Page 8 of With This Lie

4

Lucas

I stepout onto the sidewalk and into the changing air. The sun’s gone down but the city is still all lit up. I bet I couldn’t see the stars even if I was standing on the tallest building. I inhale slowly and find myself still smiling from the brief interaction with that firecracker of a bartender.

She looked like she could be fun. To my surprise, I found myself stealing glances of her all night. She was perky. Her blonde hair bounced around in unison with her body as she ran back and forth serving people. She smiled those genuine, happy-to-be-here smiles at everyone. A couple of times though, I caught her when she’d drifted away to somewhere else the way she was when I first arrived. Her face changed. It became like glass, like if she let a tear fall, it would shatter. People like her have monsters under their beds and skeletons in their closets, and a suitcase full of demons at the door to pick up on their way out. People like her bail. I know, because I’ve fallen for that type before. So many people inside one body.

I check my phone for any word from my brother. Elliott is a real dick. In all my life, the only person I’ve ever been stood up by is a person that’s supposed to be my goddamn brother. Well, half-brother anyway. I should have known. He’s never really been a brother to me. He’s dicked me over on more than one occasion. I just thought we could move to a place of healing after all these years. He wounded me. And all I’ve been trying to do is get past that, but he isn’t helping matters.

I turn back toward the windows of the bar to see if I can steal one last look at her. Dani. I keep wondering if it’s short for Danielle. I’m tempted to go back in and ask. I’m tempted to go back in and ask a dozen questions starting with what her phone number is. If she says no, I’ll be disappointed. If she says yes, I’ll probably still be disappointed. I look down at my left hand. If she were the type of woman who wanted to keep company with a married man, I’d be a little sad.

I turn back away. Perhaps the version of her in my mind, the one with gaps I fill in myself, is the best version in this situation. No need to spoil it.

I walk to my car and get in. I check my phone again. Nothing. I should go home and shower again just to rid myself of this disappointment and curiosity. No good can come from either. I make the short drive to my apartment and head toward my door only to be met by Chelsea.

The poor girl is sitting on my stoop, looking down at her phone. She hasn’t seen me yet and I wonder if it’s too late to back up. I pause for a moment and when I do, her head pops up.

“Lucas,” she says.

It isn’t a question or a statement. It sounds like a prayer, or perhaps what I think a prayer would sound like. I don’t really have a lot of firsthand experience with that.

“Chelsea? What are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?” I ask, afraid to hear what she’s about to say.

“I just thought…I thought maybe I could come here and make you see we are meant to be together,” she says.

I look down the sidewalk left and right and realize I need to shift into character. “Chelsea, you can’t be here. My wife is upstairs. You can’t do this,” I say, still wondering how she got here.

“I followed you home the last time you left. I sat here and watched for a while but I left before I saw your wife. I was too afraid. But come on, I mean there’s a reason you were in my bed. There’s a reason you don’t stay here. You’re unhappy and I can make you happy. I can. I know I can.”

I shake my head. Wow. This doesn’t happen very often but when it does, I feel like total shit. Chelsea is just a woman. She fell for a man who doesn’t want any part of falling. And now she’s going to be sad and I never wanted that either. I can see the pain and hope in her face. I can see what it’s going to do to her either way. I can drag this out to pacify her, to make her feel better for now. Or I can rip it off like a Band-Aid and get the crushing over with and she can begin to heal now. Either way, it still paints me an asshole. Either way, no one gets what they want.

“Chelsea. You knew what this was when we started. You knew what this was way before we got here. You know I can’t be with you. It’s complicated.” I sigh.

She is fidgeting with the bracelet on her left wrist, shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. “I just don’t understand why you don’t leave her,” she snaps. The desperation in her voice quickly turns to anger, to frustration.

“I just can’t, Chelsea. We’ve been through this. It would destroy her. She’s unstable,” I say, making my fake wife out to be the problem. God, that’s about as low as I can get. I’m not even nice to my fake wife. How the fuck would I treat a real one?

“That’s fine, I get it. Men like you string good women like me along for the sake of a crazy woman who obviously doesn’t give you what you need. That’s fine. I can find better, you know? I can. And I will.” With that, she turns on her heel and walks away with extra sway in her hips.

It’s the kind of walk a woman pulls out when she definitely wants regret to sink into you. I feel some, just not for the reasons she probably hoped for.

I stand there, rubbing the back of my neck. I close my eyes and exhale. I look up at the dark windows of my building, glad we hadn’t attracted any of my nosey neighbors to gawk. I walk up the stoop and stick my key in the door. I start to wonder if Chelsea is the type to push things, to make things harder. Hell, she had followed me home once already, staked my place out. Would she go further?

I shake the thoughts from my mind and let myself into my apartment, heading straight for the kitchen to pour myself a Jameson. At this point, I need it to sleep.

I check my messages. Nothing from my brother. Figures. I don’t know why I ever expected it to get better between us. It had never been good, in spite of how much I hoped for it. Maybe it’s because we had different fathers. Maybe we just inherited different shit from them that made it impossible to be close. Truth be told, I’m not sure I ever felt a bond with him. All I remember is trying make his dad like me, make him be proud of me, and nothing ever worked. I remember him treating Elliott better than me. He was the type of guy who wasn’t good at treating a kid who wasn’t his as his own. I figure I’ll never actually know the real reason me and Elliott aren’t close, but forming my own conclusions helps a little. His father being one of them. It at least gave me options. Perhaps if I keep trying, we’ll get there. Hell, maybe if I keep trying, we will at least get to a place where he doesn’t fucking stand me up.

I sit on the end of my bed and fall back. I have half a mind to fall asleep just like this, feet on the floor and all. But I manage to shimmy up to my pillow, grateful it’s the weekend and there’s no alarm to set or place to be. I can just sleep until I feel better about the mess I’ve made out of my life. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this lost. I had the map in my hand and couldn’t bring myself to use it. I roll over on my side, pulling the gold band from my finger and placing it on my nightstand.

With this one small gesture, I unpack all my lies. It’s easier to fall asleep like that.

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