by A. D. Ryan
“Who am I, if not your voice of reason?” she jokes.
“I should head home. Clean myself up and try to get a hold of Amelia.”
After saying goodbye and thanking them both again, I head for home. While I know I still have a long way to go, I feel I’m a little better prepared to talk with Amelia when the two of us are ready to take that step. I hope it’ll be soon, but I plan to give her all the space she needs.
An hour and a half has passed since I left Amelia’s place, and I’m still unsure how to go about opening the lines of communication between us. Texting her is too impersonal, and if I call her, she’s likely to either hang up on me or not answer at all. Deep down, I know I should wait for her to make the next move. After everything that has happened, I owe her that much, so I decide to grab a quick shower and wait the storm out.
I know that I won’t be able to cleanse the last ten hours away, but it’s either that or drown my feelings in that expensive bottle of whiskey in my liquor cabinet just to gain some courage.
When I step off the elevator, I hear a muffled voice. Then it stops. I’m either hearing things, or someone on my floor is being exceptionally loud on a Saturday morning.
The moment I round the corner and head for my door, I hear the voice again. It’s a little clearer now, and distinctly female. More than that, I swear it’s Amelia. I glance up, only to find her sitting on the floor outside my door, her back pressed to the wall and her phone held up to her ear. Our eyes meet, and I can only hope I convey just how sorry I am for everything—last night, this morning. All of it.
“Daddy, I have to go. Thank you.”
Fuck me. Her dad knows. I’m probably going to have to hire a security team to keep him from killing me. Fantastic.
“Love you, too.” She hangs up her phone and climbs to her feet.
We stand there for a couple minutes, our silence thick and awkward. Finally, I nod toward my apartment, and she follows me inside.
“Please, come in,” I tell her gently, running my fingers through my wet hair. “Make yourself at home. I just need to change.” Truthfully, I don’t have to change, but her being here unexpectedly has caught me off guard, and I need a minute to compose myself and figure out what it is I need to say.
“Sure. Yeah. Thanks,” she mumbles softly, her hands still clenched together, eyebrows furrowed. I can’t get a read on her, and it frustrates me.
I leave her for a moment, hurrying down the hall to my room to put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. When I return, I find her in the living room, sitting on the sofa. She looks tense, and I don’t blame her; I’m not even sure how to start the conversation we need to have.
Still unable to read her, I decide to keep a little space between us, leaning against the island bar that separates my kitchen and living room. We remain silent for a few minutes, both of us unsure of what to say as we stare at each other and then around the room.
“So, you talked to Alan?”
Her eyebrows pull together as she drops her eyes to her clasped hands. “He, uh, he called to see how everything was going. At first, I thought maybe you’d talked to him.”
“I didn’t,” I assure her.
With a nod, she raises her gaze to me. “I know. I did, though. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’ve always gone to him about this sort of thing. He was the first person I wanted to call after I left your place.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asks, her voice soft and sweet, yet also sad.
“You know why.” I try to keep a neutral expression, but deep down, it hurts, knowing that I couldn’t turn to my best friend like I used to.
Another beat of silence fills the room. Finally, Amelia exhales, her posture relaxing slightly as she tucks her hair behind her ears. “Look, originally I came here to apologize, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I shouldn’t have to. Not right away, anyway.” A pause. I want to respond, but I can sense she’s not quite finished, and I owe her the opportunity to continue. I’ll get my chance. “I understand why you did what you did,” she says. “But…” She takes a deep breath when her voice wavers. “The things you said? I’ve never known you to be so hurtful…not even to Gretchen.”
I didn’t think I could feel guiltier about my earlier word vomit, but soon it’s all that consumes me. It weighs on me like a ton of bricks, and I can’t seem to lessen the load. “Amelia, I…”
“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head and sniffling as she holds her tears back. I can tell just by looking at her that she’s cried recently, and it breaks my heart. I yearn to hold her. “You hurt me—like, really hurt me—and while I’m sorry that my actions last night upset you, I won’t apologize for standing up for myself and asking you to leave this morning. I didn’t come here to beg your forgiveness, only to tell you that I get why you reacted the way you did.”
Her confession stuns me into silence, and while my guilt refuses to relent, my respect for Amelia grows. Even though I’m nervous I might say something else that will piss her off, I have to try and make things right. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry for the things I said or implied earlier.”
“There was no implication, Owen,” she counters, sounding adamant. “You told me I haven’t earned your trust. You called me a petulant child.”
Having my words thrown back at me stings, but I can’t blame her for doing it; I was an ass. I need to own it…but at the same time, she needs to know why I said what I did. “Amelia, I don’t view you as a child—far from it. You’re so far beyond your years, which is probably why it’s so easy to be with you…”
“But?” she interjects, sensing where the conversation is going.
I sigh. “Truthfully, you put yourself at risk last night. You drank beyond your limit, for whatever reason, and you gave no consideration to me or our relationship by partying like that.”
Defensiveness flares up in her eyes, but she maintains reasonable composure. “Okay. Now, by saying this, I’m assuming you’ve never—not even once—gotten a little carried away while drinking with friends…to the point of doing something you initially weren’t proud of? Recently, even?”
I pick up on her meaning immediately and find myself stammering. “I-I… Well, yes. If I’m being entirely honest, I have.” I pause briefly, trying to find out how to help her understand why what happened with us that night we accidentally wound up in bed together and last night is like comparing apples to oranges.
“I get that what happened between us isn’t the same as what I did with Justin—I do—but my point is that, while I definitely drank too much, I didn’t do it with the intention of putting myself at risk for such behavior.” She sighs, looking down at the floor. “I did it to try and put the fact that you weren’t coming out of my mind. Was it careless? Absolutely. Was it intentional? No. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d had to drink. I simply lost track. I didn’t do it to hurt or punish you in some way. It was wrong and a little…childish.” She says the last word with shame in her voice as she raises her eyes to me.
I offer her a small smile, appreciating that she opened up like that. “Fair enough,” I reply, trying to find a way to casually segue back to the original topic. “Your refusal to listen to me this morning upset me. You kept shutting me down and telling me I was the bad guy. You wouldn’t let me try to plead my case. You just bulldozed over me and kicked me out. It was that specific behavior that prompted what I said—and even then I only asked you to stop acting like a petulant child. I never called you one.”
“Semantics, Owen.”
I acquiesce. “You’re right. Regardless of how I phrased it, it never should have happened. But, the truth of the matter is, it did. What I want to know is: why are you so sensitive about it?”
Amelia bites down on her lower lip and cracks her knuckles nervously. It takes her a minute, but eventually she opens up. “Because I am a child, Owen.”
“What?”
Sighing, she rakes her fingers through her hair. “I’m half your
age. To everyone your age, I am a child. Even my dad treats me like a child most of the time.”
“No,” I argue. “He treats you like his child. There’s a big difference there.”
“But it doesn’t feel different. Regardless of how often I brush it off, I’m always aware of it, so to have it thrown back in my face hurt.”
I’m not entirely sure how to respond to that. I want to pull her into my arms. I want to kiss away any hurt I caused her this morning, but I know we still have so much to discuss before we get there.
“I want you to know,” she continues, looking disappointed that I haven’t said anything in response to her confession, “that I wouldn’t have danced with just anyone like that. I was drunk, and it was only Justin. If a straight man would have asked me to dance, I’d have turned him away…in fact, I did turn a few guys down, because I didn’t want to dance with anyone but you.” Her eyes hold mine, eyebrows raised with hope. “I love you.”
I can’t help myself from asking, “Then why?”
Her eyes fall to her hands in her lap, and she shrugs. “Like I said, I’d had too much to drink, and while I realize that’s no excuse, it’s all I have. I was upset that you wouldn’t be there, and Justin was trying to cheer me up. He thought dancing was the best way to do that.”
I run a hand over my face, understanding that I am partially to blame for this, but also unsure how to feel about her confession. Truthfully, even with everything we’ve sorted out already, I’m still a little angry and hurt, and I can’t get the image of the two of them pressed together out of my head. Bringing it up triggers my feelings of rage, but I know those feelings stem back to Gretchen. Hopefully that means I’ll be able to overcome it soon.
Do I feel badly for reacting the way I did? Absolutely. But was I unjustified in said reaction? I don’t believe so.
Taking a breath, I try to explain further so she might understand what seeing her dancing like that did to me emotionally. “But, seeing you with him? I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it drove me to the brink of madness. I saw you on the dance floor, and I flashed back to Gretchen cheating on me. I’ve been in a dishonest relationship before, and I’m sorry, but it’s made me a little quick to act first and ask questions later. I know it’s not healthy, and I’m working on it, but you can’t fault me for feeling what I feel.”
Amelia jumps to her feet and walks toward me, her eyes wide and apologetic. “I know,” she says, standing a foot away from me. “It was so stupid, and if I could take it back, I would. I crossed a line I honestly didn’t even know we’d drawn, and I’m sorry for that.”
I hear the sincerity in her voice, but I still don’t think she really understands, so I add on, “I’m well aware that Gretchen has absolutely no place in our relationship, but you have to realize that I have a past. I was married to that woman for a long time, and sometimes I can’t help but remember how she would react to certain situations. This is especially clear when you react differently or even in ways that cause me to flash back to the harder parts of our relationship. Like when I saw another man’s body pressed up against yours, his hands on your hips and thighs, and the lazy smile on your face—the smile you wear after I’ve made you come—it pushed me to the edge, and I suddenly felt…extremely possessive of you. I realize I have no right to feel that way, but the truth is, I do.
“In no way does this mean I’m constantly comparing you to one another—there’s no secret list of pros and cons hidden from you—and it certainly doesn’t mean that I’m holding you down on the same level as her. Our experiences shape us into who we are, Amelia, and I know I’ve developed some pretty fucked up trust issues which cause me to quickly jump to conclusions when it comes to any signs of infidelity—and that’s what seeing you dancing did.”
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
“I know. I am, too.”
“I think having you comparing me to her—”
I shake my head. “No. I wasn’t comparing you to her. I was comparing how I felt last night to how I felt when I found out about her infidelity—there is absolutely a difference there.”
“Okay. I get that, but the truth remains that it upset me. Probably because it held a modicum of truth.”
“Amelia, no…”
“Hear me out for just a second.” I do. “Everybody there last night saw me dancing with Justin. Like you, they didn’t know him or his sexual orientation. Then you flew in and pummeled him. To a room full of strangers, I looked like a cheater—a cheater like Gretchen. Thinking back on this just now, as we’ve been sitting here talking, well, it doesn’t sit well with me. Even though I thought I was better than her in so many ways, the fact is, my dad was right.” I hadn’t been expecting to hear that Alan might have actually fought for me versus against me, so I’m left a little stunned as Amelia continues. “I really didn't consider your feelings—something that was also common of Gretchen. I don’t want to lose you, Owen, so it's a scary thought to have any similarities to her, knowing what she did and why you left.”
Neither of us moves, still unsure where we stand, so I decide to take another giant leap. “You said something to me this morning that struck true, and I feel it only fair to be honest with you about it after you were brave enough to open up to me: You wondered if my behavior was due to his age. While that’s not all of it, it was—no, is a large part of it. Like you, I’m hyper-aware of our age difference and the very real possibility that you could leave me for someone younger whenever the mood struck.” Sighing, I cast my eyes from hers, scratching the back of my neck as I remembered what my sister had said. “We’re both at very different points in our lives, Amelia—something we both knew going into this. But somewhere along the line, we lost sight of that. We got so caught up in trying to justify our relationship to everyone else that we forgot about all the things that could ruin us. You deserve to be with someone who doesn’t assume the worst before asking questions, and I feel like I deserve someone who respects and holds the same standards in a relationship.”
“Wait… Wh-what are you saying?” Amelia asks, voice trembling.
“You’re young, still finishing college. You want to start on your career next year, and I… Well, I want a family.”
“Oh.” Amelia pauses, raising a hand to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. She forces a smile as a lone tears slips from her eye and rolls down her cheek. She averts her gaze and swipes it away, probably hoping I hadn’t seen it. “Well, at least we had fun while it lasted. That was why we started, right?” She steps forward, swiping the tear from her cheek. “I guess ending things now, before we fall even deeper, is the right thing to do. I’ll, uh, let myself out.”
I’m stunned into silence, going over what I said and wondering where I went wrong. It was never my intention to end things, but I definitely see how she had gotten that impression. Before she can leave the living room, I grab her by the arm. “Amelia,” I say softly, staring deep into her eyes. “This isn’t me telling you it’s over between us… I don’t want this to be over.”
“But you just said…”
“I know what I said, but that’s not what I meant… Well, it is, but I think it got lost in translation.” I sense her relief, drinking it in like a fresh glass of water. “All I was trying to say was that, because we’re at these points in our lives, we need to work harder—communicate better—to make it work. I love you, Amelia. You make me see the world in new and exciting ways. I’m alive in ways I never knew possible. But…”
“What?”
“If I told you I wanted to have a baby in the next year, what would you say?”
“I—” Amelia inhales deeply, biting her lower lip as she contemplates my hypothetical request. “I’d want to talk about it, but it wouldn’t be off the table. I’d consider it. For you.”
“That’s all I ask,” I say. Hearing that she’d consider my request is all I need. To know that we’d be open to discussing it and even compromising on when to start that stage of
our relationship comforts me in a way I didn’t even know I’d been craving until this morning.
Her smile returns, wide and genuine. “After you left,” she says softly, “I realized that, had I been in your position and saw some woman dancing with you the way I was dancing with Justin, I’d have lost my damn mind. So, I get it now, and I can’t apologize enough for it.”
I stand a little straighter, my chest expanding as my ego inflates. It’s a typical male reaction, and I’m not proud of it, but hearing Amelia admit that she was just as much at fault as me helps. I take a step forward, closing the small distance between us, and look deep into her eyes.
“To be honest, there was only one word going through my mind as I made my way through that bar.” I feel like oxygen is becoming scarce as her breathing deepens, her breasts brushing against my chest.
Amelia pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, her chest heaving with deeper breaths as her eyes flit between mine, and I can’t stop my desire from consuming me. Even though we still have so much to talk about, I want her, and I sense she wants me just as much.
“Oh?” A shiver overtakes her as my hand shifts, the backs of my fingers grazing her hip. She trembles again, shifting her legs slightly, and swallows thickly. Lust surges through my veins in response as the tension between us builds. Every emotion we’d experienced in the last fourteen hours—anger, remorse, fear, love—amalgamates, creating this intoxicating sexual fog I can’t ignore any longer.
I continue to tease the hem of her short skirt, pushing it up slightly as I lean forward, licking my lips. I can’t stay away from her any more. I need her as much as she needs me.
“Mine.”
In a flash, her hands fly up to my face, and I press my lips to hers. She moans when my hands move down over her hips until my fingers hook into the hem of her skirt. Frantic, I tug at her panties, pushing her across the living room and pressing her back against a wall. She steps out of the lace fabric as I push my sweater up her body, grazing her supple breasts over the shirt she wears underneath. She raises her arms so I can remove the sweater entirely, and I throw it to the floor, her shirt following shortly after. Our lips hungrily collide again, her fingers twisting into my hair. She pulls her skirt up around her waist and hops up, wrapping her legs around my hips as I brace her between my body and the wall. Gripping her ass with my right hand, I slip my left below her ass to fumble with the button of my jeans and push them out of the way to free my erection.