busy, I'm busy. We talk, but we don't, not really. I don't know what I want and it's not fair to you to string you along, no matter how I feel about you."
"You're not breaking up with me, Lucy, so get that shit out of your head right fucking now." I'm tense and angry. I feel her slipping away from me; still, I can't bring myself to talk to her like a normal fucking person. She deserves so much more than me, but I can't let her go. I refuse.
"Mateo…"
I turn and look at her, and when her hand covers mine, I realize how tightly I'm gripping the seat cushion. She stands, like this is final, this is her answer. No. I can't let it go, not like this. Not so quickly, so easily.
So, I compromise. "You can stay here. I'll go."
Lucy flinches. "Where will you…"
"With friends. Not far. But I want you to stay here, in our home. Until you feel better."
"You're not listening, Mateo. This isn't about me feeling sad. Can you honestly tell me you don't feel like something's missing?"
"I never wanted it to touch you, Lu," I mutter, the words slipping out unintentionally.
"What do you mean?"
"I…" Fuck.
"See? This is what I'm talking about."
I want to squeeze your throat till it leaves a necklace of bruises. I want to fuck you so hard, watch your eyes roll into the back of your head until you nearly pass out, stuff you so full of come you can't walk for a week without it dripping out of your pussy. I want to watch my friends take turns with your body, stripping down your walls, tearing all your stress away till all you can do is feel so I can watch the wonder of being alive light up your beautiful face.
Words I want to say and pray she still loves me. Words I don't say because she'll run from me screaming.
I come to a stand beside her. Pissed—at myself, at her for forcing this conversation—I storm into the bedroom. Throwing some clothes and other shit into a bag, I don't give myself a chance to take in our home, because I'll never leave otherwise.
She's everywhere, and since I never properly moved in, it's more her space than mine.
"Mateo?" she cries, voice trembling with fear. The box of secrets I should have kept closed is cracking open, and I can see her trying to sift through the pieces, to analyze and understand what's going on with me while she follows me to the door.
" Mi corazón . My heart. I love you," I say quietly. I want to kiss her goodbye. To tell her this is just a bump in the road, reassure myself that I'm not making the biggest mistake of my life by giving her space instead of admitting to my darkness.
I don't do any of those things. I leave as fast as I arrived.