Loosen Up

by Robin Leaf

“What did you mean by ‘when we came up with this plan?’ Is something different now?”

  He blinked again, the wheels turning in his head, and grabbed my hands. “I…”

  “Okay,” Allison said as she and Noah walked closer to us. “But I insist on paying for the renovations to this space. And we will pay rent on the apartment.”

  “No,” Noah argued. “Rent is not necessary. You will still be training my staff. All employees get free rent.”

  “But I am not a full-time employee.” Ally took on her no-nonsense stance, crossing her arms over her chest. “I let it slide because I share the apartment with Darby, but now…”

  “Allison,” I interrupted. “Babe, don’t ruin this good thing with arguing about something that doesn’t need to be decided tonight. Let’s thank Noah and Jase…”

  “Jase?” She turned toward him. “You are in on this, too?”

  Jase elbowed me in the side.

  “Ouch.”

  He blushed. “Yes. I was supposed to be a silent partner, but apparently some people,” he nodded toward me, “have big mouths.”

  She rushed toward him and threw her arms around him. A ridiculous surge of jealousy threatened to consume me, but I was confused as to whom it was directed.

  “Thank you, Jase. You don’t know how much this means to me. You and Noah have double-handedly solved all my problems and are making every one of my dreams come true.” Her voice cracked halfway through her gushing.

  Tears stung my eyes. Joy replaced my earlier stab of jealousy as I witnessed their moment. They’d always been friendly, but now they were bonding, my best friend and my… whatever Allison was to me. My girlfriend? Roommate with benefits? Lover? Gah. After three years, all those titles sounded so stupid.

  Yes, I loved her. It was the kind of love that had grown over time, the kind that was born out of respect and admiration for someone who was always there. A love that grew out of friendship and compassion. It was comforting. Comfortable. Companionable. Easy.

  But, goddess help me, all I could think right then was how she wasn’t Jase.

  He was the sole reason I couldn’t allow myself to love Ally like she deserved.

  I should let my love for Jase go.

  I just didn’t know if I could.

  Twenty Six

  Jase

  Journal entries

  “All of my Love” – Led Zeppelin

  December 12, 2011

  I can feel her pull away. I knew it would happen eventually. It hurts so much, like she is pulling the soul right out of my body slowly. I want to go to her, fight her, take her away and love her like she deserves.

  But my life is not a guarantee. I can’t take the chance on a maybe.

  God, I love her no less now than I did. In fact, I think the old adage is true… absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

  Truth: I love her more than I love my own life. My career seems mindless yet successful. My health is steady. My friendships in England are tenuous at best.

  She is my bright spot.

  Our correspondence is more emails and stupid Facebook messages than actual speaking. She is busy, and I respect that.

  But she is no longer MAKING time for me. She is letting go.

  I have to let her.

  And it kills me.

  ~~~

  May 17, 2012

  I saw it. The love is still in her eyes for me.

  I made a trip to see her (under the guise that I was coming to sign some legal paperwork), and I still see the love she has for me. The spark is not dying, no matter how much she wants it to.

  I shouldn’t punish myself. She is right to pull away from me. I see that it hurts us both to be near her.

  But seeing her revives me as much as it wounds me.

  It gives me hope… a reason.

  She doesn’t look at Allison the way she looks at me. I almost wish she would.

  Almost.

  It might make it easier.

  ~~~

  January 14, 2013

  There are pictures of her all over the internet with that Riley Tate. Him and his fucking swoon-worthy dimples.

  He was her date to that stupid awards show.

  God, I’ve never felt so much hatred for a guy in my life. Him… with his arm around her.

  I can tell they are just friends. I can tell he doesn’t love her, which is fortunate for him.

  I know people who can make him disappear.

  Shit, I just made myself laugh. I haven’t laughed in ages. Of course I would never do anything so barbaric. But the thought brought me joy. Go figure.

  She looks radiant in that white dress that accentuates her figure so beautifully. So happy and full of life.

  Her hair seems darker in the pictures. I’m not sure if it is a trick of the light or if she made it that way. But it was up, so it was hard to determine.

  It showed off that graceful neck. The neck I’ve yet to kiss… from that spot behind her ear down to the place where it meets her shoulder. The delicate skin I will probably never kiss.

  I wish she’d won. God knows she deserved to. Her gracious nature shined through, seeming genuinely happy for the other actress.

  Fuck, why can’t she be mine?

  ~~~

  October 6, 2013

  A lot can change in four years.

  Or nothing can.

  Four years ago I left her so she could live her life. She is living. She seems happy. She is so busy, especially with the new series she started this season.

  For me, it’s same shit, different day.

  She has a break in her shooting schedule coming up, and I am trying to decide whether or not I should visit.

  Honestly, I debated whether or not to move back home to the States. With my health remaining steady, there is no reason to stay here.

  But that would be too much of a temptation for both of us. I couldn’t stay away from her if I did. I cannot disrupt her happy life.

  I hate being this far away from her. Noah reports that she really is happy. He says she and Allison live symbiotically, if chaotically.

  I told her once she was chaos to my order. I made her feel unwanted. That is my burden. I also told her I would try to change her. That was untrue. I would never try to change perfection.

  See, she was never the chaos. I was.

  I would have brought unwanted turmoil to her life, not the other way around.

  Hell, I don’t even want my chaos.

  I can’t imagine anyone wants my chaos.

  God, do I still crave hers.

  ~~~

  May 19, 2014

  I’m bound and determined not to mope anymore, waiting around for this shit to return.

  When my therapist told me to keep a journal of my thoughts back when my issues began in high school, I never intended for all my entries to become singularly focused.

  He suggested I write down everything I was feeling so I wasn’t keeping anything bottled. I think he expected me to share my journal with him so I would say something, anything in therapy.

  I remember thinking that therapy was idiotic. I mean, getting “shrinked” wouldn’t stop what was happening to me. But both my doctor and the therapist said the same thing: mental health can affect the want and need to fight and get better.

  With that, I could not argue.

  And it’s probably why, over the years, I kept this little habit. I do feel that it helps.

  The problem is that for the last few of these stupid journals, page upon page is filled with thoughts of her. I justify that by telling myself that if I can’t tell her how I feel, at least these pages know.

  But lately, I find myself thinking about her less often. I have such mixed feelings about that.

  She is not consuming every conscious moment of my day. I noticed that yesterday, I didn’t think about her once during my workday, which could be construed as a good thing. I am even more productive that I was before, less broody. I have made connections with coworkers. I even a
ttend social functions.

  I tried dating. Each ended in disaster.

  I even tried having sex. That was humiliatingly traumatizing.

  But this… this is worse.

  I feel guilty, anxious even.

  Does this mean I’m getting over her?

  Am I letting go?

  Am I giving up?

  I still love her as much as I ever have.

  Maybe I’m just finally accepting that she will never be mine.

  ~~~

  August 18, 2014

  I felt a twinge today while on the treadmill, a tiny little pinch in my chest, something anyone else would probably ignore.

  It wasn’t terrible, but it alarmed me. So I went to the A&E where they found nothing wrong, suggesting it was just something I ate, but they didn’t know my history. I’m not allowed to tell them all I’ve been through.

  Even though I’ve been expecting it to come back, it would be a shame if all that time and effort in treatment was for nothing. I went through hell and back to get here, and I hope whatever I felt today was nothing, just indigestion like the doctor said.

  I go back to Switzerland to the clinic in a month, but I’m wondering if I should go sooner.

  Ever since it happened, I’ve thought about her more often. I’d love to call her, but she’d hear my voice and know. She always knows.

  But would she question it?

  February 5, 2015

  It’s back. That twinge from months ago was not just a twinge after all.

  The Swiss doctors found nothing then, but after six months of constant watch, now we have answers.

  It’s very slowly progressing, so the doctors tell me, a less than two percent difference since the monitoring started, not really even noticeable, to tell the truth.

  But it’s there… irreversible this time. No going back.

  All we can do is manage symptoms. No cure. No second round of hellish treatment.

  Little hope beyond that.

  We knew this was a possibility. We have made a plan on how to intervene if necessary to slow the progression if it speeds up.

  And the final step we can’t do until it gets to the critical stage, which the docs say is years away.

  Years away is still not good. It could still end badly.

  I’m back to thinking about her all the time. News like this… I can’t help it.

  I need to see her. I need to feel her in my arms.

  I just need her.

  ~~~

  June 25, 2015

  I’m going to see her. I sit on this plane in first class, knowing that in a few short hours, she will be gloriously in front of me.

  As always, a war rages inside my head. Do I tell her? Do I finally admit after all this time the real reason I keep myself 5,440 miles, 8755 kilometers, away from her? I mean, this time, my fate is pretty much sealed, but can I actually tell her?

  I tried before, but something stopped me every time.

  I want to be straightforward, but then…

  My mind creates two scenarios of what will go down if I tell her.

  The first one: She will cry, throw herself in my arms, drop everything and pledge that I will not go through the rest of this alone. She will pledge her undying love to me and give up her life to come live with me and take care of me. Even though I can’t give her all she deserves, she will say it doesn’t matter and devote herself to me anyway, only to watch me wither away. I will have to watch as it slowly kills her to stand by and see me get worse and worse.

  (As much as I love dreaming she’ll finally be with me, I can’t let that happen. I can’t do that to her.)

  Or… she will get angry. Blame me for keeping this secret. Resent me for not trusting her enough to tell her the truth so long ago. Hate me and will walk off into the sunset with Allison… or Riley… or (fuck) Noah, or some unnamed someone who will give her all I can’t, taunting me, rubbing it in my face with pictures of babies and happily ever after, while I wither away faster.

  Yeah, my imagination gets the worst of me instead of the best.

  Fucking fate.

  I hate this.

  I need her in my life, but I can’t destroy her.

  Eight years, and nothing has changed.

  Twenty Seven

  2015

  “Stranglehold” – Ted Nugent

  “Just because we can now doesn’t mean we need to.”

  “I know that, Darby,” Allison bit back. “I thought maybe this would make you want to get married.”

  After she finished her morning workout session with Noah’s guys, she had turned on the news like she always did. We were stunned by the news of legalized gay marriage and watched all the revelers standing in line in New York to make their unions legal in the eyes of the law. It was a victory for the LGBTQ community, and I absolutely supported the decision.

  However, I had always made my opinion on marriage clear. A casually asked question if I’d like to get married someday now that it was legal became a discussion that was quickly turning into an argument.

  “Haven’t you lived with me for the past seven years, Allison? I have never indicated that I wanted to marry anyone.”

  “Yeah, but I thought maybe…”

  “In fact, I have told you several times that I’m not for traditional commitments or ceremony, nor have I ever been. I’m not going to change my mind just because it’s been legalized.”

  She sighed and looked away, trying to hide her hurt.

  “Babe,” I soothed, “a piece of paper means nothing to me. True commitment is being together because you want to be, not because you are legally bound to someone. We are together. That’s not going to change.”

  “I just feel that if you are truly committed to a person, it shouldn’t matter whether the union is legal or not.”

  I lowered my eyes. “Babe, did you just hear yourself? That’s exactly what I just said.”

  Tears filled her eyes.

  “I don’t understand why you thought this,” I waved to the TV, “would change who I am.”

  She wiped the tear that escaped. “I thought maybe you could be a leader. A champion for the cause.”

  “But whose cause? I support the community. I support those who want and need that commitment. I am not going to compromise my principles just because it’s now legal. And fuck, Allison, we haven’t even announced our relationship to the world yet…”

  She stood, walking to the kitchen, and mumbled something that sounded like, “Yeah, because you’re ashamed of us.”

  Where the hell is this coming from?

  Never once in our time together had Allison expressed any insecurities about our relationship. We’ve been… happy. We’ve barely ever argued. Working in the same industry, we understood the demands of time and energy, and we supported each other fully in our careers.

  She’d always accepted the nature of Hollywood and commented how females who came out to fans usually lost popularity because of it. We knew the double standard. Male actors were becoming more mainstream in expressing their sexuality, but females, as always, were still not held to the same standard. It may have seemed selfish, but I wasn’t willing to risk my moderately successful career by making my private life public. Honestly, I wanted to keep my private life just that. Private. I thought she supported my decision.

  In fact, I knew she did. We had this very discussion not even two years ago when I was up for a People’s Choice award. She even insisted I take Riley to the show as my “date.”

  Truth was I still didn’t label myself. Now they added even more labels to indicate a person’s sexuality, and honestly, I probably fit some of the categories. I just didn’t want to fit into a category. I still wanted to just be… me. I’d seen too many actors be defined by things other than their acting ability. I did not want to be one of them. Labels divided. I truly felt in order to be considered equal, for everything, not just sexuality, labels needed to be eradicated. When people start getting labeled, it took away individualit
y.

  Allison emerged from the kitchen with red-rimmed eyes and a bottle of water.

  I stood. “Babe, I’m sorry. I just…”

  “No, you’re right. We don’t need legality.” Smiling tightly at me before she turned to walk to our room, she threw over her shoulder, “I’m going to take a shower. Have fun moving Riley into his new house.”

  “You could come with me,” I suggested. “We could use the help putting away his stuff. Then we could go out to dinner afterward.”

  She stopped at the door of her room. “I’ll take you up on the dinner invite, but I have to interview a new instructor in a little while.” She smiled. “You wanna meet at that new Mediterranean restaurant around six?”

  I returned her smile warily. “You know I love a good falafel.”

  ~~~

  “I’m sorry for this morning, Darby,” Allison rushed out before I even sat down at the table. “I seem to be extra hormonal today, so ignore me.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Hormonal? I’m guessing it was not a good day?”

  She blushed. “I might have yelled at the interviewee and scared him away. And I cried over a commercial.”

  “Understandable. Some commercials are sad.”

  “Diaper commercials starring dancing babies aren’t. I’m just…” she looked down into her glass of water, “feeling time slip away from me, I think.”

  The waitress set down a glass of water and a glass of wine Ally had thoughtfully ordered for me. I thanked her, and turned my attention back to Allison.

  “Time? What do you mean?”

  Her face flushed again and she sighed. “Nothing.” She traced the rim of her own water glass. “How’s Riley’s house? Is it as beautiful as the pictures he sent?”

  Eyeing her curiously, I wondered what she was leaving unsaid. Ultimately, I allowed the subject change.

  “It’s a large house, three stories, Spanish-style architecture, right on a private beach in Malibu. It’s airy, gorgeous really, and the pictures didn’t do it justice.” After taking a sip of my wine, which she incorrectly ordered, yet again, I had to suppress my eye roll. Holy fucking Zeus, This many years together, and she can’t pay attention to a fucking wine order? I had to work to hide the face I wanted to make as I set the wineglass down.

  She opened her menu and began studying her choices, so I did the same. We sat there with our noses in our menus for a few minutes before I noticed she kept glancing at me.