by Eden Bradley
“I wrote a bit. This book is going okay right now. I’m at that point where it all seems to be falling into place.”
“That’s great.”
“Yes. I did a good ten pages, by hand, anyway, on my notepad. I’ll type it all up later. And then Audrey and I took a walk on the beach.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. We talked. It was…good, I think.”
“Good.”
He leans in and kisses my neck, his lips soft against my skin.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you talked to her lately?”
“Not much. She’s always with Charles.”
“But you have talked.”
“Sure.” He keeps kissing me, but I feel a little cold, suddenly.
“Have you talked to her about…us?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
Why is a knot growing in my stomach?
“Because it’s private.” He props himself up to look at me, his eyes dark and mossy. “This is just us, you and me, right?”
“Right.”
“But you’re worried about me being with her again? Sleeping with her?” he asks.
“She’s just so…beautiful. And special.”
“So are you, Bettina.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have what she has, Jack. I’m realistic about that. But then, few people do. Audrey draws people to her like a magnet.”
“Yeah, she does. We’ve both been drawn in, haven’t we? But everything is temporary with her. We’ve already talked about that. One moment you’re the center of her universe and the next you cease to exist. And I’ve already told you I’m pretty tired of that shit.”
“Still, it’s hard to hold myself up next to that, you know?”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I do. I know what I am, Jack—an ordinarily pretty girl who’s too shy and lacks faith in herself. I have a good mind, I believe that. But…that’s it.”
“Christ, Bettina, why do you do that? Are you trying to make me believe that? Or yourself?”
“It’s just what’s true. I don’t have the Audrey magic.”
“I don’t want that from you! It’s not even real. She’s not quite real.”
I’m quiet a moment, thinking about what he’s saying. Wondering how the conversation got here, with Jack angry and me feeling so defensive.
“What do you want, Jack?”
“Christ.”
He runs a hand over his dark hair, his mouth settling into a thin line.
“Jack, you’ve admitted you still think about her. That’s hard for me. And you’ve also told me from the start that you’re as much a free spirit sexually as she is. This thing with you two has gone on for a long time. What’s to stop it? And I know about you and Viviane, too.”
I regret those words instantly, but it’s too late. I don’t even know what point I was trying to make in saying it.
His eyes are darker than ever. Stormy, cold. “Then you know I hurt her.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“That kind of thing is exactly why I know better than to make you any promises. I don’t want to do that to anyone. Not to her, not to you. I’m no good at long-term relationships. The few I’ve had have always ended badly.”
“Do you mean Sheri?”
“That was the worst of it, but yeah. That taught me to be honest about who I am.”
“Who are you, Jack? What are you trying to tell me?”
He pulls in a breath, blows it out. “I’m selfish, in the worst way a writer can be. I need to lock myself up for weeks at a time and work with no distractions. I’m demanding, the worst kind of creative personality. The classic artistic temperament, right?” He lets out a small, bitter laugh.
“Jesus, Jack, I can say the same for myself.”
He sits up, pushing his back against the pillows at the head of the bed, his gaze somewhere on the wall over my shoulder. I sit up, too, but don’t move closer to him. My stomach is churning.
“The difference is that no one in your life nearly died be cause of it, Bettina.”
Shit.
“I know that,” I say quietly.
“And I am my father’s son. That’s the example I grew up with.”
“You aren’t him, Jack. That’s such a cop-out. You can choose differently.”
“Maybe.”
“But you’re choosing not to.”
“Fuck, Bettina.” His hand is in his hair again in the way he has when he’s angry or confused. Defensive. “I don’t fucking know what I’m doing.”
Neither do I. All I know is that I want him. That I want what I apparently can’t have.
After a while I say quietly, not looking at him because I can’t, “Maybe you need to figure that out, Jack.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
A long pause before he gets up and goes to the door while my blood beats in my veins, a hot and unsteady pulse.
“We can…we can talk more later, Bettina. Okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
What else can I say?
Then he’s gone. And I feel as empty as I ever have in my life.
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THE LOVERS
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7450-5
Copyright © 2010 by Eden Bradley
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