Page 177 of Between the Blue
He seems in a daze as he removes the single piece of tissue paper. He peers inside of the gift bag, and then tips it over so the smaller felt drawstring bag inside of it falls into his hand. He looks at it for a moment before slowly pulling open the drawstring. My face grows hotter, and I feel the need to start babbling to break the silence.
“This one’s just silly,” I tell him. “You don’t have to wear it. I just came across it at the flea market and–”
“What is this?” Ben asks suddenly as the contents of the felt bag land on his palm.
His sudden words take me by surprise, and I find myself lost for my own. He looks up at me, his eyes dark, almost accusing.
“Well,” I manage. “Like I was saying, I was at the flea market earlier and I just saw it. I thought about how you wear your necklace with the sun charm all the time and, I don’t know, I just thought–”
Ben jumps up off of the bed all of the sudden, dropping the little silver cherry charm onto the comforter like the metal is red hot. I find my eyes locked on the little piece of jewelry as he paces over to the window and back towards me, his hands on top of his head.
“What are you doing?” Ben asks, his tone strained.
I look over at him, and the anger in his eyes seems to perfectly match what is currently boiling inside of me, making hot tears well in the corners of my vision.
“What do you mean?” I demand, shoving the gift box away and standing up. “They’re called birthday presents, Ben–”
“We don’t do things like this.”
My head pulls back.
“Things like what?” I question him. “Things that show proof that we actually care about each other?”
He shakes his head, his tongue pressing into his cheek.
“Things like what you just did for me tonight?” I ask. “What do you call that?”
“You went too far,” he murmurs, and I hardly recognize his voice.
He starts to walk past me, but I storm after him, blocking his path. “So you’re allowed to sleep with me every night, but I’m not allowed to act like it means something to me? Thatyoumean something to me? Please, Ben, explain this to me. Because I’m struggling to understand where the line exists between making love and giving birthday gifts.”
His spine steels, and he looks up at me under hooded eyes. “What did you just say?” he practically whispers.
And, even though I said plenty of things, I somehow know exactly what he’s referring to. “Making love?” I say. “Is this when you try to convince me we’re doing anything other than that?”
Ben’s lips press together, his jaw shifting to the side.
We stand there staring at each other for several moments, and the longer time goes on, the more I feel my walls crumbling down.
“Ben,” I choke. “I love–”
“No,” he demands, putting his hand up. “If you even remotely mean what you’re about to say…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Don’t say it.”
“But–”
“I’m begging you. Just don’t,” Ben mutters. He takes a step past me, reaching for the door handle. Just before he turns it, he glances back at me, and I see a single tear run down his cheek. “I can’t give you what you need. Or what you deserve. I always knew that. I wish I was stronger.”
“Ben–”
“Cherry–”
“No,” I cut him off. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. Not if you’re going to walk out that door right now.”
Ben grits his teeth, the muscles in his jaw straining as he refuses to look at me. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispers.
And then he opens the door and disappears through it, letting it slam behind him.
forty-seven
