“Yes. He told me I was the first person to say those words to him.”
“Whoa. That’s fucked up.” She narrowed her eyes. “How’s that even possible?”
I sighed. “I haven’t gone into Theo’s background much, but he had a really tough childhood. Mom left when he was one. Dad was abusive. He took off too eventually, about the time Theo was eight.”
She blinked. “Holy shit. That’s a lot of baggage. He seems so well-adjusted and happy-go-lucky.”
“He’s a good actor,” I said sadly. “Anyway, I don’t think emotional attachment comes easily for him.”
“How could it?” She shook her head. “Poor guy.”
“So I get that saying ‘I love you’ might not come naturally to him.”
“Love might not come naturally to him,” Jaime pointed out. “He might not even recognize it in himself. But Claire, the guy is crazy about you.”
My lips turned up a little. “You think so?”
“Yes. It’s totally obvious. You should see the way he looks at you.” She imitated a cartoonish lovestruck stare, sighing heavily and propping her chin in her hand.
I laughed. “He does not look like that.”
She sat up again. “Yes, he does. So don’t let it bother you that he’s not all verbal about it.” She shrugged. “Some people aren’t.”
I toyed with the stem of my wine glass. “He just seems quieter than usual this week. A little removed. It’s giving me a weird vibe.”
“I bet you’re imagining it because of what you said. You’re worried you’re not on the same page, so you’re looking for things to confirm your fear.”
“Am I?” I bit my lip. It was possible she was right.
“I think so. Are you still having sex?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“And he still stays over?”
“Yes.”
“Then I really wouldn’t worry about it,” she said confidently, picking up her martini glass. “Give him time.”
I exhaled and sat up a little taller. “You’re right. I’m being silly, looking for trouble where there isn’t any. Things are great with us.”
* * *
Except the very next night was Valentine’s Day, and he didn’t stay.
“Where are you going?” I asked when he got out of bed and started putting his clothes on. We’d gone out for dinner and had come back to my house.
“Some furniture is being delivered to my apartment tomorrow morning, and the time window they gave me starts early.” He didn’t even look at me.
“You bought new furniture?”
“Just a new couch. The old one was pretty bad.”
I nodded, pulling the covers up to my chest. It was a small, stupid thing, maybe, but I was sort of hurt he hadn’t mentioned the purchase. “Oh.”
He sat on the bed to tie the laces of his boots but said nothing.
“I wish you didn’t have to go.” I rubbed a hand up and down his back. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“Sorry,” he said shortly.
I took my hand back, biting my lip. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” He stood, turning to kiss me quickly. “Night.”
He was gone before I could even tell him I loved him.
But maybe that was the idea.
Thirty-Four
Theo
* * *
I was such an asshole.
I’d done some shitty things in my life, but I’d never felt worse than when I left Claire alone in bed on Valentine’s Day, confused and hurt, naked beneath the covers because I’d just fucked her.
Yeah, you did.
Grimacing, I shut the door behind me and hurried through the dark to my car. The snow had melted, but the wind was still biting cold. I thought of her, warm and soft under the blankets, and wanted to put my fist through my car window.
But I had to leave. I had to get away.
Inside my car, I growled a string of curse words at myself, but none of them made me feel better. I peeled out of her driveway and sped down the street, tires squealing.
“Fuck!” I yelled. I was so mad at myself. And I was mad at Claire too. As irrational as it was, I’d started to get angry with her for telling me she loved me. Maybe even for loving me in the first place.
For making me love her.
Because I did. I loved her so much I couldn’t see straight. I needed her. And I was powerless because of it.
Fuck it all, she didn’t understand what that did to me! How terrified I was that any minute now, she’d come to her senses and realize what I’d told her was true—I was no good for her. I’d never be the man she deserved. When had I ever been anything but a disappointment to anyone?
I felt like I was on an elevator whose cables were about to snap—heading for the inevitable crash that would happen when she discovered the truth. I had to get the fuck off.
What had I been thinking to let myself love her? To let myself need her? Why had I thought for even one second that I was capable of this—of surviving the loss of her?
Because I knew in my bones that no matter what you did or said or tried, love wasn’t enough to make anyone stay.
The realization that one day this would all be over and she’d be gone sliced right through my heart. It stopped beating. My throat closed up. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe.
Pulling over to the side of the road, I put the car in park and tried to get control of myself as I gasped for air. You are not a child. You are a man. You can fight this. You still have control. You can get out of danger. You can leave first.
By the time my breathing returned to normal, and I could feel my heart beating again in my chest, I’d made up my mind.
It had been a mistake to let her break down my walls. It would hurt her, but in the long run, I’d be doing her a favor. The sooner she realized love was a losing game, the better. Or maybe loving me was the losing game, and she’d have a better chance at happiness with someone else. Someone who believed in her fairy tale life with the porch swing and the bikes and the lemonade stand. Someone who could give it to her. Share it with her. Someone who could love her without disappointing her.
But it wasn’t me.
It had never been me.
* * *
I couldn’t fall asleep that night. Instead I lay awake trying to think of how to leave her. She was going to be furious no matter how I did it. She’d call me names. She’d say I’d lied to her. She’d accuse me of breaking all my promises.
I could take it. Hell, I deserved it.
What I knew I couldn’t take were her tears. Her pleas to stay. Her vulnerable sweetness. If she fell apart, it would kill me. So why force myself to watch it? Why make this any harder than it had to be? But I couldn’t just leave without saying anything. I owed her a reason, at least.
A text was too insulting, even for me. But a letter could work. I’d write her a letter and leave it at her house—I had a key. If I got it done tonight, I could take it there tomorrow after she left for school. She’d find it in the afternoon when she got home.
I got out of bed and went into the kitchen, where I grabbed a pen and a notebook. Sitting down at the counter, I stared at the blank page in front of me. This will crush her. She doesn’t deserve it. It’s all your fault.
“Fuck off,” I growled at myself. Then I put the pen to paper.
Dear Claire,
I’m sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can’t be what you want. You are better off without me.
Theo
My stomach churned. Burying my face in my hands, I sat there in agony for a few more seconds, unable to even look at the letter in front of me. For the first time in years, I wanted a drink. Wanted to numb myself to the pain of facing my true self.
Fuck-up. Liar. Coward.
I was. I was all those things and worse.
But at least no one would have the power to hurt me again.
I ripped the page from the notebook, folded it
into thirds and dug an envelope from a drawer. When the letter was safely sealed inside, I left it by my keys on the counter and went back to bed.
I tried not to think about her. I turned on the television. Opened a book. Buried my head beneath the pillows as if they could keep a thought from getting in. But nothing worked. I was awake all night long, imagining her face when she read that letter. It made me sick.
At least I wouldn’t have to see it.
Thirty-Five
Claire
* * *
The hours passed slowly.
I couldn’t sleep, and I had a pounding headache. At one A.M., I went down and took two ibuprofen. At two, I drank another glass of water. At three, I gave up on sleep and reached for my phone, tempted to text Theo and ask him if everything was OK. I couldn’t stop thinking about him—something was off, I just knew it. Even the sex had seemed less intimate tonight. He was closing himself off for some reason. Was he losing interest already? Or was he upset about something? Maybe I’d made a mistake telling him how I felt. I’d thought it would make him feel good, but maybe it had put too much pressure on him. Maybe it was too much, too soon.
I sighed and set my phone down again. Texting him at three in the morning wasn’t the answer if he was feeling pressured. We’d just have to have an honest conversation so I could tell him he didn’t have to worry—I wasn’t expecting anything different or more than what we had. I just wanted to share my feelings for him because it felt good to do it. And I wanted him to know how happy he made me.
I’d known that being with Theo wasn’t going to be a piece of cake. He carried a lot of pain around with him that he refused to confront, and that meant trust was tough for him. Maybe I can try to talk to him about it again. Get him to open up more about the past and what love means to him. Why it’s scary for him. What I can do to help.
I picked up the phone again and called the substitute teacher line for the district, requesting a sub for the next day. It had been months since I’d taken a day off, and I knew I wasn’t going to feel like getting up and going to work in three hours. I hadn’t even slept yet, and this headache was brutal. After making the request, I hung up and went downstairs again for some melatonin and a couple more ibuprofen. Then I went back to bed, hugging the pillow Theo normally used and breathing in his scent.
It calmed me, and I fell asleep knowing that tomorrow, everything would be better. I could fix this.
* * *
A noise woke me.
I lifted my head from the pillow. Had I imagined it? I’d been sleeping so hard, my head was a bit muddled. Maybe the noise had been part of a dream.
A moment later I heard footsteps downstairs. My pulse rocketed. Who the hell was here? I jumped out of bed and threw my robe on over the t-shirt I’d slept in. With my phone in my hand in case I had to call 911, I tiptoed down the stairs.
The front door was open, and through the clear storm door, I saw Theo’s SUV in the drive. Oh, thank God. Smiling, I started to walk through the living room just as he came into it from the dining room.
“Hey, I almost called the cops on you. You scared me.” But it was Theo who looked scared. No, terrified. He was white as a ghost. “Everything OK?”
He appeared to be trying to swallow a tennis ball. “I—I didn’t think you’d be here.”
I smiled. “I took the day off. I didn’t sleep well at all last night. Come on, let’s have some coffee and talk.”
I walked past him, heading for the kitchen.
“I have to go,” he blurted.
“Just one cup,” I pleaded. “Give me five minutes. I want to—what’s this?” On my kitchen table was an envelope that said Claire in Theo’s neat, square lettering. My heart started to pound, and not in a good way. I grabbed it and raced back into the living room, where Theo was nearly out the door. “Hey, wait!”
He paused, his back to me. “Read it after I go. Please.”
“No.” My hands shook—my entire body shook—as I ripped it open and unfolded the page.
No. Oh no, he fucking didn’t.
But he had. The words were right there on the page.
Dear Claire,
I’m sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can’t be what you want. You are better off without me.
Theo
“What is this?” I asked, my voice quavering. “What the hell is this?”
He stood still, but his body radiated nervous energy, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
“Turn around and look at me, Theo. You want to break my heart, you do it to my face.”
Slowly, he turned around, his chest expanding like he was taking a deep breath. But he said nothing.
“You’re sorry?” I read the letter again. “You can’t be what I want? What the hell is going on here? Tell me!”
He opened his mouth. Shook his head. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what?” The tears began to fall, and I swiped at them with the sleeve of my robe. “I don’t understand.”
“I can’t—be with you.” His voice shook.
“Why?”
“I told you from the start. I’m no good for you.” He was delivering his lines, but his acting wasn’t good enough. As I stared at the man in front of me with the bloodshot eyes, face drained of color, hands flexing, I saw someone who hadn’t slept all night. I saw someone who hated what he was saying. I saw someone scared.
“Bullshit.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s the truth.”
“You’re running away.” It was as if a bell had pinged, and everything was crystal clear. “Like you always do. You’re giving up on us because you’re scared of what you feel. You’re worried you let me get too close.”
Color returned to his face as his anger spiked, but I wasn’t about to give him a chance to argue with me.
“And you’re scared of what I feel. This all started when I told you I love you.” The pieces were falling into place one by one. “That’s the real truth, and you know it.”
“Maybe it did start then,” he admitted. “But it only confirmed what I already knew—this has to end.”
“No, it doesn’t. Don’t go, Theo,” I changed tactics, pleading with him. Be gentle. “What we have is good. It’s scary because it’s powerful. And it makes you feel vulnerable. I know it’s hard for you to trust me, Theo. But you have to. I won’t leave you.”
“Don’t say that!” he exploded. “Don’t make promises like that. You won’t be able to keep them.”
“Yes, I will! That’s what it means to love someone this way. You stick around even when it’s difficult. You stay when it would be easier to go. You don’t give up.”
“It’s not enough. Love’s not enough to make someone stay. You think it will be, but it’s not.” His eyes shone, and in them I saw the hurt of a child who felt that he hadn’t been enough.
My heart was breaking. “I’m not her, Theo.”
“I have to go.” He turned for the door and I rushed straight at him, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to meet my eyes.
“Look at me. Look at me and tell me you don’t love me.”
“I can’t,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Tell me!” I cried, wishing I could shake him. “Tell me you don’t love me enough to stay!”
A sound of frustration ripped from his throat and he grabbed my head, crushing his lips to mine. I clung to him desperately, begging him with my lips and tongue and hands not to leave me, relieved when his arms came around me too. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me… I was drunk with it.
Five seconds later, he tore himself from my embrace and stormed out the front door.
I was alone. I was in shock. I was crushed.
But I had my answer.
He might love me…but not enough to stay.
Thirty-Six
Theo
* * *
Goddammit!
I slammed the door to my apartment and threw my keys at the wall, where they left
an angry black mark. But it didn’t relieve any tension, so I backhanded a lamp, knocking it off an end table.
“Fuck!” I yelled, breathing hard and heavy.
How had this gone so wrong? What did the universe have against me that my plan to avoid a fight had failed so miserably? I wanted to punch someone, mainly myself. It had been even worse than I’d imagined it—her shock, her anger, her tears, her accusations.
The way her hands trembled as she tore open the envelope—she must have known somehow what it contained. Those hands that had been everywhere on my body and brought me so much pleasure.
The way her voice shook when she asked me why, when she said my name, when she said she wouldn’t leave me. That voice, which had whispered sweet words so many times in the dark, had spoken my name with something near reverence while I moved inside her.
The way her eyes challenged me to say I didn’t love her, dared me to tell her that lie. In them I saw hurt and anger and fear. Those eyes that had looked at me with such devotion and trust only yesterday.
My heart ached. I’d never have any of it again. I’d given it all up when I walked out the door.
The loss of her cut me to the bone, and I dropped my head into my hands. Every heartbeat was a knife to the chest. Every second that ticked by was agony—I lost her, I lost her, I lost her.
No, I hadn’t lost her. I’d left her.
And if I felt this aching for her with every breath for the rest of my life, then maybe I deserved it.
But at least I was safe.
And she was too.
Thirty-Seven
Claire
* * *
After crying my eyes out on my bed for an hour, I texted Jaime and asked if she could come over after work. She immediately called me.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as soon as I picked up. It sounded like she was driving.
“Theo and I broke up.” I didn’t think I had tears left, but my eyes filled again.
If You Were Mine Page 21