I TELL MYSELF

 

By Chicky

 

 

 

 

Rating: NC-17ish
Spoilers: Uh, not really any...I don't know. If in doubt, don't read.
Category – CC/UC
Disclaimer – In case you're confused, None of this belongs to me.
Author’s Note – I wrote this when I was having trouble getting in touch with my characters, I'm still not really sure why - it's sort of bizarre, and it's not even the pov of the character I was out of touch with. I'm weird like that, lol.

 

 

 

The first night I caught her scent in your hair, I laughed at myself for wondering why. And, the first time I saw her image as you gasped my name, I thought it must be my own imagination. When I came home between classes to get the paper I’d forgotten, I decided that the shower door was still wet from six hours earlier. At night when I wake up and you aren’t in bed beside me, I tell myself that I can call your name and you’ll call back to me from the kitchen. After I found her earring on the floor of the car, I thought of a million good reasons for it to be there…

I know there are things you want to tell me. And, I know there are things you think I won’t understand. Now, when you look at me, I see that you are sad, and I think that your sorrow is for me. In the quiet moments, I can feel that there is truth on your lips, ready to spill out and overwhelm me. I fill the quiet moments with my mindless chatter, because there are things I don’t want to hear.

There was a time when I would have confronted you. When I would have yelled and screamed, and beat on you with my fists. I think there was even a time when I would have walked away, without looking back. Now, I simply pretend not to see, and pray that you never tell me. I know that the moment you do, you will leave.

Once, I thought you were mine. I thought that nothing could take you from me. The ties to an all but forgotten past that bound you for so long seemed severed. I believed that love had conquered all. Maybe it did.

I tell myself that you were once completely mine.

***

“Maria…” you seldom say my name anymore, and when you say it like that, drawn out and slow…well, I know where you’re leading.

“Yeah? Hey, did I tell you what Liz told me today?”

***

I see your eyes glaze over, and I know that you are tuning me out. Do you think of her? The princess, who doesn’t babble, and doesn’t laugh too much, and doesn’t ever make herself ridiculous. What does she feel like in your arms? Does she feel differently than I do? Do her hands touch you more gently or more roughly? When you’re in bed together, does she lose control more than I do, or is she quieter, more passionate, reserved…?

I tell myself that maybe you think about me when you are with her.

***

“…so, I told my mom we’d definitely be there for lunch tomorrow. She says Kyle will be home some time tonight, so I thought that maybe I’d just stay over there, so that I can see him as soon as he arrives.”

You know I’m waiting for some sort of acknowledgement, so you nod absently as you sort through the mail that I left out on the counter.

This is all I need to continue, “Liz told me she ran into Pam Troy the other day…”

***

At some point, you actually begin to listen to me, and I wonder why. Are you looking for an opening? Maybe you hope I’ll say something you can use to ease your guilt. But, I know that ease is not what you seek. I know that when the day comes, you want me to make you feel miserable. You hope that the pain you’ll see on my face will bring you anguish. Then you can leave, because you are the cause of my misery, and you don’t want to hurt me any more. This has always been your way. The threat of my pain has always been your excuse.

I tell myself that I don’t love you so much that I will make it easy for you.

***

“…then I’ll make some pasta for dinner, ok?”

I leave the question hanging in the air behind me as I walk out of the room and toward the bathroom. I lock the door once I am inside, and instantly flip on the water in the shower so that you won’t hear me cry. This is the first time I’ve locked this door since I moved in. That might be because I know locking it is pointless, or it might be because there’s never been a time I’ve had to hide from you.

This is the third time in two days that I’ve seen the words forming on your lips.

***

We are reaching the end, and I know it. The confrontation is inevitable, and I wonder how I will survive it. I wonder when I became weak. Already, I can feel you leaving, walking out the door. Leaving me in this apartment surrounded by what we have been. Mocked by the happiness of yesterdays that I forgot to treasure. Will I still breathe when you are gone? Will I chase you relentlessly until you take me back? Will you go to her?

I tell myself that I can let you go.

***

When I walk out of the bathroom, you are gone. You think that I will assume that you’ve gone bowling, or to see Max, or for a ride in the desert. I know where you are.

As I look around this apartment, I am overwhelmed by your presence here. I have lived here for two years, but it is still very much yours. Thoughts of staying here, alone, surrounded by your things, frighten me. So little of this is actually mine. It’s all yours, or ours…

***

My mind has always held a picture of my future with you. Future with you, because I have never considered a future without you. I have wrapped myself around you so tightly, that I have forgotten what I look like alone. Alone. The word makes me dizzy. All I have ever wanted is you, to be with you, always. I wonder if you will still see me. I begin to think that I could live, as long as you were near, as long as I am allowed to see your face every few days, as long as you occasionally say my name.

I tell myself I can find a way to go on.

***

There is no conscious thought as I begin to haphazardly throw my things into bags and boxes. I do not stop to consider that I am being irrational as I haul my clothes to my car by the armload. I take my toiletries, my shoes, a few things that were mine, like the lamp on the nightstand, and the plant in the kitchen window. Our music has long ago intermingled, so I only take a few minutes to find my Nina Simone albums, they will be all I want for the next few days anyway. The pictures, I leave for you to keep…or dispose of.

In less than an hour, the car is loaded to the brim with my things, and I take a few minutes to carefully straighten up the apartment. I close the doors on my side of the closet, and I close my drawer and my cupboard in the bathroom. As I start the car, I think how pathetic it is that all I have left of my life now fits in this small space.

***

When I imagined our ending, this is not what I saw. I never saw myself giving up, packing it in, walking away. But, I’m not the same person anymore. I’m a shadow of myself, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

My mind begins to wander back to better days. I remember how you used to look at me when you thought I didn’t know you were watching. I can remember the way you used to say my name, the way your hands couldn’t stop touching me, the way your lips bruised mine…

I left you. How many more days would we have had if I’d waited? Would we have made love again? Am I missing having you inside me one last time? Would you have smiled at me again? Kissed my cheek?

I tell myself not to wonder what I'm missing.

***

I’ve been sitting here in the desert for hours trying to talk myself out of doing what I know I’m going to do. Maybe I’ll get back before you return. There’ll be no drama, I’ll just continue to live the same lie that we’ve been living, and continue to pray every night that the next day won’t be the last.

As I drive into town I look at the clock in the dashboard, and I know I’ve been gone too long. You’ll be sitting in the living room, you will have called my mother, liz, everyone, and you won’t have been able to locate me. I’ll probably walk in just as you’re on the verge of panic.

Mechanically, I park the car, hop out and glance back realizing how long it’s going to take me to unpack everything. I slip through the door without a sound, hoping against hope that you’ve gone to bed, and I can avoid a confrontation. The place is dark, and I wonder if I’ve beat you home after all when I hear a sound come from the bedroom.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know what the sound means, but I walk down the hall to the door anyway. I silently push it open and see you plowing into her on our bed. For a few moments I watch you as if you’re someone else and as if you aren’t shattering what’s left of my heart. For some reason, neither of you have noticed me, and I stand there for so long that I get distracted. My eyes are drawn to the picture of the two of us that you’ve set on the dresser. I know you put it there, because it was in the living room when I left.

I’m pulled to the picture, and I push the door all of the way open and walk across the room to pick it up, hold it in my hand, gaze at it. Maybe I need it after all, this reminder that for a while I had everything I’d ever wanted.

Something has alerted you to my presence, maybe it was the swinging door, or my figure walking past the bed, or the flickering of the candles from the small breeze of my passing.

I look at you, where you’ve stopped mid-stroke to stare at me over shoulder. It’s all strangely surreal. I walk over to the bed, and stand beside your still joined, naked forms.

Holding the picture up, I smile, “I forgot this.”

You swallow and continue to stare at me. She’s turned away, maybe in shame, I don’t really know – her blonde hair is fanned out over my pillow, and I wonder if her scent has already overpowered mine.

“Maria.”

You say my name, and I know that it holds everything it should, guilt, regret, sorrow, anger. I’m making it easy for you. I’m allowing you to tell yourself that you’re bad for me, allowing you to think, ‘look how I’ve hurt her, I’m no good for her anyway’. Then, you can leave me, and be with her, and always tell yourself you did it for my own good.

Sorry.

“Michael, I’m glad you’ve found someone,” I say in a voice that doesn’t sound like it’s coming from me, “it’ll make leaving easier.”

You’re stunned, and to be honest, so am I. I reach out to touch your cheek, and I see fear in your eyes. You don’t understand, you’ve lost control of the situation, you’re questioning why I’ve left you.

That’s when I turn to go. I’ll climb into my car, and I’ll drive away, and we’ll be over. But, now you’ll always wonder. I know you, and I know how you feel about being left. It brings a sadistic smile to my face.

As I steer the jetta toward my mother’s house, I wonder if someday she’ll catch my scent in your hair.