It makes my heart dip into my stomach, all heavy and broken.
I feel like I can cry and cry, and still won’t feel better. I lied to Abel and said it was my period, and he knows not to bother me then. He knows to go to the store, buy me as much chocolate as possible, and sit quietly beside me so I can use him as a pillow. So, he did just that. Though I refused the pillow services and told him that I was feeling bitchy and he needed to get out of the room. He loitered in the hallway, that idiot.
God, I love him. He’s my everything. He’s my world. But am I not enough for him anymore?
Normally, I wave off comments like this and grin but today I can’t. I turn pathetic and ask, “You think so?”
“Yeah. That guy’s crazy about you — you know that, right?”
Taking a sip of water, I nod. “Sure. Yeah.”
I’m never drinking again after how hungover I woke up, feeling like death. I still feel like death. It’s just for another reason.
People are mingling, flashing in and out of my vision, but all I care about is the golden-haired man across the room. I want him to turn and look at me, but he hasn’t. Not yet. Oh, he knows where I am but he’s busy chatting with Nick.
Beside me, Blu lowers her drink without taking a sip and studies me. “What’s going on?’
“Nothing.”
Turning to face me completely, Blu gives me one of her famous stares; Nick calls it the therapist look and I agree. “Spill it. I’m not gonna be here much longer so this is your chance to get all the wisdom.”
Sighing, I gulp down more water. “It’s just that I love him so much, you know? I can’t imagine my life without him. But I…” I sigh, blinking my eyes to keep the tears in. “I don’t think he feels the same.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Forget it.”
It sounds impossible, even to my own ears. It is impossible. He’s crazy about me and I’m crazy about him. But still…
“No. No.” She places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on. What… What brought this on?”
I grip the glass tightly and stare at the water. It takes me a couple of minutes to gather my courage but I do it.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper.
“Do what?”
“Make tapes. I-I can’t make tapes anymore.”
There. I said it.
I can’t go to that studio. Because it’s stained with anger and hatred and useless rebellion. It won’t let us move on. It won’t let us be happy, be in the moment.
“So, don’t do it.”
My eyes water again and not even blinking can do the trick. “We… I don’t know, we made this decision together and I feel like I’d be betraying him somehow by backing out. I think he needs it too much. I —”
“No, hon. He doesn’t need that. He needs you,” she says like it’s so obvious. “That man over there is fucking crazy for you.”
“But he’s been hurt so much. Like, I can’t even imagine, and I can’t take away the one thing that gives him relief.”
Blu knows what happened to us and why we ran away. It both surprises me and makes me feel better to hear her solution.
“Listen to me, okay? This is a marriage. There’s a thing called compromise. Communication. If there’s a problem, you talk about it. You find a solution. You don’t suffocate and be unhappy. There’s a sure-fire way of breaking up your marriage.” She glances at her husband. “When Nick and I started going out, it was pretty cray-cray. He’d call me multiple times a day. I’d be like, dude, just chill out. I’m all for love and whatnot but I also like my space. So, we compromised. It’s completely okay to feel this, trust me.”
I scrunch my nose, almost laughing. “Nick called you multiple times a day?” I swing my eyes to the big guy, all tattooed up and fierce. He doesn’t look like someone prone to showing emotions or even saying I love you much.
He is a great guy though. He has witnessed Abel and me at our absolute most vulnerable, so our relationship should be weird. But it’s not. He’s easy to talk to, hang out with, exactly like Blu. Not to mention he’s a photographer, so he and Abel have a lot to talk about.
Although Abel hasn’t drawn or used the camera for anything other than taking snaps at the shoot in weeks. Just like I haven’t written in so long.
He’s usually so particular about poses. He wants control. He’ll ask me to do a pose but usually not like it. So, he’ll study me critically, run his eyes all over my body and rearrange my limbs to his satisfaction. I miss that. I miss being his muse. I miss seeing him in his creative space.