Chapter Fourteen #3
“That’s not what I mean,” I say. What do I mean? How can I say this? “I mean mess things up between you and me.” Something inside me ignites and I make solid eye contact with Martin, breathless.
His body reacts before his face. “What do you mean?”
What do I mean? I really want to tell him that I think he’s the greatest person that’s ever been and if I am going to be with a guy, it should definitely be someone like him.
Or maybe actually him. I feel like I’m on a trajectory to mess everything up.
I hunt for words, the right not-mess-everything-up words.
“I feel like you and me,” my voice breaks, “have gotten so much closer recently.” His mouth drops open slightly and he doesn’t look away.
“And, I appreciate you so much and what you mean to me, and if I meet this guy, I’m afraid that will mess up everything that we have. ” We are both mouth-breathing now.
The room changes colors again, although I have no idea what’s actually on the screen. The television audio has become white noise.
“Liam,” he starts, a flicker of something in his eyes I can’t read. “You mean so much to me, and I treasure everything we have together. Do you…” He stops himself but doesn’t look away, his eyes blown. “Are you…”
We stare across the couch at each other and I can’t tell if the gap between us is getting bigger or smaller, but it changes somehow.
Without blinking, he finds his words, but they are softer: “If you like this guy, then you should do this. You shouldn’t let me get in the way of anything. You deserve to be happy. You deserve the best.” He looks away.
“I’m going to meet him, then,” I nearly whisper. “I’m going to treasure this moment like it won’t ever happen again. I won’t let this moment slip away.” My words show resolve, but my tone sounds defeated.
He suddenly has an energy to his tone, “You should do it! Ichi-go Ichi-e,” he says like he’s cheering on a sports team. I’m not a sports team, nor am I inspired like I usually am by his hope and caring. I secretly want him to say, “Ditch this imbecile. I’m here for you instead.” He doesn’t.
This realization hits me hard. That’s my answer. Martin, no. My secret person, maybe. My emotions whirl like a board-game spinner before landing on resolve. Maybe even happiness. I’m going to do it. I’m going to meet this guy!
I try to match Martin’s sports energy when I repeat my thoughts aloud, “I’m going to do it! I’m going to meet him!”
“Just do it.” More sporting energy. I’m searching through the flicker in his eyes, wondering if they agree with the words he’s saying.
“I’m going to text him right now. At this moment.” I don’t mean it like a dare, but I think it sounds that way. Like I’m daring him to stop me.
“Right now. Good idea,” he cheers softly.
I pull out my phone, open my secret person app, and type two words: “Let’s meet!” then click send.
I look up to see Martin’s reaction, when the phone in his hand chimes. Three small beeps, with a small flash. My face twists slightly.
“Your phone just beeped,” I say.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t look. “It’s nothing.”
Just then I realize. I need to name the time and place. I look back to my phone. I’m on a roll now, so my decision-making processes are firing on all cylinders. “Saturday, 7 pm at The Black Walnut,” I text. My secret guy and I are going to eat steak.
The phone in Martin’s hand chimes again with another tiny flash and I hear it vibrate. I look from Martin’s face, to his phone, and back again. He doesn’t move.
I motion toward the phone weakly, “You going to check that?”
“It’s nothing,” he says. He doesn’t look away from me. “I’ll check it later.”
I’m stuck in this moment. I think I’m becoming irrational, and my brain is sparking. I turn to my phone again and start typing again.
“What are you doing?” He tenses, peering over my screen.
“Sending a text.”
I type the words, “See you there,” and click send.
Martin’s phone chimes again, flashing and vibrating. He doesn’t look at it. Our eyes lock for a fraction of a second, then he falters.
The next thing I know, I’m flying through the air, over Martin, lunging for the phone in his hand. The sofa groans, and I hear my phone clatter to the floor.
“What are you doing?” he grunts, trying to keep the phone away from my wild hands.
I’m on top of him, my knee in between his thighs, my side warm against his chest where my shirt has pulled up.
He’s squirming under me, but I’ve got both hands around his phone, which is wrapped in his strong fingers.
He thrashes and throws his other arm around me, wrapping me in his strength.
I feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck.
We both thrash and pull, but I’m determined to get that phone out of his hand.
Breathlessly, I wrestle the phone around just enough to read the notification that just came through, and I freeze, becoming dead weight.
I’m solidly on top of Martin, adrenaline pumping, and I can’t help but feel a transfer of heat from his core, enough to make my insides melt.
I slump over him, and he stops thrashing, turning the phone to face the wall.
“See you there,” his last notification said. My message was printed on Martin’s screen. I can’t unsee it.
My world begins to implode in tiny spirals.
Why is my message on Martin’s phone? How could that possibly happen?
There’s only one explanation, but it can’t land.
I can’t let it have a perch anywhere near my brain.
I turn to look at him, inches from his face.
I’m straddling one of his thighs, which flinches, and I feel his breath on my face in short gasps.
My gaze drops to his mouth, which is hanging open, and then back to his eyes.
His face changes colors again with the room, a rich, vibrant green.
“How?” I demand. I’m speaking way too loud for being so close, but the world is imploding so I can’t help it. “What is my text doing on your phone?”
Part of me wants him to chuckle, turn the phone to me, and show me how I’ve misunderstood. Part of me wants to remain straddling him this closely for a while, feeling his heat. Part of me wants to scream.
He doesn’t respond. The phone doesn’t move.
I push away from his chest, sliding back on his knee. His face says nothing. His Adam’s apple rises and falls.
I grip the front of his shirt, grabbing the end of his necklace in the wad. “It’s you!” The words come out so loudly it’s startling, but Martin remains motionless. Doesn’t flinch.
“It’s you!” I repeat. “You are my…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Liam,” he starts, but I’m already moving. I’m off the couch and spinning, looking for something like I have belongings to gather. I have nothing. My mind is spinning. “Liam, let me explain.”
My face flushes and I burst into tears, my eyes feel like they might explode. “It’s you?” I’m pointing and screaming and wiping the back of my hand across my face. “How?” My voice is fracturing, “Why?”
He reaches for me, standing, and misses my flailing arm. I’m spinning again. I can’t look at him.
“I have to get out of here!” I’m yelling at myself now through hot tears. My face is burning. “What were you thinking?” I don’t know if I’m screaming at myself or Martin, but I stop spinning and head for the door.
The last image I see is Martin, stepping toward the door, one arm outstretched, the other gripping his phone, speechless, with eyes pleading at me.
The image is blurred by sharp tears. My face is hot as I storm out the door.
It’s the only way I know to relieve it. I think I hear Martin saying something at me as I flee, but I can’t make it out.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to get there fast. I don’t even hear my truck start, and the next thing I know, I’m no longer at Martin’s.
I drive to nowhere and I drive there quickly.