Page 66 of The Significance of Moving On

“Well no. Able Mackey saw him harassing me.”

“Able Mackey? Of course,” he bites out. “That dude has wanted in your pants since homecoming and he swoops in to save the day.”

“It wasn’t like that. He’s a friend. Actually, he told me that if I didn’t tell you then he would.” Okay, well that actually turned out to be the wrong thing to say.

“He knows you’ve kept this from me?”

Nothing I say here will help. I bite my lip and keep silent, tearing apart a napkin.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” He stands again. “Think I’ll go for a walk.”

He won’t listen to my begging, even when I stand in front of him crying, humiliating myself for him.

“Sorry,” he says to the waitress who stands frozen two tables away from ours with her mouth hanging open.

Yeah, I didn’t see that reaction coming either. But even as angry as Casey is at me, he reaches in his wallet and slaps a twenty-dollar bill down on the table before he walks away. Cross this place off the list of food establishments to eat at ever again.

“We’re gonna need a box.” I tell the waitress through my tears.

He’s not at the car when I get outside. Since he gave me a key to his truck along with the housekeys when I first moved in, I drive it home and wait.

Casey stays gone for hours. He won’t return my calls or texts and I’m not sure what my next move should be. Is this just a fight that we’ll get over or am I supposed to pack my bags? I mean, part of me understands his anger, but then again, I told him a man was stalking me and he takes off? What’s with that?

Finally, at a quarter past twelve I throw in the towel. He’s not coming home tonight. But just in case he does, I lay down in my own bed, the one that has stayed empty since we decided to go forward with our relationship. It feels wrong, foreign. The tears continue to console me until exhaustion and sleep finally escort them away.

When my alarm buzzes, I roll over to turn it off only to roll onto a hard body barely all the way on the tiny single bedframe. He reaches over to turn off the alarm for me slowly running that hand then along my arm until he reaches my chin which he grips gently, rubbing his thumb over my lips. If I talk, I’ll cry. The signs are written clearly as signs can be across my face and I suck in my trembling lips instead.

“You weren’t in bed. I couldn’t get comfortable.”

Iwasn’t in bed. He didn’t say it like he meant his bed, but bed period. Our bed. With a heart full of relief from what those four little words mean, the dam breaks wide open spilling out all my insecurities for him to shush away.

“Casey…” has to be enough because the other words, the I’m sorry, the I was wrong, they choke in the back of my throat as he attempts to kiss away every tear, every sob.

“This isn’t your bed anymore.”

“You wouldn’t answer your phone.”

“I know, sweetheart. My head was in a bad place. You have to understandthat.”

Oh, I do. After how I reacted when Tammy kissed him, he has nothing to fear.

“I just needed some space to figure things out,” he says.

“What did you figure out?”

“That you’re lucky to have Able Mackey as a friend. And that I have to accept that he is your friend. You were here waiting formewhile I was out being an ass.”

“What about Daniel?”

“We are going down to the police station today. I want you to try for one of those personal protection orders, okay?”

“If you think I should. Okay.”

Casey calls in to work this morning and with him still holding me the way he does I really don’t need much convincing to play hooky from school. While I shower, he prepares this wonderful breakfast of piping hot coffee, fresh fruit and oatmeal drizzled with honey to start off our day. Once finished we bundle up to face the frigid February morning. Actually, frigid might be going easy, more like down-right arctic.

Now we’re here in the police station waiting for someone to hopefully help us figure something out with the whole Daniel situation. After about fifteen minutes of us sitting here watching all the other people being helped around us, a sergeant somebody-or-other shows us back to his desk.

He asks way too many questions but doesn’t look like he much cares for the answers I given him.

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