Page 35 of Mr. Charming

* * *

To my older self,

* * *

Tonight was a hard one. We made a decision on the fly, and I’m unsure of it, but I think maybe it’s the right one. Then again, maybe we’ll read this entry again years from now and think we should’ve walked away. Either way, I’m going to give you a play-by-play of what happened so that if we ever want to recall this moment again because things go south with Tweetie, this might enlighten us to the first sign that we weren’t meant to be.

* * *

Tweetie had been quiet for weeks. We’d still go out and be pretty much attached at the hip, but he was always staring off into space, and his quick wit had taken a hiatus. I’d known something was on his mind, and tonight after he got home from a late away game, I finally confronted him, my patience worn thin.

He walked in, stopping inside the door, surprised that I was still awake and on the couch.

“Hey, babe,” he said, dropping his bag. He bent over the back of the couch and kissed me hello, but immediately went to the kitchen.

“Congratulations,” I said since they’d won.

“Thanks.”

I heard the fridge open. Since he was going to continue dodging me, I rose off the couch to meet him. We’d been dating for eighteen months, and I had never seen him like this.

He was making himself a sandwich, so I slid onto a breakfast stool and watched him. His movements were meticulous, and he didn’t say anything or even glance at me.

Something was going on. That pit in my stomach grew. Had he found someone else? Someone more loving and more affectionate, someone hotter? I knew I was strong-willed and could be difficult at times, but we were good together, weren’t we?

I hated this version of myself. Hated what my mother made me into by abandoning our family. I repeatedly told myself to be stronger and to never rely on anyone else, yet here I was, waiting for Tweetie to crush me.

“Tweetie,” I said in a near whisper.

At some point during our time together, I allowed him to chip away at that wall around me. And thinking about us ending was crushing me.

“What’s up?” He pretended he didn’t hear the plea in my voice, but I saw his shoulders tense. We both were aware that something was going on.

“Don’t make me a fool,” I said.

He finally raised his gaze to meet mine.

I swallowed past the dryness coating my throat. The armor I usually protected myself with clinked back into place. I was strong enough. I could take this. He wanted to end it? Fine.

“I’m sorry,” he said and stepped back from the counter but didn’t round it to come to me. No, now he was farther away from me.

“It’s fine.” I stood from the stool and climbed the stairs into his bedroom without looking back at him.

Technically, I still had my place, although I was almost always at his.

I pulled out my bag and opened the drawers with my things, piling clothes inside the bag before going into the bathroom. When I emerged with my toothbrush, he was leaning against the doorframe.

He was still wearing his suit, minus the jacket, the flaps of his button-down now wrinkled and out. His arms were crossed, and he watched me. “Where are you going?”

Tears pricked in my eyes, but I pushed them back. He would not get a reaction from me. “I’m going home.”

I jammed my hairdryer in the bag. Over the months, I’d brought too much stuff. It wouldn’t all fit into the bag, and the zipper fought me as I tried and tried again to zip it closed. “Oh, fuck it.” I grabbed the straps, but when I turned, I ran right into Tweetie’s chest.

“Can you give me a minute?” His voice was low, and without me answering, he took the bag out of my hands and placed it at our feet. He sat on the bed and took my hand, guiding me to sit next to him.

“Spare me, Tweetie. I don’t need the ‘it’s me, not you speech.’ We’re done. I get it. Just please let me leave.” I was holding on by a thread. A red alarm was blaring in my body that I was at max emotional capacity and couldn’t hold it in much longer.

“God, I’m a fuck-up,” he said mostly to himself. “You think I want to break up with you?” His face looked stricken.

---