Page 103 of Damnation
We both watch TV in near silence. I also spend a lot of time watching him. I can’t tell if he notices; he seems focused on the screen. He’s so captivated by this banal TV show that I can’t help but wonder what he’s finding so fascinating about it. Why doesn’t he talk to me instead? He hasn’t even kissed me. Doesn’t he even want to know how my day went?
I remove the bowl of popcorn between us and, a little bit uncertainly, scooch closer to him. “Hey, do you want to talk?”
“About?” he asks absently, barely glancing at me.
“You seem distant…” As I wait for an answer, I decide to turn off the TV and take some control over the situation. I settle myself on his lap and take his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “Thomas, what is it?”
“What do you mean?” His hands draw lazy circles on my backside. And for a moment, I find myself sighing internally over the fact that he doesn’t take his hands off me. Nor does he remove me from his lap.Despite the gulf between us these days, Thomas still has the same effect on me that he’s always had. For a moment, I wonder if it’s just the same for him, but I force myself not to dwell on that right now. The important thing is figuring out what is going on inside his head.
“You know you can talk to me. You can tell me anything, everything.” I take a breath and press my forehead against his, slowly tracing his cheekbones with my thumbs. “We can make it through this rough patch, I know we can, just so long as you don’t leave me behind.”
“What if it’s not just a rough patch?” His eyes lock on my lips while his fingers creep under my shirt to stroke my side.
“Is it about your father? About what he said to you that night in the hospital?”
He briefly stops stroking but then starts again.
“That’s it, isn’t it? What did he say to you, Thomas?”
He puffs up his cheeks with air and then blows it out in resignation. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”
“What did you know?” I push, concerned.
He sighs and shuts his eyes. “I don’t feel like talking about it. Not now.”
“Sooner or later, we’re going to have to—” I can’t finish the sentence because suddenly his lips are on mine and his fingers are sinking into my hair.
“We will. But not now.” He lays me down on the sofa, underneath him. The bowl of popcorn topples to the floor, scattering kernels everywhere. His hands slip under my shirt, and the effect that his touch has on me is so powerful that I can’t find the will to fight it, even if a part of me does want to because I know very well what switch has been flipped in his mind. Losing himself in my body will allow him to briefly get out from under the feelings that are crushing him. To free himself from his thoughts, from the voices inside his head, and make way for silence. The silence he’s used to taking refuge in. The silence that he used to look for in other people, trying to find comfort.
He gets up, gathers me in his arms, and carries me to the bedroom, all without breaking the kiss. When we get to the bed, his sighs are notones of pleasure but of frustration. His touch is not sweet; it’s desperate. It’s the same desperation that I can see when I look into his eyes, and it kindles such an urgent need in me to reassure him. I don’t even know exactly what’s wrong, but I feel the need to tell him that it’s all going to be okay. That one way or another, we are going to heal. So I raise a hand to touch his cheek, but he doesn’t let me. He pushes my hand away from his face and pins it firmly above my head. Before I can whisper his name, he covers my mouth with a rough kiss.
“Don’t. Don’t talk,” he says against my mouth. He doesn’t want to hear anything from me. He doesn’t want to give me a chance to even try to say something that might ease his mind. And that’s when I finally get it. I realize that, whatever idea he’s convinced himself of, he’s not going to let me change his mind. Not this time.
I wake up the next morning with a lump in my throat that makes my eyes sting when I realize he isn’t there.
Twenty-Four
Leaning one hand on the rim of the sink, I bring the glass of water to my lips and swallow my birth control pill. I take a deep breath and stare at my listless reflection in the mirror. There’s been a weight bearing down on my stomach ever since I woke up and found Thomas gone. Knowing that I’ve allowed the man I love to use me, to use my body as an escape hatch, as an outlet. To treat me like a one-night stand and then leave me alone the next morning.
This feels like rock bottom. And I hate myself for it. But I don’t regret it. I wanted him; I wanted all of him. Even though I knew what he was doing, I gave him what he wanted because of the need I saw in him. It made me willing to risk everything. Maybe I chose wrong, but I’m human; I have my weaknesses. And he is one of them.
I look down, and my eyes land on the bracelet I wear on my right wrist, which I never take off. My last happy memory with Thomas is tied up in this bracelet. The moment when he looked into my eyes and told me that I was the only thing that felt right in a sea of wrong. I touch the textured leather, thinking back on that moment. Thomas told me to remember it if I ever doubted how much my being there meant to him. And lately, I’ve been doubting that. A lot.
Still, I’m not going to call him today. Nor will I try to find him. He has to be the one to do it. I put the blister pack back in my makeup case and brush my teeth. I pull my hair out of its tangled bun. I’m wearinga long fuzzy white sweater that leaves one shoulder bare, some basic skinny jeans, and my Converse. I keep my wavy hair loose, just pulling it back on one side with a bow-tie hair clip that matches my sweater. Then, without bothering with breakfast, I go to the newspaper office to give Leila the article I’ve been working on for the last week.
***
At lunchtime, I go to the cafeteria, and walking past the snack bar, I almost have a heart attack when I see Thomas sitting on a sofa with Shana by his side. They’re intent on carefully going over some papers that Thomas is holding. She, with her legs crossed and her upper body leaning into him, giggles at something Thomas says without taking his eyes off the papers. I feel like I’m collapsing in on myself.
I have to scrounge up all my self-control to avoid losing my temper and jumping to the wrong conclusion, like I did last time. After all, they’re just talking, I tell myself. And in a public place too. They both realize they could be spotted by yours truly at any moment. But it’s really goddamned hard to stay calm in front of a scene like this. Is it really possible that, after we just spent the night together, he can find time for her but not for me?
My instinct is to rush over there and crumple those fucking papers right in his face, reminding him that if there’s anyone he should be spending his time with, it’s me. Me, his girlfriend, dammit. But I don’t. Because my pride tells me that I can’t look weak, jealous, and insecure in front of Shana, who, I know perfectly well, would love that. And I don’t particularly want to hear Thomas call me stupid for misinterpreting things again.
I could leave. Out of respect for my poor heart, maybe Ishouldleave. But as has now been well established, I am a first-class masochist. So I stay in the doorway, half of my body hidden by the wall, and watch them surreptitiously while Thomas’s words echo in my head: “At least when I was fucking her, things were easy!” Just watching them sitting there on the sofa, I can see how everything really was simpler with her. Shana doesn’t require commitment, responsibility, or involvement…unlikeme. And I wonder if that isn’t exactly what Thomas needs right now. Someone who doesn’t make him feel trapped or burdened.
“People like them will never be right for people like us.” Logan’s voice resounds in my ear, making me jump.
“W-what?” I spin around, embarrassed to have been caught spying on my boyfriend.
