Getting out of bed, I’m puzzled and swear the voice sounds like Evelyn. Although if it is her, she sounds nowhere near any sort of way I have ever heard her sound before. I flip on a light and make my way to the door. The voice has been replaced with a loud obnoxious banging noise. Curiosity beckons, and I swing open the door to find Evelyn a mess and very much drunk.
“Hello, Mr. Stewart,” she says smiling up at me.
The effects of alcohol make her eyes glisten. She sits on the top of the steps, her back against the stair railing that leads to my apartment. She faces my door and holds a beer bottle in one hand, no doubt the object I had heard just a few moments earlier that was banging on God only knows what … maybe the floor in front of her.
I hurry to her side, quickly wanting to help her in, and also wanting to understand what it was that brought out this side of her. Helping her up, I look around for Gwen and curse under my breath at the fact that she’s nowhere in sight. When I heard they were going out, I hadn’t imagined Evelyn to be the one ending the night this way.
Stumbling, Evelyn makes her way towards the door. Dropping the empty bottle, she giggles nonstop, obviously holding in a joke that she finds hysterical. Although, I do not see any humor in the situation.
“You’re too kind, sir,” she says, breaking away from my hold and trying to make her way on her own. She fails and starts to fall, hitting the wall and almost taking down a picture frame with her while stumbling through the front door.
I’m quick to catch her and help her to the couch. Giggling and still very enthused with the situation, she sits while I turn and close the front door behind us. Making my way back to her side, I sit down, irritated, my mind racing with what the hell is going on.
This is something I was not expecting and something I need answers to right now! What irritates me most is why she’s alone and what it is that could have brought her to such a delirious condition.
Damn it, Gwen!
Trying to compose herself, Evelyn sits up straight, looking me in the eye with the straightest face she can manage. Less than a second later, she breaks, laughing so hard she has to hold on to my arm to keep from falling off my couch. I find no hilarity in how she’s allowing herself to behave on her girl’s night out. There has to be some reason for this. Although, for the life of me, I can’t start to imagine what it is.
“Do you want something to drink,” I ask.
Her eyes light up as she struggles to meet mine. “Do you have beer?” She giggles some more.
“I think you’ve had enough beer, Evelyn. I was talking about water,” I state firmly.
“Oh, you’re no fun,” she says, pushing me playfully. However, no part of me wants to play back.
“What’s wrong, Evie?” I ask, trying to sound calm, though every part of me wants to hurt whatever it is that might be hurting her, making her drink more than I have ever seen her drink before. I also wouldn’t mind finding her sorry excuse of a friend and getting to the bottom of how and why she showed up at my door in the middle of the night by herself drunk as hell. I’ve never had an excuse before to be mad at Gwen, but right now I’m finding it hard to think any good thoughts about her and how she could leave her best friend in this kind of condition.
“I was just trying to think …” Evelyn says, trailing off. She points at me, trying to make some sort of emphasis on what she’s about to say but failing horribly.
A few moments pass. Evelyn’s face softens and sadness fills every part of her expression. Whatever it is that made her decide to drink so much is making itself known in her clouded mind, and I try my best to be ready for whatever it is she might be about to say.
Slowly, in a whisper, she answers me. “Why do you want to be with me?”
I pause. Is she joking? I don’t know how to respond. I thought I had shown her why every day we’d been together. I thought I had done everything I needed so she would never, ever doubt how much I care for her. She has to know how much I love her. She has to know why I want to be with her. Where is all of this coming from?
“How could you even ask that? Don’t you already know? I’ve told you in a million ways,” I say. “Is that what this is about? How could you even question that?”
“I’m no good for you, Noah,” she blurts out, sadly dropping her gaze to the floor.
Her eyes fill with tears. Her face hardens with anger, and I began to see a side of her I have never seen before. Rage and hatred fill every ounce of this woman I love. Never in our time together have I ever experienced a moment with her where she seemed to hate herself. It’s almost as if living with herself and whatever is clouding her mind is an impossible task. I can’t take it. How can she think about herself that way when she is all I could ever need? When she is all I have ever wanted in this life.
“No good for me? Evelyn, there was a time I thought I could only hope to be lucky enough to have someone like you …” I try soothing her, but she cuts me off.
“No … no… NO!” she shouts, interrupting me and shaking her head fiercely as if she is trying to shake away the thoughts that are living there as well. “No good. I’m no good!” She’s drunk and also hysterical.
She waves her hand in front of her and then grabs ahold of my leg for stability. Very shaky and very drunk, she has me wondering exactly how much she’s had to drink. She’s almost incapable of holding herself still and in an upright position. This is not like her at all. She always stops after a few drinks, and I have never seen her even enter a situation where she might put herself in this position.
“Baby, why would you think that? You’re everything I have ever imagined. Everything I have ever hoped to find.” I’m truthful and hope whatever I say will stop the battle she’s having with herself. “There was a time I swore I would never allow myself to feel the way I feel for you, but damnit it, I couldn’t help but fall for you, Ev!”
I hate seeing the woman I love like this. I never want to see it again and have to find some way to calm the fight that’s raging in her head—but I still can’t make any sense of it. Where the hell did all of this come from?
“But what about later?” Evelyn asks. “What about much later. I can’t live up to perfect, Noah! You think I’m great now, but what about the first time I do something wrong? What about when I’m not perfect? If I make bad choices … when I disappoint you, and you look at me like … like you want nothing to do with me! I don’t think I could ever take you looking at me that way.” She starts to cry. At first her tears fall slowly then uncontrollably the more her thoughts resonate with her emotions.
“I would never want nothing to do with you,” I tell her sternly.
“You say that now, but who knows! What if I gain weight! Or I stop putting on makeup every day! When months turn into years and time together turns into marriage … maybe even kids …” I smile as she babbles incoherently. I can’t help myself. Her vulnerability is bringing forth possibilities that I had thought of myself but never mentioned to her for fear she wouldn’t feel the same way.
She would look so beautiful pregnant. And the mention of our child in her womb makes something stir inside me that I haven’t felt before.
She slows her rambling, agony consuming her with each passing moment. “What if I can’t promise you forever,” she asks, tears streaming down her face.
The pain from her last comment sends me into shock. I hadn’t agreed to forever with her, but I know I want her for as many days and nights that I can have her. She’s it for me. The thought of a lifetime together is a big order to fill, but in the foreseeable future, I can’t imagine experiencing any of it with anyone but her.
“You can promise me now. You can promise me you will wake up with those beautiful blue eyes looking at me tomorrow morning. You can let me make love to you like tomorrow isn’t promised and forever is no guarantee,” I say, almost pleading for a relationship that seemed so secure just a few moments before.
I have never begged before and don’t know why I am doing it
now. I know Evelyn will barley remember our conversation in the morning, but I want to offer as much comfort to her as I can tonight. I want to somehow calm whatever storm is so obviously raging inside.
Her face softens. She glances my way. Mischief lurks in her eyes. Her expression changes almost instantly. Whatever I said did the trick. Either that or the alcohol haze has made it very simple to change her train of thought. Whatever it is doesn’t matter since it seems to be working in my favor.
“Mr. Stewart, you are too much, I don’t deserve you,” she insists. She smiles at first then grabs ahold of my leg again as I see her begin to spin. “Umm, Noah …” She clutches me harder, her face looking extremely pale.
“Yes,” I ask, worried for her response but knowing already what she is about to say.
“I think I’m about to be sick,” she says, holding her hand to her mouth.
I yank her to her feet and hurry off with her to the bathroom as fast as I can. As I watch her throw up, I feel nothing but sadness. I’m sad she felt it necessary to put herself through the pain she had tonight because she has no clue what she really means to me.
I know relationships go through ups and downs. I know everything isn’t always sunshine and roses. When any two souls collide, their existence is never entirely perfect, but my life has changed since I met Evelyn. And I have never questioned the choices I’ve made since meeting her. Sure, I remember waiting for the uncertainty once deciding to uproot my life again just for the chance to be with her, but it never came. The decision to love her was easy. I need her to know how much she means to me, and hell, I thought she did. I want her to know how much I want her with me every moment of everyday, and an hour ago I would have sworn she already knew. I can’t place my finger on why things have changed, and I know I need to fight to get us back where we used to be.
Even with everything I’m able to offer, I know she is free to make her own choice. I can offer myself to her in every way possible, and she could still leave. Or in the end she could turn on me like Becky did. It’s a reality I’m still coming to terms with. It’s always there in the very back of my mind, but she’s worth the risk. Never once have I ever been undecided when it came to our love.
I made my choice that night we had our first date. I decided to let go and let her in. Damn the past! Although, for the first time since then, she has me worried if making that choice is putting me through what I went through before. She is worth the risk, I know that. But for the first time since making that decision, I’m worried that maybe she won’t always choose me. That maybe the indecision she is wrestling with will always be greater than the love I can show her. If she’s already thinking that she might not be able to promise me forever, what kind of future could there ever be for us? A future that seemed so secure when I had gone to bed now hangs motionless in the air like a bad dream I can’t shake, a nightmare from my past resurfacing and sucking the life out of me once again.
When she seems like she’s feeling better, I carry her to bed. I help rid her of her clothes and grab one of my T-shirts for her to sleep in. After I manage to get her into it, I tuck her gently underneath the covers. I don’t join her. Instead, I sit in a chair near the bed, staring at her. I’m trying to make sense of everything that has just happened. Our world was going so great. I never saw any signs that something like this might happen. I sit in the dark, watching her sleep, trying to find any shred of light I can shine on the situation, wondering for the first time how deep her love goes for me. And being forced to realize maybe it is not as deep as I thought.
Evelyn has to feel the way I do. She has to know what kind of chemistry we have and how lucky we are to be able to have it. If she doubts anything about us at all, I need to show her just how lucky we are and how much I fully intended to fight for her.
For us.
Still, in the back of my mind, I know that unless she wants it too fighting alone might not do the trick. She is still free to not choose me. And in the end, I could be left once again by myself. Although, shortly after we first met, I promised myself I wasn’t going to let her get away that easy. And that is one promise I entirely intend to keep.
Evelyn
The world seems a very evil place when I wake up Friday morning. Luckily, I don’t have to work and don’t need to be anywhere until later this evening when the party starts at Gatsby’s. Trying my best to not let the piercing light of day blind me, I sit in bed and notice I am in Noah’s apartment.
Visions of the end of the night come flooding back to me. I remember drinking heavily, and Gwen and me dancing at the third bar we stumbled into. A bar that just happened to be down the street from Noah’s. Soon after, Gwen found a guy she plastered herself all over, and I sat alone with the thoughts I had been trying to run from all night.
When it most definitely looked like Gwen was going home with her new bar friend, I drunkenly started my walk of shame towards Noah’s place, holding my beer in my hand. I actually remember that part, only because I was so shocked to walk out of the bar with it and no one said anything.
Then Noah … I remember him, remember the room spinning, throwing up, and him taking care of me and putting me to bed. But for the life of me I cannot remember what we talked about. It couldn’t have been bad, could it?
I move towards the end of the bed and sit for a moment, debating when I should actually attempt standing. I feel worse than I have in years, thanks to those good old IPAs I love to drink so much. I never drink more than I should, a habit I broke in my early twenties after one too many nights like last night. I sit at the end of the bed, room spinning, hating the fact that I was weak last night and shamefully succumbed to stupid behavior in order to deal with things I didn’t want to face.
Taking a quick short glance around the apartment, I notice Noah is already gone. I remember him having to work in the morning and am relieved I don’t have to face him just yet. For the first time in months, I’m slightly nervous about seeing him. Not remembering our conversation last night but remembering how drunk I let myself get, I’m sure it will make things awkward between the two of us, at least at first.
Deciding what I need most is a hot shower, a huge breakfast, coffee, and my own bed, I slowly make my decent from Noah’s bed. I then began slowly changing into my own clothes. Glancing at my phone, I notice Gwen has already texted me this morning. She tells me she has grabbed the car and wants to know where I am and if I need a ride. She has already been by the apartment and noticed I hadn’t come home last night.
I quickly text her back that I’m at Noah’s and tell her how to find me, since she has never been here before. I’m thankful that Gwen is better at this hangover situation than I am. I feel like I can’t even function, and God only knows if I’m going to be able to anytime soon.
Gwen texts back that she’s on her way, and I brace myself, trying to get ready to face the daylight outside. The sun, of course, has to be especially bright on today of all days. My mouth is dry, my head pounds like the overly loud bass in Gatsby’s on a Friday night, and my body feels heavy, making me think twice before making it move. Every step feels like a huge hurdle as I try and will my body to do what I need it to do just to make it home.
God I hate hangovers.
Once Gwen picks me up and I make it back to my place, I text Noah to let him know I’m home, trying to act as normal as possible. He doesn’t text back right away, which is a little out of character. When he finally does, all he wants to know is if it would be okay if he didn’t pick me up later and we could just meet at the club.
Trying my best to not feel the littlest bit upset and hurt he wouldn’t pick me up, I tell him it’s fine and I will ride with Gwen, but I can’t wait to see him there. He texts me back that he’s busy and going into a meeting so he won’t be able to respond, making sure to end the text with a quick “lov u,” and I respond the same. Something doesn’t seem right, but I try to ignore it and tell myself I’m overreacting and overanalyzing the situation.
; After a hot shower, a meal with enough calories to last me a week, a couple Advil, and several glasses of water, I decide a nap is exactly what I need to help the situation. I lock myself in my room, closing the blinds and not wanting to think about last night. Although, the worry of not knowing exactly what I said and what transpired keeps me awake awhile and makes it difficult to get the rest I thought I would.
Am I sure I didn’t say something horrible? Why can’t I remember? It’s strange and out of character for him not to pick me up for a party that he planned. Maybe he had something come up?
And still, even with all that, I also find myself wrestling with what Gwen had asked me last night as well. Would I give up everything for him? Could I?
Eventually I fall asleep and hope that when I wake up, things will be back to normal. I’m hopeful at best, but there is still something lingering that I can’t quiet put my finger on.
Noah
Friday goes by in an angry rage. I hadn’t slept much the night before and now my frustration is off the charts. I can’t hide it. I can’t make sense of it. The more I think about it, turning over every word Evelyn spoke, the more I become more irritated than I have been in years. I lose myself in my work, hitting things in place with extra force and slamming things down obnoxiously. Fuck it, I don’t care. The good thing about being my own boss is that I can act anyway I want to.
Evelyn texts me around lunch time and somehow it makes my mood even shittier. I can’t make sense of why, but I know it can’t be good. The night before leaves me with so many unanswered questions and painful memories of rejection that I’ve only spent the better half of the last year and a half or more trying to forget. It hurts to think maybe she doesn’t love me as much as I love her. That maybe she couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, give me her world like I have so easily given up mine.
So I make up the lie that I have some meeting, try to end it sweetly, and get my ass back to work as fast as I can. What if I can’t give you everything? Her statement clings to my every thought, creeping in at every moment just when I think I’ve finally succeeded in making my mind go silent. Hell, there it is again, torturing me. Eating me alive. I can’t shake it.
Indecision Page 17