Authors: Lisa de Jong
“
I’m
killing
you
?” He pauses while he tries to catch his breath, and I can see him collecting his thoughts. He’s breathing hard like he’s just climbed the stairs to the Eiffel Tower. Completely worth it, completely exhilarating, completely energy zapping. But something once you’ve done it, you know you’ll never do it again. Would it be that way with us? A one time thrill to be had and remembered with fondness because you’d probably never have it again. “I’m…hear me when I say this...please. Why are we killing each other? We’re grown ass people. Do you know how many times, how many ways I’ve tried to come up with for us to be together? What if we say fuck them and be together?”
The roller coaster that my heart was on comes to a screeching halt. Isn’t this what I wanted? Adrian saying screw the consequences? Let’s be honest about how we feel and be together. Then I recall the scary enlightening conversation I had with Mr. OG today. Whatever they’re holding over him must be big. They don’t want us together. And they’ll stop at nothing to ruin both of us, right? Hot tears spill over my lashes and I watch as they hit the cold, gray concrete beneath my feet. I raise my eyes to his, and I see his own tears mirroring mine. It took a lot for him to say what he just said to me. I can see that. I can also see
them
tearing him apart, and I whimper aloud at that thought. I can’t let that happen. I can’t be that selfish. God knows I want to. A little run of pleasure isn’t worth the destruction it will surely inflict. I draw myself up, wipe my tears away, and meet his expression head on.
“Adrian, I may be physically drawn to you, but it’s not worth hurting everyone I care about for a little physical pleasure.” I steel myself and conjure my inner bitch that I pray I inherited from my mother. “And I’ve decided that I’m over you.”
The rapidness with which his tears dry should’ve been my first clue to run, but I don’t listen to my instincts and the ugliness that Adrian spews at me I know I deserve, but it’s still hard as hell to take. “Over me? You’re over me? You’re physically attracted to me? And I’m not worth it?”
Oh my God, no! I’m in love with you, damn it!
He sneers a laugh at me. “Over me? To be over me, babe, you’d have to have been under me. And if you’d ever been under me, there’d be
no
getting over me.” He takes a long stride and his arms come up to pin me in. “You are fucking chicken. You care about me, but you’re not a big enough person to do anything about it. Either that or you’re the biggest cock tease in existence. So which is it, Celeste? Which offense are you guilty of?”
“What do they have on you, Adrian? You tell me. What did Louis mean by ‘they’ don’t want us together? What offense are
you
guilty of?” I shout my questions back at him so that I’m mere centimeters from his face when I’m done. I feel like I’ve just swallowed ten thousand razorblades and they’re slicing up my insides as they make their way through my body. I hurt everywhere, and all I want do is curl up in his arms because I know he could make all that go away. I’m hurting myself and him, yet I can’t do anything about it. I want to touch him, but I know I have to be stronger than that.
And at that precise moment of my almost faltering, I thank God for a crowded club and good friends. “Umm…Celeste, are you OK?” It’s Farah and I’m so grateful I could kiss her. I turn my head and say, “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be even better when Adrian lets me go.”
Taking a deep breath, Adrian throws his arms out dramatically. “Oh, I’ll let you go. No problem.” I stifle another sob and feel yet another razorblade slice, and it cuts deep.
“What’s going on here?” Farah asks incredulously.
“Nothing,” I say, “absolutely nothing. We’re done here.”
“I thought you two were friends. Why are you yelling at each other? You both look like you’ve been crying too.”
“I found out what Adrian’s been up to is all. And I’ve asked him to keep his distance,” I lie. Well, I guess now I have asked him to keep his distance.
His jaw clenches as he watches me walk away, leaving him with Farah and my shredded heart.
When I exit the hall, I grab the wall and bend over, clutching my stomach and fighting back tears. I need to get it together.
If only I’d made it further. I can’t move when I hear Farah say, “Adrian, what was happening between you two?” Adrian only grunts in reply. “You have to know that Celeste loves you, right? I know it may seem like I don’t know much because I don’t say much, but I know that. I’m an observer so to speak. And what I’ve observed is that you love each other and care about each other deeply. She’s just scared, but you can’t give up on her.” My eyes almost bug out of my head. How in the world does she know all that? My quiet Farah.
He exhales deeply. “Farah, you’re a nice girl. So I don’t want to offend you in any way at all, but if I loved Celeste I’d be a dead man ‘cause she’d chew me and spit me out with gusto. I’ve finally come to the conclusion that Celeste is my cross to bear. We all have them. Mine is just weighing heavily on me right now. But I’ll get it figured out—”
I don’t stick around to hear anymore. I can’t take any more heartache or heartbreak tonight. I stumble to the now empty restroom since the main act has made their way to the stage. I take a few minutes, fortifying my walls both mentally and physically. I fix my make-up and my hair and take calming breaths. Taking one last look at myself, I decide that that was the one and only time Adrian Hebert, or any man for that matter, would make me hurt like that.
****
THE RIDE HOME is quiet. Bradford keeps trying to engage me in conversation, and like Teflon, it all just beads up and trickles off on impact. I just can’t do it. And it’s not fair to him nor is it fair to me. When he pulls in my driveway, I take a deep breath, unbuckle my seatbelt, and turn toward him as he turns to face me. He’s so handsome and wonderful. I’m an awful person. But I’m about to fix that on one point.
“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me, Celeste. And I don’t understand where things went wrong. One minute we’re dancing and kissing and enjoying each other. The next I couldn’t even put my hand on your back without getting freezer burn. So what gives?”
“Bradford, you are such a nice guy.” He groans and I hear his head
thonk
as he dramatically drops his head on the window glass. “But I’m feeling very conflicted and overwhelmed right now.”
He surprises me by grabbing my hand and kissing my knuckles. “Well, that’s not exactly a break up, is it? Are you saying you don’t want to see me or you don’t want to see anyone?”
“I can’t see anyone yet. I’m not ready.”
“This may seem crazy to you since we haven’t know each other long, but I’ll wait, Celeste. I’ll wait till you’re ready.”
Again, why can I not get on board with this sweet guy? “I can’t ask you to do that, Bradford.”
“Celeste, you’re the first person I’ve been interested in, much less cared about, in years. You’re not asking me to do anything. If you’re interested in me the way I am you, I’ll give you some space.”
I nod my head. He’s perfect for me. He’s everything I should want. And on some level I do, but if there are a hundred levels of interest, Adrian’s volcanic effect has overflowed onto all my levels so that Bradford is hanging on around fifty. And pursuing this while I’m so conflicted and indecisive wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Maybe I do just need time to get Adrian out of my head.
Nodding my head, I say, “If you’re willing to give me a little time and space, I’ll be in touch when I’m ready to date. But if you meet someone else, I don’t want you holding out for me.”
He laughs loudly like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, grabs me by the back of my head, and kisses me hard. And I do get lost for a second. When I realize I’m losing myself, I pull back gently.
“See? It’s there. You just have to be open to it. I know you feel it too.”
I give him a half-grin, let myself out of his car before he can move, and walk quickly to my porch. Turning, I give him a smile and a wave. Time and distance…I hope that’s all I need.
Eleven
Everybody Hurts
IT’S LATE. I’M exhausted. I’m miserable. I’ve cried enough tears to last me a lifetime. Rolling over, I grab my phone and pull up Facebook to see if anyone else is still up at three o’clock in the morning. Yep, look at all those insomniacs. After a few minutes of scrolling through status updates and funny pictures, I toss it down and reach for my book. I try to read my latest romantic thriller to no avail. She’s an annoying lead who won’t confess her true feelings for the man she’s obviously fated to be with and that hits a little too close to home for me right now. My own indecision and lack of self-control is going to drive me to drink, so I don’t need any help from what should be my escapist reading therapy.
Lying there staring at the ceiling, I feel my phone vibrate. Hoping no one’s hurt or in trouble, I reach over and grab it. My eyes almost bug out of my head.
I’m sorry I’m such an ass. Can we meet tomorrow? Talk?
Still as a wooden plank, I lie there for a minute just staring at it. I know what I have to say but don’t want to say it. Not responding is not an option, though, because we have the same phone and he knows I’ve read his message.
Be strong, be strong!
I chant. Even though he can be kind of a jerk, he can also be incredibly sensitive. No matter which personality I get, I love them all because they’re what makes him so genuine and unlike anyone else. And, of course, I don’t want to hurt him—but it has to be this way. Like removing a bandage this must be done quickly to avoid inflicting even more pain. Here goes.
I think it best we don’t see each other for a while. I’ve repeatedly proven I’m just too tempted when it comes to you.
So...what I fought so hard to keep from happening is happening anyway?
My poor, tattered heart slows. How will it ever recover?
I’m so sorry that I’m not stronger. I’m not saying forever. I’m just saying for now.
I know he’s seen it, but I have to wait a while for his response. Every time I touch my screen to keep it from going to sleep, I offer a silent plea that we’ll be all right.
I understand. Does this mean I can’t see the boys either?
My response is quick and fervent.
Absolutely not! Of course you can see the boys. They adore you.
And so do I, which is why I have to let you go.
So I can just text you then to make sure we’re on the same page or not as the case may be?
Yes, that’ll be fine.
A full minute passes before his tenderness takes another swipe at my heart.
I’ll miss you.
Me too.
****
THE NEXT FEW weeks are pure torture. The boys know something’s not right. My friends know. I don’t go to any shows with them. Bonnie is even being sensitive and not bringing up Adrian at every turn like she had been. Louis is pissed at me because I hurt Bradford and he knows why. The boys are confused because Adrian’s not coming around to hang out like he used to. So in total, I’ve made all our lives fantastically miserable.
I keep waiting for this pain to go away. And it just won’t. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve never been heart-broken or rejected or rejected anyone, but it just hurts. All the damn time. I can think of it and nothing else, and I feel like such a fool. I want to challenge our family and go after what means most to me, but then I recall Adrian’s venomous statements that night and remind myself that, even when he was that upset, he wouldn’t say things that didn’t have a little bit of truth to them.
How can I risk everything for someone who doesn’t fully return my feelings? Yes, I know Adrian likes me, admires me, wants me. But that’s not enough for me. I know this because during this silence I’ve been able to recognize and admit something significant—I’m in love with Adrian Gabriel LeBlanc Hebert. Love without condition. Love I cannot escape. As in even though his feelings are only fleeting or physical or shallow, he dates a woman who looks exactly like me, and can make me angrier than anyone I’ve ever known, I adore him, desire him, need him. The intensity of all those emotions, emotions I’ve never felt at this level or all at once completely overpowers me, which is why, no matter how hard I try, I cannot resist him.
So I go about my business of taking care of the boys and working and trying desperately not to think of him and what could be. And pretending that my heart doesn’t resemble crackled glass every time I hear the doorbell ring, knowing it’s him here to pick up the boys.
I’m making the boys their favorite breakfast treat because it’s tedious and will keep my mind somewhat off what’s going on when I hear Paris hit the bar.
“Good morning, baby. How’d you sleep?”
“Good, Ma. Mmm...beignets. How about you? Do you feel any better?” he says as he rubs his hands over his face and ruffles that wavy brown hair. I meet his sleepy dark brown eyes and see so much heart shimmering there. My Paris—so wonderful.
“I’m good, sweetie. I feel fine.”
“Everybody knows ‘fine’ is girlspeak for not fine, but don’t ask,” he retorts.
I burst out laughing. He’s so right. “Where’d you hear that, crazy boy?”
“It’s on an episode of
Full House
that Finn has played about ten times lately.”
“Oh goodness. Y’all watch too much TV.”
He puffs out a little sigh of exasperation. “We don’t even have cable, Ma. How can we watch too much TV?”
“You know what I mean. Videos are still TV. And I really am fine. Don’t worry about your mom, OK?”
“And the first thing to do when someone says don’t worry—is worry,” he replies sagely. Shame on me for coaching my kids to always look below the surface of what is offered.
Total backfire!
I’m saved from anymore awkward verbal dodging when Archer and Finn enter the kitchen. Archer piles up next to Paris at the bar, but Finn makes his way to me and buries his face in my side. “Mmm...the beignets woke me up, Mom. What’s the special occasion?” Archer asks.