by R. J. Lewis
“Aidan…” I pant.
His hands are suddenly everywhere, exploring me, running up and down my body. He squeezes at my ass, kissing me like I’m the air he breathes.
“Aidan,” I repeat as our kiss intensifies.
“Fuck, Ivy,” he groans, palming my ass, bringing me closer to him still. My breasts press against his chest as his tongue roams my mouth, tasting me thoroughly. Heated and intense, he pulls back to bite my bottom lip, his fingers digging further into my ass.
I let out a breathy moan and that’s his undoing. He pulls away suddenly, cutting our kiss mid-stroke. He’s breathing hard. We both are.
“No more, Ivy.” He sounds pained. “No more.”
He doesn’t ask me to get off, though. His hands are still under my ass, still squeezing me to him. He holds me for a few minutes, panting, hard as a rock beneath me.
“Thank you for the best birthday,” I say to him just then, smiling timidly at him. “As incredibly belated as it is.”
He’s not amused. He’s too pent-up, shutting his eyes from me.
“Get out of that apartment, Ivy,” he solemnly says just then. “Just get away.”
I lay my head against his chest and let out a long sigh.
With Aidan, I feel so much resolve. I make promises to myself I long to keep.
Stay strong, Ivy.
*
Aidan drops me off an hour later. He watches me walk to the entrance. He doesn’t look away when I open the door and walk in. As I wait for the elevator, I hear his car slowly drive out, like he doesn’t want to leave, like he’d stay with me if he had the choice.
Aidan is doing things to my heart that make my soul weep. I feel shaky and anxious and like I’d do anything for him. I’m falling hard.
I enter the apartment, nearly tripping over a pair of huge shoes. I bend down and pick them up. They’re Derek’s shoes. He’s come back after his four day hiatus. I place them in our shoe rack, idly running my finger along the laces. The strangest pain shoots through me just then. Soon, I won’t be picking up his shoes. I won’t be putting away his laundry or waking him up when the alarm doesn’t. I walk to the bedroom and peer into the darkness. He’s on the bed, passed out, snoring into his pillow. I can smell the alcohol from here. Alcohol and…woman’s perfume. Nothing stirs in my chest at the latter detail.
I hurt for an entirely different reason now. I hurt to let go of all I have known for eight years. It’s a panicked emotion that washes over me. It’s like looking into the horizon and knowing a storm is coming. You can’t see it, but you can smell it, and because you don’t know when it’s going to hit, you wait in perpetual fear.
I slip into bed, smelling like Aidan, still feeling his touch on my lips.
I can do this, I tell myself. I can do this.
Eighteen
Ivy
I’ve been looking for the perfect moment to talk to Derek again. To tell him we need to start separating our few belongings. We need to get this separation moving. We cannot keep co-existing with one another. It’s unhealthy. Every day I plan it. I imagine sitting him down and explaining the disconnect between us. I need to use the D word a second time. I can’t believe I have to do this yet again.
It’s difficult to predict what his reaction will be. When I had separated from him and left to my mother’s, he’d sobbed after me, at one point dropping to my feet and begging me to stay. Leaving for my mother’s was the hardest thing I had ever done, but it had given me courage I didn’t know I had.
I keep trying to draw that courage out now, but I can’t seem to find it. I’m a chickenshit. I pretend that the moment’s not right because he’s wasted, or tired from work, and sometimes it breaks my heart into a million pieces when he wants to stay in for the night and be in the same room as me. It’s tense, don’t get me wrong. Everything between us has shifted dramatically, but I sense he craves my presence, even if he doesn’t say a word to me. It just makes this harder.
You see, there are moments he tries so hard.
There are moments he doesn’t try at all.
And when the moments align and I have the opportunity to sit down and tell him it’s over – stop hoping, Derek, it’s over, truly – I can’t draw the words out of my mouth. I sit for a moment, still as a statue, pushing myself to do it. Those are the moments he takes one look at me and knows. Those are the moments he flees. The elephant in the room keeps growing bigger. He knows I’m finished. He knows I meant it when I ended things. He’s obviously been fooling around with women during this separation; I’ve seen signs of it, the lipstick on his shirt, the perfume on his skin, the red marks along his neck. Yet he won’t let a word in about it.
As a result, time passes.
I avoid the storm because it’s the easy thing to do. I delay the inevitable because it means I get to go about my day without worrying about the unavoidable onslaught. You can keep delaying it all you want, but all it does is create an even bigger shitstorm.
The space…the space between us is so big now, it just feels awkward all the time.
Days bleed together, and I itch to see Aidan again, but he’s holding off. His strength is waning. He won’t keep his hands off me if we see each other again. I know this because I feel the same way as well.
It doesn’t stop him from talking to me. From saying things to me that make me tremble in my seat with mad lust.
A.W.: I just want to taste you, Ivy Montcalm.
A.W: I want to know what your come tastes like. I want to know the noises you make while I fuck you. I want to watch you swallow my cock, staring into my eyes like the beautiful seductress that you are.
A.W.: I want you. All of you. Inside and out.
He only speaks like this when he’s feeling weak. Otherwise, he’s resolute and friendly, but I won’t lie. There’s pleasure in reading these lines.
I’m walking home from work, bundled up in my grey coat and red plaid scarf. The weather’s changing. Autumn is here in full force. My boots step over the fallen leaves carpeting the sidewalk. It’s too pretty not to appreciate.
As I approach my building, I hear, “Babe!”
I look up. Derek’s standing out front of the building and he’s not in his work clothes. He’s wearing jeans and a dark sweater, and his hair is done up. For the first time in forever, he looks…happy. Well, as happy as one can look after his huge weight loss and gaunt face. Alcohol is killing him.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, approaching him. I’m a little on guard because of how tense it’s been. Talking to him feels weird.
His eyes light up. “I got us a table. I bet you didn’t think I’d remember.”
My lips part to ask him what he’s talking about, and then I see it. The flowers in his hand, the chocolate box in the other. I shut my eyes briefly, realization trickling in.
“It’s…October 5th.”
Our wedding anniversary.
Shit.
“Yeah,” he says. “I got us a table at that Italian place you love so much.”
I shake my head. “Derek…”
“It’s a classy joint, so get dressed –”
“Derek,” I cut in, again, looking pleadingly at him. “I don’t want to go out tonight.”
He pauses for a moment, quickly thinking, and then he’s nodding. “Okay, we can order in and celebrate.”
“I don’t want to celebrate, either.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
I move aside so people can pass us on the sidewalk. We’re standing out front of our apartment building. I have to talk to him, but it shouldn’t be out here.
“Let’s go inside,” I tell him.
He doesn’t move, though. He stands there, eyes searching mine. The happiness is all gone. Now he’s troubled.
“I got you flowers,” he says quietly. “Take them, Ivy.”
I look at the flowers and then back at him. With a sigh, I begin to reach over to grab them, when he softly adds, “We will make this work
, I promise.”
I pause midway and then take a step back, shaking my head. “Derek, nothing has changed for me.”
“It was a stupid conversation.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It’s been weeks and you haven’t repeated it –”
“Because you never let me talk.”
“You didn’t mean what you said.”
“But I did.” I cross my arms as a gust of cold wind slams into me.
“End this separation bullshit and we’ll start over again right now, today, on our anniversary.”
“I can’t do that.”
The silence returns. I’m looking down at the sidewalk, unable to muster the courage to look him in the eye as I add, “It’s not working, Derek.”
“What isn’t?”
“You know what. Us. This marriage. We were…we were so young and…”
“I’ll stop the drinking.”
I shake my head, trying not to let his pained voice get to me. “No, no, Derek, it’s not even about that anymore. It’s…”
“The cheating?” His voice breaks. “I told you I’m sorry. I asked you what I had to do to fix things, Ivy. I hate myself for doing it. I hate myself, but…I felt so alone. You weren’t even looking at me after Isabella passed –”
“Don’t say her name,” I cut in, begging. “Please. Don’t.”
“I felt so lonely. I still do. Why do you think I’ve been gone every night? I’m dying inside, Ivy. I’m so alone, it hurts, and nothing I do is fixing this feeling.”
I feel choked up. I swallow hard, finally looking at him. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m sorry for all the wrong things I’ve done to you –”
“Don’t give me the sorry speech right before a break-up –”
“It’s not working anymore, Derek –”
“We’ll go back to a time where it did work. If it worked once, it’ll work again –”
“We never worked!” I try not to raise my voice, but I can’t help the frustration I feel. “We were sixteen when we got together! I didn’t know myself. I didn’t even know you! We aren’t who we used to be –”
“We’ll learn each other again.”
“I don’t want to! The want is gone!”
“What do you want then?”
“I want a…” I pause, breathing heavy now. “I want a di–”
“You say that word and you can’t take it back!”
“I’m not going to take it back! It’s what I want.”
“Why does the answer have to be divorce?” he shouts suddenly, growing angry. “You came back because you wanted to give us a chance!”
“I came back because my mother didn’t want me under her roof anymore,” I correct him, fuming now. “I came back because work was going to let me go for such a long absence and I was running out of money. I came back because the lease is in my name and I can’t shirk out of that contract by pulling a disappearing act. I came back because I have friends here – I have Ana. I knew, deep down, this was over between us, but I was scared, Derek, scared of hurting you, scared of moving past this comfortable familiarity between us, but that familiarity is only hurting me, and it’s robbing you of a chance to be happier with someone else. This is the right move for us –”
He throws the chocolate as hard as he can at the wall of the apartment building, knocking me speechless.
“This is bullshit,” he seethes, before repeating again, “This is fucking BULLSHIT!”
I feel strangers stare at us as they pass.
I don’t speak. I watch him throw the roses down on the ground and stomp on them. He looks like a child, lost and vulnerable. Tears are flowing out of his eyes, mixed with rage. So much rage. He’s always so angry.
I want to go to him, console him, pull him away from the brink, but I stay rooted. I have to be strong. I can’t be pulled back in again. I can’t. It physically hurts to ignore my empathetic nature. I feel like I’ve been wired to stand by him. It’s all I’ve known to do. Don’t, Ivy, stay still and be strong.
“Derek…”
He storms away from me and to the doors. He disappears inside, slamming the glass door with force.
I don’t want to follow. I stand around for a while, biting my nails. I feel like I’m going to vomit from the anxiety. Then I’m on the ground and cleaning up the roses and the chocolate box. There’s a nearby garbage can that I walk to. I throw them inside, taking my time, feeling dread at the pit of my stomach.
My phone vibrates.
I pull it out and swipe the screen.
A.W.: What is my vulgar temptress up to tonight?
I swallow thickly.
I’m miserable and I want him. I want Aidan West so bad, but I know I have to be careful. I have to tread slowly. There’s an ocean of pain inside me that I haven’t even worked through.
Without responding, I pocket the phone back and slowly make my way to the apartment.
*
“I don’t get why you even came back,” Derek carries on, smashing drawers shut in the kitchen. “Why the fuck would you do that? Why make me believe you wanted this? You never did! It’s sick, Ivy. You’re sick for making me think you ever gave a shit!”
I change the channel on the television, numbly staring at the screen.
He storms around the unit, not getting the reaction he wants out of me. I’ve barely spoken to him, which is unlike me. I don’t have it in me anymore.
There’s nothing left.
He’s hiding the suitcases again. I already know he stuffs them in the closet behind all his shit. I’m not even trying to run anymore. The more he behaves like this, the more certain I am that we are no good for each other.
So, I ride through the storm.
He doesn’t let up.
He comes out of the bedroom several times, throwing things on the ground. This time it’s his old guitar – already broken from a previous fight – and random bits of garbage. He’s making a show out of cleaning out the bedroom, like suddenly he cares about the mess. Along the way, he cracks a bottle of beer open – not his first since he stormed in here – and downs half of it in one gulp.
“So you would leave me then. Leave me with the rent, the bills, everything! It’s always the women that have it the easiest!”
I’ve already explained to him multiple times I wouldn’t do that. I don’t bother re-iterating that. I’m at a total loss how he’s carrying on like we’ve been together since I’ve returned. It fits his narrative, I guess. It allows him to look like the innocent one between us.
“It was your idea to be in this apartment. It was your fucking idea because your fucking job is around the corner. Never mind that mine isn’t! Never mind the trek I have to fucking make every single morning. I did this for you. I’m living in this shoebox for you. So that you can be happy.”
Everything he says is bullshit. We got the apartment before I got that job around the corner. He wanted to be in the city, close to the bars and the night life. Again, I don’t bother correcting him. I’ve done it a thousand times.
When he begins to slur, I know my time here is done. I message Ana to see if she wants to go out for dinner. I pull out some clothes in the bedroom to change into. Derek watches me for a moment, confused, and then his face grows dark.
“You’re going to leave?” he rants. “On our anniversary?”
I don’t answer. I start to walk away, but he stops me, grabbing my arm. “Answer me, Ivy.”
“Let go,” I tell him, yanking my arm from his grip.
I go to the bathroom but he’s hot on my heels. He stands in the doorway to stop me from closing the door.
“Go away, Derek,” I tell him wearily.
He doesn’t.
So, I change in front of him, uncaring. I throw on a fresh pair of tights and a cozy sweater.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Out,” I answer. “With Ana.”
“Where?”
“For a bite to eat –”
“I had a table booked for us, Ivy –”
“For the love of God, Derek, I don’t want to go out with you!” I hiss, unable to hold back now. “I don’t want to do anything with you. We’re over! How many times do we have to have this conversation?”
“We’re over?”
“Yes!”
“That’s it? Just like that?”
“It hasn’t been just like that! It’s been like this forever now. We’ve been over for a very long time. We’re kicking a dead horse just co-existing with one another! I said this to you before –”
He walks away mid speech and disappears into the bedroom. Within seconds I hear things break apart. I feel anxiety as I approach the doorway and peer in. He’s thrown all our things on the floor. My make-up and clothes are littered everywhere.
“Then fucking leave!” he shouts, throwing boxes out of the closet now. He pulls out the suitcases and throws them on the ground. “Leave, Ivy!”
I run a hand over my face, exhausted. “Fine,” I whisper.
Immediately, he comes to me, eyes bloodshot, filled with fear. “Don’t, Ivy. Don’t leave.”
I don’t answer as I look back at him.
He drags his nails over his scalp, looking lost. “Why, Ivy? Why? You’re all I know. All we have is each other.”
“This isn’t new. I’ve told you for a long time now –”
“But we always find our way back again.”
“No, not this time. You’re refusing to accept this.”
“How can I?” He shakes his head, looking wild. “Why are you doing this? It’s come out of nowhere.”
“It hasn’t.”
“It has! Usually, I can get through to you. I give it a few weeks. I give it time and you come around and you end this nonsense about leaving. You see what it does to me, and you come to me and you take it all back! You’re not taking it back yet! This isn’t you! Why are you doing this?” he repeats hysterically. “Why? Why do you want to run from this? Unless…”