Tell Me To Stay

He’s so used to ordering me around, but he can’t tell me to stay. I gave him an out and he took it.

I hate myself for leaving. I hate that I’m crying on the mattress that’s on the floor. I hate that I’m this person. This person who needs him and runs to him whenever I’m feeling weak.

I’ll learn to stand on my own. I’ll learn. I just didn’t think it was supposed to hurt like this. It hurts too much to be away from him.

Today

I hate myself. I hate how weak I am. I felt so strong and put together when I was far away from here, at least the last two years I did. I fooled myself into thinking I knew who I was and that I could stand on my own.

But here I am, crying in my car before a work dinner because I walked away from the man I love. He’s right that I run. I’m still running. This time, I’m not hoping he’ll catch me. I don’t deserve it.

I’m worried I don’t know how to be in a relationship without fighting. I’m worried I don’t know how not to run away from my problems. I’m worried if I don’t go back to Madox immediately, he’ll stop loving me. And I desperately want to hear him say those words to me, to see him when he says it, to kiss him when he says it. I’m just afraid. I’m so fucking weak for this man, but I don’t want to be. I just want to love him and be loved by him. I wish I were his equal, but I never will be.

One more deep breath and I touch up the concealer under my eyes, using the rearview mirror before heading into the restaurant.

It’s the same place Madox took me to two days ago. I’m really starting to hate fate. She thinks she’s so fucking funny.

Another deep breath, and I put on a bit of mascara.

One last deep breath, and I climb out of my car. There’s a bite in the air so I pick up my pace, trying not to think about Madox and forcing a smile as the doorman lets me in to the restaurant.

“I’m meeting a party; I believe it’s under Adrienne Hart?”

“Ah, yes,” the maître d’ says and smiles brightly, graciously not saying anything about how I bumped into him two days ago when I walked out of those front doors crying. “Right this way.” He’s all politeness as he walks me back to a private room.

I expect the table to be large, but it’s not.

My pace slows, as does my heartbeat when I see the two of them waiting.

Adrienne, with pearls and a simple black dress. Her head held high as she talks to the man next to her.

Although it’s the back of his head, I already know it’s Madox. By the way he holds himself, it’s more than obvious to me. I can hear the timbre in his voice when he says something.

Oh my fucking God. I can’t breathe.

My mouth dries as I’m ushered to the third chair at the table and I keep my gaze on Adrienne.

Don’t freak out. I breathe in and out slowly. Anger slowly drips into my blood. He better not have interfered with my work. Please, for fuck’s sake. I will murder him.

My throat is tight when I take my seat. I’m stiff and my body is ice cold as I avoid Madox’s prying gaze. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t even look at him.

“Sophie dear, I’m so happy you could make it tonight,” Adrienne says sweetly, like there’s nothing wrong in the least, and I force my lips into a tight smile. My gaze flicks to Madox. My heart beats once.

His gaze is narrowed, his forehead creased.

My heart beats even harder, even heavier.

“I’d like you to meet my son,” she says although her voice barely registers.

My heart beats a third time.

This can’t be real.

Please, no. Her son?

My tight smile falters when I look at him. I don’t know what to do or say, but all I can think is that he set this up.

That I didn’t earn my job. That I didn’t get here because I deserved it. That I was a fool to think I’d finally made it on my own.

Suddenly, my lips feel dry, and I lick the bottom one as Madox tears his gaze from me to face his mother. “Madox, this lovely lady is Sophie. She’s recently been hired by the company I bought a while back that I told you about. The design and branding firm, do you recall?”

With a racing pulse, I look between the two of them. Does he not know?

My head is spinning, and I’m lost in a blur of questions.

“Madox,” I say his name and I try to keep it polite, but still it comes out like a question, his name is uttered like a plea.