Page 7 of The Ballad of Us
Silence falls between us, full of all the questions I want to ask him. Finally, I decide to move the game along. “You said you had two questions. What’s the second?”
He wags a finger. “Nuh-uh, not so fast, gorgeous. It’s your turn, then I’ll ask my second question.”
“Oh, I don’t have another question right off.” My mind moves as fast as it can to come up with one more turn. “Have you ever been in love?”
“Yikes, you went straight for the jugular.” He laughs. “The answer is no. I’ve never been in love. Maybe there’s something wrong with me,” he pauses and scoffs, “I mean, more than the obvious addiction issues. I just think love and all the things that can come with it are a big deal. It shouldn’t be entered lightly, so I don’t use those three words unless I mean them. I’ve been on the receiving end of love declarations a few times in my life. Those make me feel shitty and even more problematic and flawed as a human being than I already do, because I can’t say the words back.”
“It shouldn’t make you feel shitty, problematic, or flawed. I think it's commendable that you didn’t say them to a person to save face. It’s not easy to face unrequited feelings without having some sense of responsibility.”
“Thank you for saying that.” He rubs his hands together, smirking across the table at me. “Ready for my last question?”
“Sure?” I chuckle, having a feeling that he’s saving the best for last.
“Will you go on tour with Case in Point?” he asks, and just sits there as I try to manufacture words.
I think about my safe little life, apartment, and job. I focus on what I might gain - adventure, purpose, perhaps even a sense of belonging. Gray’s patience is impressive as I debate the pros and cons of touring with him and the band. Making a few mental lists, I decide I can’t keep track and give up on that task.
"Where do I sign?" I hear myself say, wondering what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into.
One
RHEA
3 YEARS LATER…
The click-clack of my heels sound against the expensive marble floors. Moonlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling window. My suitcase hits the ground with a finality that reverberates through my soul. Three years of my life are packed into one bag.
Gray doesn't look up immediately. He's slouched on the black leather couch we picked out together during happier times. That was back when I still believed love could conquer anything. His tattooed hand grips a fifth of Jack Daniel's. The amber liquid catches the moonlight, mocking me. It's more than half gone, just like us.
When he finally raises his head, those blue eyes I once got lost in are glassy and unfocused. The frown that pulls at his beautiful mouth breaks a piece of my heart I didn't know could break anymore.
"Where are you going, baby?" His voice is thick with whiskey and confusion. I can see him struggling to make sense of seeing me dressed and ready to leave at midnight with luggage at my feet.
The endearment nearly undoes me. Three years of 'baby' and whispered promises in the dark. Three years of believing that this broken, brilliant man could choose me over the bottle.
I force myself to speak, but what comes out is barely above a whisper, wholly fractured with pain. "I'm leaving, Gray."
He blinks slowly, his alcohol-addled brain processing my words. "It's midnight. What in the hell can't wait until morning?"
Everything. This conversation. My sanity. My life.
This isn't how I rehearsed it. In my mind, I was a strong, decisive woman. I imagined delivering life-altering news without my voice shaking like a teenager. 'I'm leaving you.'
The words hang in the air between us like smoke, choking me from the inside. Gray struggles to sit up. His movements are uncoordinated and clumsy. When he finally manages to stand, swaying slightly, anger and confusion war across his features.
"Hold on a goddamn minute. What’s this about?"
The tears I've been fighting to hold back spill over, despite my best efforts. I wrap my arms around myself in a pathetic attempt to hold the pieces together when everything inside me is shattering.
"This is about your drinking, Gray. The empty promises you make every morning when you wake up hungover and sorry. You break those promises over and over again, like our relationship means nothing." My voice grows stronger, fueled by three years of heartache.
I take a shuddering breath, forcing myself to continue. "I'm done cleaning up when you can't make it to the bathroom, done replacing things you break in your rages, and so done with pretending everything's fine when nothing is close to fine anymore."
His jaw ticks. It’s a telltale sign that he’s about to explode. The transformation is instant and terrifying, akin to watching Jekyll transform into Hyde.
"Oh, yeah? Well, fuck you, Rhea! Get out! I don't want you here anyway!" The words hit me like a slap to the face.
There he is. The mean drunk I've learned to expect when Gray doesn't get his way. This is exactly why I waited until he was too wasted to think clearly, because dealing with an angry drunk is infinitely easier than facing his sober, desperate promises to change.
