Love To Hate You

by Isabelle Richards

  She smirks. “They’re getting used to it. Most of them have never had anyone cook anything for them, so even if they hate it, some part of them loves it. Stop avoiding. It’s your turn.”

  I look at my watch. “We’d better go. It’s already really late.” I walk through the foyer and open the front door. “After you.”

  “Why won’t you just tell me?” she asks as she jogs down the front steps toward the street.

  I hate this. She asks this every time I see her, and no matter how I answer her, she won’t be happy. “I’m doing what you asked. I’m going out. I’m being social. Why do you need a report? Isn’t the fact that I’m doing it enough?”

  “You’re not supposed to be doing it for me. You’re supposed to be doing it for you.”

  “None of this is about me,” I mutter.

  She tugs on my arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Let’s just run.”

  She steps in front of me, blocking my path. “No, you meant something. Tell me. Remember, we’re not supposed to keep secrets.”

  I should keep my mouth shut, but I just can’t this time. “Do you really think I keep going out for me?”

  She furrows her brows, looking confused. “Yes. We decided you needed to have a life outside of me so that you can keep moving forward and not miss out on anything.”

  I loathe when she says that. As if I would ever suggest spending less time together. I grind my teeth so I don’t lash out and say something without thinking it through. “You decided that. Not me.”

  Looking wounded, she steps back. “You agreed. You said you wanted it this way.”

  I scoff. “No! I most certainly do not want it this way. But you make the rules, and I follow them; that’s how this works.” I close my eyes, regretting what I’ve said and the way that I’ve said it. Dammit, I need to be more patient.

  “I’m only thinking about you,” she replies, getting defensive. “I don’t want you to wake up one day and realize you wasted your life on me.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “You are my life! When I go out, I’m miserable. All I can think about is you. How I’d rather be with you. How none of the girls throwing themselves at me compare to you. How I can’t wait for us to stop running in circles so I can just be with you.”

  Threading my fingers behind my neck, I walk a few paces away. I’ve said too much, and I’m probably stressing her out. I’m here to support her, and the last thing I want to do is put pressure on her, but at some point, I have to be able to speak my mind. When I turn around, she’s sitting on the curb. I sit next to her.

  “I’m tired, Ari,” I say quietly. “We’ve spent our whole lives playing games, and I’m tired. I just want you. But I’m not allowed to say that, so I do what you ask. I go out. I’m social. I see my friends and hang out with my team. You think it’s supposed to make me feel like I’m not missing out, but that’s where you’re wrong. When I’m out, all I feel is that I’m missing out. On you.”

  “You know I can’t be with you,” she replies. “Not like that. Not now and maybe not for a while. I’m doing better, but I’m so scared I’m going to do something to mess this up. I have to be cautious and diligent until I feel strong.”

  The sorrow in her voice breaks my heart. I feel like a jackass. I should have just told her the music sucked and the boys almost got into a fight. But I had to start something.

  Getting on my knees, I move in front of her. Gravel digs into me as I kneel on the concrete. “I know your boundaries, and I respect them. You can friend zone me for the next decade, and I’ll still be here waiting for you. But please, stop pushing me away. Especially when you think you’re doing it for my own good. I’m a big boy. I can make my own decisions.”

  “I don’t want you to resent me.”

  I cup her face. “I’ll never resent you.” Leaning forward to kiss her forehead, I get the whiff of her shampoo. I stay for a second too long, enjoying being so close to her. Knowing I’ve teetered over the line, I pull away and hold out my hand. “You’re going to resent me if we don’t get your ass running. We have to make up for lost time, so I hope you’ve got some gas in the tank. We’re running double time tonight.”

  She takes my hand, and I pull her up. A wild look flashes in her eyes. “Bet you can’t catch me,” she taunts before sprinting down the street.

  I’ve been trying for almost ten years, and I haven’t managed to catch you yet. But I’m not about to stop trying now.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Arianna

  I had the brilliant idea of signing up for a class run by former Navy SEALs. I thought it would be a lot of running and push-ups and some guy with a flat top yelling at me. I’m a good athlete. I know I can handle whatever they throw at me, and honestly, I could use the self-esteem boost right now. After hours and hours of therapy pulling apart all the things I’ve done wrong, I really need a little something I know I can do right. Working my ass off—that I can do and do well.

  I should have read the fine print on the website, however. An hour of swimming in the ocean. With weight belts. Then we run twelve miles. At each mile, we have to stop and do fifteen burpees and plank. Our plank time increases five seconds for every mile. I get the best time in the group. It was awesome to watch men crying while doing their burpees while I did mine with a big smile. Crushing my opponents was exactly what I’d needed to feel a little bit more like me. But by the time we get back to building, I can barely move. My arms and legs feel as though they’re going to fall off.

  Charlie’s waiting for me on a bench, eating an ice cream. “You need to sign up for this class more often.”

  Mopping the sweat from my brow with a towel, I collapse next to her. “Having a change of heart about my fitness plan?”

  Charlie doesn’t understand my workout obsession. In fact, she doesn’t understand much of what I’m doing. During one of our therapy sessions, she said she thinks I’ve replaced drugs with working out and therapy. Who knows, maybe I have, but is that such a bad thing? I could be doing worse things with my time. If I was still playing tennis and I put all my focus into my game, no one would say a thing. But because I’m retired, now I’m addicted to working out. Personally, I think it’s bullshit.

  She licks her cone. “Nope. I just like to watch all these sweaty boys do those push-upy thingies. Look at all those abs. Yum!” She takes another lick.

  “I came. I kicked ass. I’m not sure I need to do it again.” I gulp down some water. “Leave on a high note, you know? We’ll have to find some other men for you to drool over. Like your husband perhaps.”

  “When you’ve been together as long as we have and you’re in baby-making mode, a little visual stimulation is good for everyone. Like right now, if he were home, I’d totally jump him when we walk in the door.” She takes another lick of her cone. “And this isn’t even an ovulation week. It would be sex just for the fun of it.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I sleep right down the hall from you, so I know more about your sex life than I care to. You know I’m gone for at least an hour every night. I would have thought you two could take care of business then.”

  “We do,” she says with a smirk. “But we’ve got to go back for round two. That’s like dinner without dessert.”

  “All I’m saying is a little roommate courtesy wouldn’t kill you. Especially since you’re sharing a house with the perpetually celibate.”

  She sighs. “No comment.”

  The group thins as everyone hobbles to their cars.

  Charlie stands and tosses her cone in the trash. “Okay. The gun show’s over. Let’s go.”

  I pick up my bag and try to convince my legs to move again. “What do you mean ‘no comment’? Seriously, I wish people would just start saying what they mean! Chase pulled the same crap with me last night. You act as though you can’t talk to me.”

  “Because you don’t want to hear it,” she replies as we walk to the parking lot. Her voice has an edg
e, as though she’s already lost her patience with this conversation. “Like always, you have tunnel vision. You see one way to do things, and that’s the only way you’re willing to consider, so what’s the point of fighting with you?”

  She pops the trunk, and I toss in my bag and wetsuit. “I want to hear it. Just tell me.”

  Tapping her fingers on the car roof, she looks up as though she’s trying to decide what to say. “You want the truth? Because I’ll give it to you, but once it’s out there, I can’t take it back. So think long and hard first.” She opens her car door and gets behind the wheel.

  I slide into my seat and put on my seatbelt. “Of course I want the truth. I can handle it, you know. You don’t have to treat me like glass.”

  She starts the car and puts the air on, then she rests her hands in her lap. “You’re making a huge mistake with Chase.”

  “How so?”

  “Keeping him at a distance. All this crap about forcing him to go out. That’s a ticking bomb waiting to blow up in your face.”

  I roll my eyes. “Jesus, not you too. Can neither of you see I’m trying to protect him?”

  “Bullshit. You’re trying to protect yourself, but from what, I can’t for the life of me figure out. He’s offering you everything: a lifetime of happiness, eternal devotion, and unconditional love and support. It’s there on a silver platter waiting for you. All you have to do is take it.” She holds her hands out to me as if she’s offering me a platter, then she claps. “But you’re too damn scared to take it.”

  “Yes, he’s offering me everything I’ve ever wanted, but I can’t take it right now. What if I mess it up? What if I get into it and something happens? Because let’s face it, it’s us. Something always happens. What if I freak out and run again? How many more chances will we get to get it right? I feel like I’m on borrowed time. One more slip up, and I’ll lose him forever! I can’t go back to him until I know I can be everything he deserves.”

  She flicks me in the forehead. “When are you going to get it through your skull? You will never be perfect. The timing will never be perfect. The only thing in this scenario that will ever be perfect is him for you and you for him! But you’re blowing it!”

  “I don’t deserve him! Not yet. I still have so far to go!”

  She throws her hands into the air. “Says who? Your doctor who’s making a pretty nice chunk of change off of your twelve therapy appointments every week? Because you seem pretty good to me. Tell me this—have you thought about getting high? Have you been having cravings?”

  I shake my head. “No. Not once.”

  She purses her lips and taps her thumbs on the steering wheel. “Personally, I think all of this therapy is keeping you stuck. Sure, you fucked up for a month, and you lost the baby. I know it was hard, but it’s not the end of the world. Therapy was important when you first came home, and I think you should continue. Hell, we all could use a little therapy. But every day? Multiple times a day? You’re in there all the time, talking about a life you don’t have time to live because you’re always on the therapist’s couch! Isn’t it time to move on? Get your life started again?”

  “The drugs aren’t really the issue I’m working on,” I say. “It’s my ability to deal with stress. I’ve always been forbidden to have a reaction to anything. No matter what came at me, I had to handle it without breaking a sweat. And I did. They used to call me the Ice Princess, remember? Dr. Clawson says I was prohibited from accessing my emotions, but occasionally something would slip through my emotional barricade, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I’d run away and avoid it until it all blew over. That’s the part I need to work on. ”

  She snorts. “No shit. Does my wedding ring a bell? You see a few texts from some skank, and you hide for two freaking years. I know what you do, Ari, and you’re doing it now. Keeping Chase at arm’s length is no different than running away.”

  I slam my hand on the center console. “It’s not even remotely the same thing! I’m here! I see him every day and have to live with the fact that as much as I want him, I can’t have him. How is that running?”

  “You can have him. You’re just being a chicken shit! Did it ever occur to you that he’ll help you? That you can lean on him? But instead of trusting him, you keep pushing him away. What are you going to do if you finally push him so hard he ends up in some other woman’s arms?”

  I swallow hard. “If that’s what makes him happy, then that’s all I want for him.”

  She scoffs. “Now who’s not being honest? Save that contrived, therapy-appropriate response for someone who might believe you because we both know it’s pure crap.”

  “All right, fine,” I snap. “I’d hate it. It would probably kill me. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “I don’t need to hear it. I know it. It’s time for you to hear it. You spend so much time with the head doctor; see if she can find a way to pull it out of your ass before it’s too late.” She puts the car in gear, pulls out of the space, and speeds out of the parking lot.

  Conversation over.

  Chapter Forty

  Arianna

  There’s so much tension in the car I feel as though we have another passenger. In all of our years as friends, Charlie and I have fought a handful of times, and the majority of them have been in the past few months. Which is how I know this is serious. She only kicks my ass when I truly deserve it, but I’m still not sure what I’m doing wrong.

  I’ve tried to be so careful with each decision, thoughtfully weighing all the options so I make the wisest choice. The perfect choice. I thought I was doing everything right. Following the doctor’s orders. Sticking to the plan. Whenever I’ve considered trying something new, I do what I’m supposed to and run it by Dr. Clawson. I’ve yet to get her seal of approval though. Obviously I’m not ready for a relationship yet. So I stay the course. I’m following all the damn rules, so why is everyone pissed at me? What am I doing wrong?

  When I rehabbed my knee, I was like a machine. Workouts, PT, stretch, ice, heat. It made sense to me. There was a clear path with clear expectations. I’m trying to use the same approach now. Follow all the rules, stick to the regimen, purify my life in every way possible. But no matter how diligent I am, I don’t feel as if I’m moving anywhere. There’s no path! I’m walking through a field of fog, trying to find my way out and tripping on the ground because I can’t see a damn thing.

  The guilt comes in waves, but it’s not as paralyzing as it was at first. I’m not having cravings. The only time I even think about drugs is at night when I can’t sleep, but Chase’s nighttime runs have helped with that. Isn’t that good? Shouldn’t I feel as though I’ve accomplished something? How do I know when I’ve made it out of the fog? At what point does someone say, “You’ve made it through to the other side.”

  When we get home, we go to our separate corners of the house. Ten minutes later, I’m peeling out of my sweat-soaked clothes.

  Charlie comes into my room and slams something on the dresser. “Here’s your car keys. I know Dr. Clawson doesn’t think you’re ready to be trusted with a car, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that you’re going to stay sober. You are not going to crack, and you’re not going to run. You know how I know that? Because you’re Arianna-freaking-Aldrich. You’re the strongest woman I know. Maybe you’ve forgotten that, but I haven’t. I’m done being your babysitter. You don’t need one.” She turns on her heel and storms out.

  When I first came home, Dr. Clawson said I shouldn’t drive in case I got the urge to search for drugs. My car is parked at my condo, and Charlie has been holding onto the keys. I thought Charlie liked driving me around. It gave her something to do, and we’ve been able to spend a lot of time together. Clearly she’s had more than her fill of best friend bonding time though.

  Well played, Charlie. Well played indeed. She isn’t just giving me back my keys. It’s a challenge. She’s thrown down the gauntlet, daring me to prove I can do this. Can I? Is it that simpl
e? I just decide to go back to my life?

  Most of the kids I work with at Huckleberry have been on drugs, lived on the streets, or even prostituted themselves. We clean them up, get them into a safe homes and back into school. They don’t spend months in therapy, cocooned in bubble wrap, before stepping back into the real world. They just go. Why should I be different? Because I have the money to afford endless therapy? Because I don’t have other obligations demanding my fast return to reality?

  I’m beginning to think a step forward is long overdue. I hadn’t realized how dependent on Dr. Clawson I’ve become. Somewhere along the way, the scales tipped from me getting help to me using a crutch. When did I become someone who needs to be coddled?

  The keys stare at me, taunting me. I’ve never backed down from a challenge in my life. Why start now? Throwing my clothes back on, I pick up the keys, grab my backpack, and take off. After my grueling workout, I should be too sore to make the six-mile run to my condo, but I feel energized, excited.

  After I get to my condo, I start the shower. After tossing in some aromatherapy shower bombs, I step under the stream and let the hot water and sweet scents draw out all of the day’s tension and stress. If I’m going to do this, I need to be relaxed.

  Once I get out of the shower, I text Chase before I can talk myself out of it.

  A: You home?

  C: Nope. Out with the team. One last hurrah before training camp.

  A: That’s cool. Where?

  C: Come on, Ari. We talked about this.

  A: I only ask because I’m hungry and I was going to see if you’d pick something up on your way here. You are still coming by later, right?

  C: We’re at Harlot, a club in the financial district.

  Damn. A club. Music. Lights. Probably lots of drugs being done in bathroom stalls. Just like a dozen clubs I’ve been in before. Lots and lots of drugs. My heart races, and my palms get clammy. Can I do this? Can I go there knowing what’s going on in the dark corners where they think no one is looking? Will I be able to stay away from those corners? The vibration from my phone brings me out of my memories and into the present.