My feet. They're numb. Numb with every twang of confusion hitting my mind right now. Every roll of thunder bringing my mind to its knees, and to near tears. Every crashing wave to an unsettling shore. I'm starting to wonder when the clouds will open up, and God will appear. I wish he would guide me. I'm not asking for wings. I'm asking for help.
I'm not stupid, completely. I ended things with Carter because it was immoral. It was wrong. What kind of person am I? Abby Lockhart. I have to have an affair for a maximum of seven days because my boyfriend disappears from my world, from the city of Chicago? I can't even hold out for one week. One lousy week. What was my excuse? That I would die if I couldn't have sex with Carter before the week was up?
I'm weak, I'm terrible. I'm a horrid person. I don't deserve to be walking home without some person mugging me or molesting me, robbing me or hurting me. I wish they would. That could be God's help. I don't understand why I am allowed to be so safe after all I've done so wrong.
Luka didn't disappear though. And I didn't go to Carter for sex. I have to tell myself that. I love this man. And he knows that I do. Hell, he said he loved me back. I didn't expect it to, and I kind of hoped it wouldn't, but my heart skipped a beat. I've learned that is not a figure of speech. It literally will skip. Either that, or your mind loses itself and doesn't care to notice. All I could feel were the words against me somehow. I don't know where they were targeted: my heart, my mind. But they hit me in a wonderful spot. I couldn't help but feel happy, overwhelmed, guilty and afraid all at once. Afraid? I don't know what I'm afraid of. It just flows with me. I'll refuse to admit it, but who is listening to my thoughts? They're my last sanctuary now. No one cares to listen about these paltry, inadequate rants. No one listens.
Except for Carter. He actually does.
I shake my head into the collar of my coat and slide the key from my pocket. I proceed to open the door with the tool. My hands are swollen with another feeling, but you couldn't tell from the outside. Only I can tell it. A couple exits the door next to mine. Their faces are drawn to quiet, but not solemn frowns. They walk past me. I wonder how they feel about each other. I wonder why they're frowning.
I wonder if they're in love. If every waking moment of that feeling is as difficult for them as it is for me. So bad, that they have to pluck themselves from the sheets of their bed, which have brought them no comfort during their nights. It can't be this unfair to everyone.
But I remind myself as I pitch the keys to the table that I'm the one that made it so unfair for myself. I rushed into something that could have waited. I could have been completely perversely rude and broke up with Luka on the phone. I would never do that, seeing as I was on my way to Carter's in the first place, but it's just an example. One way that I didn't have to be so narrow about everything.
All I want to do is crash on the couch and shut my eyes to my life. With this meeting of eyelids, I'd throw away everything in the world tonight. And I wouldn't deal with it until tomorrow. As I glance to the clock, I see that I have six hours before I have to get up for work. Six hours. Six hours of pure sleep, hopefully. However, chances are I will only be plagued with thoughts of this insane scenario laced through my mind. And that's if I happen to get lucky and fall asleep.
I've slept peacefully enough this last week considering the conditions. For the first two nights next to Carter, I told myself not to look at him if I was awake. I didn't want to see him sleeping. I knew immediately that I would cave at the site and grow weak in the knees. It didn't matter if I wasn't standing up; I couldn't grip that subject. Love isn't something I experience regularly. Counting Richard, I've never witnessed it myself, through my eyes, until this with Carter.
I wish it hadn't taken a dirty affair to come to this conclusion, I whisper in my head as I drag myself to the bed in Luka's apartment. Sometimes when you watch those romantic affairs on television, you wish you could do it, right? Not the whole 'affair' part, but there's something in the eyes of secret that makes it so glorious. So dangerous. Not the affair, but the secret. Yeah, that's right.
But, right now, I wish I'd never done any of it. Partially. I don't know where I would be if I hadn't done this thing. Most likely, I would still be lying here in Luka's bed, still and crisp against the undisturbed sheets. I feel dirty. I feel like a stench, that should be pushed away.
I glance downward, stealing a glimpse of my toes. They're pulling upward through the comforter, thick around my body. Yes, my toes. They seem so perfectly innocent. Don't think I'm crazy, but think about it. My toes. Clean from the shower I've taken this morning, but worn from the wandering I have done today. From the work, walking up and down hospital corridors. Much resembling my attitude, my mind. My conduct, my demeanor, I guess toward life.
My demeanor. I don't want to go there, I really don't.
I'm so glad that the sun isn't out right now. I like things dark for now. No other way suits me at the moment. My mind is a shadow against the living, disturbing and hollow. There's no other way for it to be, and if it was, I wouldn't be worthy of a single soulful thing. Or a being. A man, a friend, or a family.
I feel reluctant to wrap my arms around my body, but give in and do so. I'm aware that I could just turn up the furnace in here; it's freezing. But I'll keep it cold. Cold and dark. Cold and dark in an unknown bed. One in which the sheets fall around me as if they're my enemies. None of these are my friends. They cloud around me and take no shape, no form, and no need for my body.
I feel unwanted right now. So horribly unwanted that sometimes it makes me sick. In fact, I've thought about rushing my way to the women's bathroom and just crying to the odd silence. Even if it had to be to the depressing site of a toilet. Ugh. When did things get so awful?
Every inch of my body aches with a pain I can't recognize. With my entire story, shouldn't these pains be those of guilt? Or fear? That seems to be my theme lately, anyways. It only takes me a few moments to realize that these are those undeniable stings of love. Oh, God, what I would give to take these way. I don't understand. I thought that if I was miserable, hating myself, I wouldn't have time to think about love. Why do I think about him now, at the moment where I definitely should not be? Why is he still in my head? Hell, why is he still in my heart? Why is he here, in another's bed with me tonight? Why is he with me? And why have I held myself to him tonight?
So many questions without answers. But they're all just questions, so why aren't they answered? My fingers gripping at my shirt only says to me just how cold its grown. This apartment feels so much more irregular than before. I dare to wish that Carter would come through the door and hug me, kiss me then leave. Just a second to be with him. Even if it has to be without words. I can cope with only that tonight.
Get real, I tell the dark as I find myself believing it might happen. My mind is stuck on three words that we've told each other.
"I love you already." It's what I had said softly, breaking down into unseen tears. He answered me the same. He loved me.
These words are playing over and over again in my head, convincing me that for once this is real. That I haven't fallen into a cruel joke. For once I'm down the right road, I know what I want. I'm tired of people thinking that I don't know, that I don't feel. One day inside this troubled mind, and they would get it all. This jumble of feelings I could never share with the outside world.
I crave for his arms to hang around mine. I cry out into my battered mind for him to come and fine me. His voice is crawling through my skin, inching up my body now. I want to swat at them - tell them that I have had enough, and that I can't take anymore. It's torture. It surprises me that I don't even think about standing and running to him.
I've been awake too long. I now have five and a half hours before I have to wake up to the sun. The light, the new day I have to turn to. I'm forced, yes forced, to wake up each day. As pathetic as it sounds, Carter can save me from that, it's for sure. As long as I'm forced to wake up with him each day -
I stop myself from thinking about him as best I can. While I'm in Luka's bed, my thoughts will be cloaked in thoughts of him alone. No one else. Whether they're bad or good, well, that's up to my conscious decision. I can't control what I think half of the time anyway. As long as I don't mention Carter's name to myself again. Not yet.
My eyes are growing heavy. I pretend to fight it, then ease down, hoping to trick my own eyes into growing even weightier. I succeed. Before I know it, my eyes are pressed together. Remarkably, I'm falling asleep. I fall asleep shivering. It's still cold. And, oh, so dark.
Without him.
--
As soon as my eyes are closed, I awaken to the sun. That's the worse thing about falling asleep is that as soon as you're out, you're back. You can't think while you're sleeping. You only wake up. It isn't fair. I need rest.
My body is still solid in the midst of the bed. I attempt to remove myself from the bed; I can't stay in here any longer. It's eating me away. This bed, this apartment, this...
This man next to me. What is he doing here?
I freeze. My leg hits him as I start to slide away. And that's when I first see him. His thick black hair hangs lazily over his eyes. His face is pulled into a frown. It's a sad frown. Does he know something? I hush myself. I don't know how to tell him. He slept next to me last night. Given, he didn't make a move to touch me. Does that mean anything?
He's in full dress, too. Sweater and jeans. I'm only in a thin shirt and jeans. I'm still cold. My fingers are ice against my warm face as I contemplate my next move. I don't know if I should wake him up.
Blame poor judgment, but I step from the bed. Maybe it's not such bad judgment. Think about it. Well, don't. By keeping him asleep, my plan was to prolong this distance between us as long as possible. Consequently, it's keeping Carter and I farther apart as well. I don't like any of this, I tell myself for the umpteenth time. God, what a mess.
I get the strength to walk to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. I don't feel hungry. I need something to think with. A single piece of toast. That's healthy enough for me. I'm not doing so well as it is. What I really need is one of those 'balanced breakfasts,' the ones they mention in cereal commercials: orange juice, milk, toast, cereal, and whatever else. I could probably add bacon, eggs, sausage, and fancy silverware. With that much food, and utensils that complicated, I might vomit into my lap.
I reach for the bread on the counter. Toast it is.
I think I hear something stir, and I pray it's not the being in the room I've just abandoned. I aim to reroute the sound elsewhere, away from me. Maybe then it won't exist. Am I afraid of him, or the fact of our encounter on this subject? I decide that the two are the same things. I'm not afraid of him. He's too sweet to me. I'm afraid of confrontation now. Just this once. And every other time after this one.
If only I could have waited one week. Really, would it have been that hard? I would have missed every feeling I felt this week, sure, but would it be worth it to keep a friend? Luka and I could never be friends after I tell him. Never ever. Why would one be friends with a someone like this? After a relationship? I think that if Luka and I were to end on good terms, in a world where none of this happened, then we might still be friends. But not now. Good terms would be... are there any good terms here?
I hate this story. This tale woven in front of me. It's only added another shape to my disfigured life, hasn't it? If I knew in the first place that I didn't appreciate some factors in my life, then why would I ever go and make it worse? That's just the stupidest thing one could do in this situation, this scenario. I wonder if I'm still the third little trouble between Carter and Luka. Crying for one, and crying away from the other. But, I still can't manage to shed a tear in front of either of them.
I wish I could head over to Carter's apartment. I need to talk to him before I do this. I'm pleading for a hug from him. I know that sounds completely out of my character, but all I want are his arms right now. They speak to me; they tell me I'm okay, no matter how screwed up I really am.
I don't mind them saying I'm screwed up. Is that bad or good? Who cares. I wipe my eyes in frustration, tired from my unnoticed tears.
The slice of bread springs from the toaster. I remove it and tuck the toaster back into the cupboard, out of sight. I reach for the butter in the fridge, but decide against it. I'll eat it plain, without any coating. Without any mask. Not a disguising mask. A real mask.
I confuse myself with this, shrugging it away, and plop down onto a couch in the living room. With each small bite I take, a bitter feeling runs through my veins. I don't like this. I can't eat. I stand up, careful not to do so too fast. I chuck it into the wastebasket somewhere in the kitchen. I don't care to look. As long as I know I made it safely into the can.
"Up early."
Well, God, I guess you had to do it sooner or later.
I don't look at him. I don't even turn around. I start to take a glass from the cupboard, as if it was what I was there for. I fill it halfway with water straight from the faucet. I wonder how far he is from me right now. Closer to the bedroom, or closer to me?
"I have a shift in," I quickly glance to the clock above the sink, sudden disappointment flagged through my cheeks, "three hours." Perfect, Abby. Since when do you get up three hours early?
"Three hours?"
I nod. "I couldn't sleep." How am I ever going to just tell him this? I can barely talk, and I'm not even *looking* at him! This is impossible, I'm a wreck. He comes over to me. I wait for his arms to encircle my waist, but they don't come. Instead he pushes next to me, his shoulder not even so much as brushing against mine. I question this. Luka usually would put his arms around me in the morning.
"Any more bread?"
I don't mean to sound conceited, but he hasn't even said anything about my not sleeping. Something's wrong.
Damn. He knows.
My entire body runs throughout itself, sending me a message I can't read. My hands are cold, but they're tearing into heat. I can't feel my eyes staring ahead. That's what I'm doing. With my back to him again, I'm staring forward into the basin in front of me. My glass is still in my hand.
Maybe he doesn't know. Hey, maybe he didn't have the best time in Minnesota or something. Play on it, Abby. Go.
"Did you have a good time?"
He stops against the counter, I see as I turn around. My stomach ties itself into a knot, then falls away. I'm sick. I'm literally ill. I want the sun to go back down. Please, God, let it go away. Tell the world its time to fall asleep. For a very long time.
"Luka?"
He braces himself against the counter and whispers, "What?"
I *know* he knows now. I'm certain. But I'm doubting myself. I'm being stupid again. He knows. How? I have no idea. It doesn't matter. He knows, and that's all that matters. How did he find out? Why hasn't he hurled me into the hall by now, letting me cry to the pale walls outside? I think that's just in my situation.
"I said," I being to repeat, my voice cracking, "did you have a good time?" I won't even try to force a smile.
"You did," he shoots back. He glides past me again, careful not to hit me.
My eyes close. Everything is silent. I don't know what to do. No one can help me now. This is about me being honest to someone, admitting what I've done wrong. It will never be anyone else's fault but mine. I wish I could understand that and that would be it. No more conversation. Just an image of peace settled between us.
I could do with some rain right now.
"Luka," I call finally. That's about all I have left, as for strength. My brain is just singing for me to leave him alone. I don't know why. I'm not paying attention to any matters, any opinions of the heart right now. It plays not part in this. It's done enough damage. I tear myself from my stationed position at the counter and rush toward the bedroom. The door is shut. I sigh, so frustrated, so tired. I pound one fist on the door, repeating his name again and again. "Open the door," I say through the wood. I don't expect him to do it, until he does.
"What?" he shouts in my face, his own towering above me. His dark eyes are angered, pure with rage. I think I may have shrunk away from his form at this. I feel less and less likely to do this as time goes by. I wonder how much we'll last, separated so like this. Before I have to leave.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. It's so hushed, I can barely hear myself. My hands are just hanging at my sides.
"Are you really?" he asks, breathing heavily with pursed lips.
"I don't know why I did it," I lie. I can't tell him that he couldn't 'save' me after all. I'll never tell another soul why I need Carter. Only he'll know. My thoughts are brought back to this instant abruptly.
"So," he said, obviously still upset, "you're saying that you want to make you and I work?"
Damn it. He's doing this on purpose. He's backing me into that corner of no return. He wants me to admit that I did it because I wanted to. I should tell him. That's not giving anything else away. Just the fact that I did it willingly. I should have shared that with him in the first place. I don't want to lie anymore than I have to. Not to Luka.
"No," I speak softly. I can sense the breath cross my lips as I talk now. I'm glaring at my shoes, but my gaze follows to his face slowly.
He doesn't look any different. Well, he looks even more upset. I don't blame him, but I want to back away and out of this story forever. Out of this chapter of my life for as long as I live. He's looking into my eyes, watching each blink and probably each thought that I process. This slowly.
"I can't," I say, even frailer than the last time words crept from my tongue. "I can't do this anymore."
"This?" he asks, waving around into the air. "What is this?"
I feel the need to raise my voice, just for emphasis and stress. But, it only lessens in strength. "This: me and you. It's impossible."
"Of course it is," he exclaims against morning air, biting into my atmosphere. "When someone does something like this!"
I wish he wouldn't shout, but I don't fight it. I don't have a reason to. I have weak, extremely weak alibi at the moment. I have nothing on my side right here, right now. I extend my hands to his, "Luka - "
He pulls his palms from mine. I don't want to do things like this, even though I know there's no other way. Have I mentioned that already?
"There's no reason for you to stay here, really," he says. He turns back into his room, pulling the sheets back and slipping inside of them. "You can leave."
I stare at him with an open mouth. Not as an expression of awe. Just because. I shake my head against the doorway I'm using for support now. "Luka, I'm so sorry - "
He mutters his command again: "Get out."
There's no reason to go against it. Why would there be? I nod to myself and apologize silently once more. I pick up my sagging body and circle the uninviting rooms, now lifeless and motionless, to the door. I take my last step outward.
--
Two days. I didn't bother to go to work. I couldn't. Either did Luka. I still don't know how he found out, but I try not to focus on that part of the past anymore. Sure, it's been two days, and I'm still sore, but I know he has it worse. I still think of it as the past and nothing else. I can't be pulled back into the tornado again; it almost killed me last time.
I edge closer and closer to the door. I'm stepping with caution, then backing away. I don't know why. Slowly, but surely, a smile creeps across my face as my knuckles meet the door's surface. It opens and I look up.
He looks at me and nods gently against the air. It's precious, the air around us. Its still, calm, actually serene for once. He raises his eyebrows, questioning me a bt.
I nod.
He nods again, more sure, pulling me inside. My eyes feel like they could roll into the back of my head. I guess I'm that happy, that filled with joy. His hands are softly wrapped around mine. I kick the door shut behind me expertly and follow him a foot longer until we stop. We can only stare.
He finally kisses me. All I can do is smile against his seriously set lips. I pull his neck closer to mine, determined not to let him part from me. His hands meet my waist, pulling my hips toward his. When we finally separate, my head falls into the nook of his shoulder. I breathe out into the cloth of his shirt. I'm so relieved for once.
I'm not so confused.
He continuously plants kisses all over my face, my cheeks, my nose. My eyes, my chin, my jaw, my forehead. In my hair. His lips are everywhere, and I don't think I've ever felt any better. If the world stopped spinning now, I highly doubt I would notice.
He stops, looks at me again in his arms, and hugs me. He hugs me so tight that I feel like I'm his. Forever, I'm his. His to hold, his to kiss, his to love.
Love. There it is again. Two days ago, it was a monster. A beast needing to be tamed, not to tamper with the thoughts in my caged mind.
Now it's l*love.* And it's for this man holding me, this man in front of me. All I can do is hook my arms around his neck and say,
"I love you."
His arms are strong around me. I can't sense anything else in the room. The lights are on, that's all I know.
"I love you, too."
Yes, it's true. I love him and he loves me.
And that's all I care about right now. We cuddle into one form in his bed, sharing it again. It doesn't bring back filth, or torturing memories. It brings back the love we shared, the love we made. Tonight, all we can do is fall asleep as we are. I don't think it'll ever be another way again.
My back is to his chest as his arms wrap around my torso. I'm still in regular clothes. I don't care. I need to be by him.
I kiss every inch of his arms near my face and doze off against him.
