Tell Me To Stay

by Winters, Willow

  “Even if it feels like you have everything, it’s okay to be upset about the things you don’t have. You know that, right?”

  His eyes flash to mine with an intense heat, and he stares at me as if what I’ve said is foolish. “I do. I’m well aware of that … even as I sit across the table from you right now.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me that my words could be used against me, which is exactly what this feels like. My hand slips from his grasp, and he allows it. I drag it back to my lap.

  “What’s holding you back?” Madox asks me.

  “Back from what?”

  “Your guard is up. Not just a little. I can barely see you. The real you.”

  I clear my throat and try to meet his eyes so I can be honest about how I’m feeling, but I can’t even do that. “You intimidate me,” is all I manage to get out.

  “I’ll listen to whatever you tell me. Just talk to me,” he says, and his voice holds an edge of desperation. It’s something I’ve never heard from him. Not like this.

  Staring down at the barren white tablecloth, I speak, letting it all come out.

  It’s a real conversation. That’s what this is. Our first real conversation. Probably ever. It’s so much easier to allow fears to be unspoken.

  “I’ve only just come back to New York, days ago. I don’t have a grip on anything at all in my life right now. I feel an immense amount of pressure. I’m worried and excited at the same time. I’m happy…” With that admission, I can look him in the eyes as I continue, “For the first time in a really long while.” My throat gets tight and tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I hold them back. “And I’m afraid that I’m going to be swept up by you, and I’m going to lose this part of me that’s actively working to choose happiness and create a stable income. More than that, I’m afraid this isn’t going to last and I’m going to let myself fall, only to be shattered at a time in my life where I can’t afford that.”

  I can barely breathe, waiting for Madox to say anything at all. A moment passes, more dishes are placed in front of us – although there’s no way I could possibly eat a damn thing right now – and it’s not until the doors behind us close again, leaving us to ourselves that Madox asks me, “You didn’t plan on coming back to see me then?”

  It fucking hurts to see the pain etched in his expression right now.

  “I didn’t know… I haven’t spoken to you in so long. … Trish never told me that you messaged until today. When I told her I saw you, she told me you asked about me. I didn’t know you were thinking about me. I would have never thought you’d make an effort like you are right now, because it never felt like you did back then.”

  It’s awkward; laying everything out on the table feels like willingly drowning yourself. “I feel,” I have to swallow before adding, “If I had known…” My head is teeming with thoughts and I can barely focus on a single one. For three years I rehearsed every conversation in my head I wanted to have with this man, and in all of them, he never cared. So to sit here and see how much he does… I’m struggling. It’s all too much, and I can feel myself slipping backward.

  I refuse to go back to who I used to be.

  “Would it have made a difference?” Madox asks in a low tone, pushing his plate to the side and bringing his hand to rest on top of mine.

  “Would what have?” I ask him, feeling a wave of emotional exhaustion. I love this man. That was never a question. And that’s what makes it hurt the most. Even after all these years I still love him. I loved him back then and it wasn’t enough though. Love isn’t always enough.

  “If you’d known that I was asking about you, would you have come back for me?”

  “Not at first, no. I was scared and I needed to find myself after what happened with my parents that week.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  He doesn’t hesitate to ask me another question, and I don’t hesitate to answer.

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Of course I did. You have no idea.” My voice is choked when I tell him, “Some days just to feel okay I would pretend you were holding me.” I remember what it felt like back then, to be so alone in the spare room of Trish’s apartment, crying on the bed. Letting every bit of me break. I knew if I went back, Madox would hold me and take away the pain. But then he’d eventually let me go, and I wouldn’t know what to do with myself because the only identity I had was to be his. His burden.

  I want to brush the tear from my eye before it can fall, but I refuse to let go of his hands right now. Not with the way his warm touch reminds me how life has changed, and I’m not in the same position I once was. At least I can stand on my own now. This is the first time I can sit in front of him and say that much.

  “I remember what you said the night before you left when I found you at your place… about being more than a dirty fuck,” Madox starts to speak after a moment of silence.

  I cut him off before he can continue. “I don’t think I meant half of what I said, Madox.” I feel awful inside, desperately wanting to avoid going back to that night and how everything happened. I don’t want to go back. It hurts too much. I can’t go back.

  “It meant something though. Even in our lies there’s some truth, and it took me a while to understand why you said that. It was never just sex with you, Soph. You felt that way, didn’t you? You thought I only wanted you for sex?” I can only nod, admitting how little I thought of myself back then. I was willing to stay with him, hoping one day he’d want more. Hoping one day he’d realize how much I loved him and tell me that I was worth loving back. Worth loving even when I wasn’t in bed with him.

  Every night I’ve been alone taunts me in this moment. Seeing how much he cares, when for years I convinced myself he didn’t, all so I could learn to get better on my own.

  “Why didn’t you--” I want to ask him about the text he never answered before I took off as I pull my hands away, grabbing my napkin and wiping away the tears as delicately as I can, but I can’t finish my sentence.

  Another minute passes and the energy in the air becomes suffocating until Madox speaks.

  “I didn’t have to run away to figure out who I was. I know who I am, and I don’t like that person without you.”

  It fucking kills me to hear him say that. I can’t stand to hear him say that.

  “Madox,” I cry his name. I’m doing my best to hold it together, but it’s fucking impossible. There’s no armor left to hide behind and without it, I can’t even breathe.

  “My biggest regret though… is that I wish I’d talked to Brett before seeing you that night. He knew what happened to your parents and if I’d known, that night wouldn’t have happened the way it did. I would have been better for you. I didn’t know they’d died. If I’d known about the accident, I wouldn’t have taken you out back to the alley, thinking that’s what you wanted. I would have been able to keep you if I’d known. I wouldn’t have messed up.”

  The mention of my parents breaks me. Of my mom and how she died in a car accident. She’d texted me earlier that day and I ignored her. She told me she loved me, and I didn’t respond. I got so used to not saying it back. Hours later, a car went through a red light and both my mom and stepdad were killed instantly. I was never able to tell her I loved her again. Even if our relationship was strained, I did love her.

  Regret is a horrible way to live. He may hate who he was without me. I hated who I was with him. I hated what I was and I never want to be that girl again.

  What’s worse is that I know he’s right when he says he still would have had me if he’d known. That splinters the already broken pieces of my heart.

  “I can’t.” I barely breathe the words, shoving away from the table as my shoulders shake.

  “I have to go, Madox.” I try to utter an apology as I stand on shaky legs.

  “Let me-”

  “No,” I say and push him away. “No, Madox. I need to be alone. I need to be okay with being alone. Please, please. I n
eed to be alone right now.”

  He tries to follow me and I beg him, just for a moment. I tell him I’m not leaving him; I’m just leaving this moment. I reminded him I had to work and that it was important to me. I promised him that I’d call him and see him again. That’s what allows him to let me go back to the apartment that’s not mine and calm myself down before I can work.

  I just hope I don’t break my promise.

  Chapter 11

  Madox

  Four years ago

  “Is it enough if I say I’m sorry?” I ask her. She keeps running off, burying herself in schoolwork and her internship. I understand that, but she’s staying at her parents’ apartment instead of here with me. She lies and says it’s because their place is closer to the university. I know that’s not why; I just don’t know what I did.

  “Are you sorry?” she asks me and I tell her I am; even though I don’t know what I did. There’s something about me that pushes her away and I don’t know what it is, but perhaps it’s just me. I’m damned to watch her leave me. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be for me.

  I know I’m supposed to be with her; that is the only reason I could feel this way when I’m with her, this need to be close to her. I think she’s damned to run away and I’m damned to watch her run.

  I’ll be okay with that though, as long as we get to hold each other after.

  “Then come to bed,” I tell her and she follows. She runs but she always comes back. As long as she comes back, it’s fine. Even though I know it’s not fine, I tell myself it is because that’s better than knowing one day, she isn’t going to come back.

  Today

  Give her time. Trish’s advice is the same as Brett’s. It’s the same as Ryan’s. Everyone keeps telling me to give her time. Don’t they know, time doesn’t heal pain? She needs someone to take it away.

  I can be that someone.

  I’ve waited three years. I can wait another day, another week. However long it takes.

  If she doesn’t want me because she wants to be okay being alone—I don’t know that she’ll ever come back to me. Why would she? We were so damaged toward the end, it hurts just to think about.

  I fucked up, and I don’t know how to make things right. For the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to do.

  Sitting on the edge of my bed, I think back on every moment I could have changed what was bound to happen. Every time she cried softly and I held her, but I didn’t ask why she was so upset. Holding her seemed to be enough and I didn’t trust my words. I thought holding her would be enough.

  It’s my fault she doesn’t love me enough to stay. That’s what it comes down to. I don’t know how to make her love me any more than she does.

  She does love me. But it’s not enough.

  My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and keeps going.

  Someone’s calling, probably Cody, if someone’s told him Sophie’s back. Or Brett or Ryan, if they heard about tonight. As much as I’m grateful they give a damn, they can all fuck off.

  They told me to wait for her before, and it didn’t fucking work.

  Without looking at the ID, I answer it to say, “I’m not going out; I don’t give a shit if you tell me I’m being a bitch or not. It’s not happening.”

  There’s hesitation on the end of the line until I hear my mother’s voice coolly reply, “I would never call you a bitch, for starters.”

  Fuck, I think and my eyes roll back into my head with irritation. As if my night couldn’t get any worse.

  “Mother,” I talk over her. “I wasn’t expecting you. It’s late.”

  “I wanted to see if you’d gotten the message about the dinner?” she asks me, her voice returning to the normal proper state. The kind of proper that requires a stick up your ass.

  “I received your message, yes.” I don’t bother telling her I’m not going. She should already know that. Considering she didn’t bring it up at lunch, I’m sure she’s well aware I have no intention of attending.

  My mother starts to speak and then stops herself. I can hear that she’s still there, although it’s silent for a moment. “I heard that something happened at The Cherie tonight, and so I was also calling because I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  Whoever spoke a word to her is going to be fired. There’s no fucking way any of my friends would go to my mother. Maybe it was the waiter, or maybe the fucking chef. I don’t know who, but I’m going to find out and make their life a living hell. I pay good fucking money for privacy.

  “Tell me something, please.” My mother’s voice actually carries a maternal note to it when she adds, “I’m your mother.”

  She wants to know? As if she couldn’t put two and two together.

  “I fell in love with a girl a long time ago and I couldn’t show her.” I harden my voice to add, “I don’t know how. I never learned.”

  I can hear her swallow. “Well how is it that you’re treating her? I may have some ideas of what you could do,” she offers and it’s nearly comical. She adds in a self-deprecating tone, “I’ve been married three times, you know. I could tell you why I said yes each time.”

  Her sad laugh is weak on the other end of the line, and I feel for her. I mourn for my mother, both what she went through and for the woman she decided to be.

  “I know I’ve made many mistakes, Madox, but if I can just listen, I would be grateful right now.”

  I don’t answer her. Instead, I remember the one time I saw her cry in my life because I think I can hear her crying now. “I’ll be quiet and just listen.” Her voice cracks and she sniffles before adding, “You can pretend I’m not even here.”

  “I don’t want to upset you,” I tell her in a single breath, feeling like a prick and hating myself even more. A deep-rooted painful side of me wants to add, I didn’t think it was possible, but I don’t. I won’t hurt her when she’s already suffering.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, and she tries to hide the pain when she says in croaked words, “Just tell me what happened.”

  A moment passes before I pretend I’m not talking to her. I’m just trying to piece together the frayed edges of what I had with Sophie.

  “I liked being the one who could take her pain away and I thought it was enough to show her I loved her.” The ceiling fan continues to spin as I stare up at it and I continue to talk. “But she doesn’t want me to be that for her anymore. And I don’t know what I can be to her, if she doesn’t want to …” Fuck, it hurts. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to push it down.

  I won’t let her walk away. I’ll keep her.

  I will.

  There is no other possibility.

  “Have you tried telling her that you hurt? Maybe she would feel better leaning on you, if you leaned some on her.” My mother’s words are met with silence.

  That isn’t fair to Sophie. The weight of my pain isn’t fair to put on anyone, let alone the girl I love. My mother continues speaking when I don’t say anything.

  “It could just be you’re upset that she doesn’t feel she can …” she pauses, maybe figuring out the words to use as she finishes, “lean on you while also being her own person.” Her voice picks up, carrying optimism with her words. “Even something as little as that could maybe make a difference. Maybe?”

  It’s an odd feeling when a sad smile pulls at my lips. It’s half assed and defeated, but I feel it.

  “Thank you, mother,” is all I give her, but it’s more than I have in a long time. It’s genuine.

  “Will you please come to dinner?” she asks me without wasting a second, going right back to her like she always does, but this time I tell her, “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  It was nice to pretend I still have a relationship with her and that she didn’t fuck me over entirely.

  Chapter 12

  Sophie

  Four years ago

  “Hey,” Madox says and it scares the shit out of me. The sight of him in the cafeteria is … odd. He doesn�
��t belong at a small folding table outside of the sub shop and surrounded by kids younger than him in PJs and jeans.

  “Hey,” I answer him and move my tray down the table. “What are you doing here?”

  “I didn’t see you last night,” he answers as if that would be obvious.

  “I’ve been staying in the library a lot and I crashed hard when I got in. I went to the office.” My skin pricks when I tell him that, the kind of prick that feels poisonous and hurts you deep down inside. He’s going to end it with me any day now. He’ll tell me to just stop coming around at all. I know he will. I think he’s been wanting that for a long time, but he doesn’t want to be that cruel. He’s waiting for me to leave for good. Maybe that’s why he’s here.

  He just keeps looking down at me, rather than sitting. “Do you want an apple?” I offer him, simply to break up the silence.

  “You’re giving me an apple?”

  “I have half a sandwich too,” I add, wondering if he’s eaten as he sits down next to me. I wish I had more to give him.

  “I can go get something for you?” I offer him but he shakes his head. He doesn’t bite the apple, but he holds it in both hands, letting his thumb run down the shiny red skin when he tells me, “I know you’re working a lot, and I love that you’ve found what you’re passionate about. I like it when you come to bed though, even if it’s late.”

  “I can do that,” I answer him quickly, happy that he still wants me. When he leaves, I hate the realization that there’s nothing at all that makes me as happy as hearing him tell me he wants me. I know it’s not good. I’m not good. We’re not good. But I keep holding on because I want him to be happy too.

  Today

  It’s well past time to leave work, but I’m not ready to go back to that apartment yet. I don’t want to go back to it at all. I’m already finished with the mock-ups for all three clients this week.