Page 17 of Counterpoint and Harmony

Chapter Twelve

Lead single:the first single released by a musician or band from a given album

Charlie

I’ve just collapsed on my brand new bed in my brand new apartment after spending the day moving in, when my phone in my pocket alerts me that I have a text. Rolling over, I pull it out and look at it, then almost drop it in shock.

Damian texted me.

Hi.

Just the one word. I suck in a breath and hold it, not sure how to respond. What to think. Why is he texting me? He made it clear last week that he still thinks I was just pretending, stringing him along to make a fool of him or something. Even though I’ve done everything in my power to protect him since my cover was blown. And I’ve only ever wanted the chance to explain. Which he’s never had the courtesy of giving me.

After everything we had together, he just shut down, shut me out, like none of it mattered. And he had the gall to suggest that I was the one who wasn’t really invested?

The little bubble with the three dots is going, so he’s typing something else. I tap my fingers on the side of my phone, waiting to see what else he says. The bubble goes away. Nothing. I wait. Then it comes back.

Finally, a new message appears.

I’ve typed and deleted like five different things. I don’t even know what to say to you, especially like this. I guess I just wanted you to know I’ve been thinking about you.

He’s been thinking about me? What does that mean? In what way? What?What?!?

I force myself to take a deep breath so I don’t send a stream of consciousness rant back, then type out a response.

You have?

There. Two simple words that adequately encompass my feelings and invite explanation.

I want to wait. See what he says back. If he says anything. But what if he doesn’t say anything? Instead, I get up and busy myself with arranging my clothes in my closet. I hired movers, and they did a great job, but it’s not the same as putting everything how I like it myself.

When my phone chimes with a new text message, I dash to the bed and grab it. I can’t help it.

Yes. And I feel like an asshole for the way I treated you last week. You haven’t done anything to deserve that. I’m sorry.

I blink at the screen and reread the message five times to make sure I’m actually seeing what I think I’m seeing. He’s sorry?

Sinking onto the bed, I contemplate his apology. I gave up on waiting for him to be willing to talk to me over a month ago. And then last week I had a sliver of blinding hope, only to have it shattered when he made it clear that he still didn’t want to hear what I had to say. And now he’s sorry and feels like an asshole?

My head is spinning.

What’s changed?

I want to ask, but I don’t, uncertain that my direct question will be met with a direct answer.

Thank you,I finally text back. This time I sit on the bed and wait, wondering if he’ll say anything else. But several minutes pass and nothing. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he saw my response and read it without actually unlocking his phone. Two words are an easy thing to glance at. Maybe my two word responses make him think I still think he’s an asshole and don’t want to talk to him?

Do I want to talk to him?

Yes.

The answer echoes through me without thought. Yes, I do want to talk to him. I never wanted to stop talking to him. I wanted him to give me a chance to explain, to tell him all the things I planned on telling him when I was going to reveal my big secret after we got back from the wedding. Not have him believing lies and half-truths.

Maybe I can have that chance now.

His raw honesty gives me the courage to lay my own heart bare. I never did before, not when he wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. But if he’s initiating contact, maybe he’ll read what I have to say. Believe what I have to say.

I understand why you’re mad at me. I’d probably be pissed too if I were in your place. But I never meant for you to find out the way you did. I was going to tell you. I had planned to tell you after we got home from the wedding. I loved being just Charlie so much that I put off telling you, even though I knew I should. I didn’t want you to look at me differently or think of me as someone other than the girl you knew.

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