Page 17 of Indigo

I head for the kitchen to make some coffee, leaving him to inspect the rest of my stuff, because it seems like something my mother would do in this situation. Every meaningful conversation she and I have ever had was laced with caffeine.

“Did Mum give you my address? Give you permission to throw me into the boot and drive me home?”

I know it’s unfair to berate him, considering the fact he threw himself into something that could have ended badly for me if he hadn’t, but I can’t figure out his motive here. Loyalty to my mum, or to me?

He follows behind me and pulls out a barstool from underneath the kitchen island. I fill the coffee machine with water and scoop in the coffee grounds before turning around to face him, nothing but the white marble of my kitchen island separating us.

“I get it,” he begins. “You’re pissed. I fucked us up, chose the easy way out. Seemed like the right choice then.” He chuckles sadly, shaking his head. “You want honesty here, Blue?” I nod, forcing myself not to bite back, but to listen. “I don’t ask Lana about you anymore.” Ouch. “But last I knew, you were in a happy relationship and doing well. If I had known what was happening down here, that you weren’t okay…”

Crossing my arms, I shrug. “I’m fine. It was a nasty breakup.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes. To anyone else, the look he’s giving me would be intimidating. “The way he grabbed you tonight, it wasn’t the first time he did it, and don’t tell me it was. I saw the fucking fear in your face, but it didn’t surprise you in the least. Not to mention your mum filled me in on your run in with him earlier this week.”

I can’t help but laugh. My life is a fucking comedy show at this point.

“What do you want me to say, Pax?” I ask, leaning forward, using my elbows to prop myself up on the island. “Want me to admit that I let a man push me around? Huh? That I let him drive all my friends away? My mum? You want me to cry about it on your shoulder and tell you all the mean things he said to me? Want me to admit that I was weak enough to believe all the shit he spewed my way? You want me to praise you, thank you, for coming to play the hero? You want me to fall into your arms and let you save me from the life I created for myself?”

We stare at each other, neither one of us wanting to back down, but when I hear the machine buzz, I hastily turn, pour myself a cup of coffee, and do the same for Pax.

I turn and slide his across the island, and bring mine to my lips, letting the aroma soothe me as I wait for him to say something.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his hand wrapping around the hot pink mug in front of him.

“Oh, yeah? For what?”

He purses his lips and clears his throat. “If I’d have known…”

“Enough,” I say, not wanting to hear it. “You came to check on me, right? Well, I’m fine, as you can see.” I straighten, place my coffee down, and hold my arms out to prove my point. “I’m home safe. You can leave when you finish that.”

The thought of him walking out that door makes my eyes burn, so I turn and face the kitchen sink, not wanting him to see the tears brimming in my eyes.

“Blue,” he whispers.

I shake my head and drop my chin to my chest.

Breathe. You’ll be fine. You don’t need him.

After a moment of silence, Pax speaks, and his words make me spin around to face him.

“You know what my father was like, Indigo. Never said the words or admitted the shit he did, but you knew.” I nod, frozen in place, agreeing with him. “I started seeing a therapist after you left.”

I did not see that one coming.

“When you left…” He sighs, running his hand over his freshly groomed facial hair. The movement draws my attention to the scar on his chin. It’s almost white now. No longer jagged and angry looking. It matches the one he has across his forehead. The one we never spoke about. “When I let you leave like that,” he corrects himself. “I wasn’t in a good place, Blue. I was so fucking angry all the damn time. Didn’t know how to control it, but whenever you were around, I felt calm enough to keep my shit together. I knew that was unhealthy, leaning on you like that, and hell, I should have just told you that, but…”

I knew he was angry back then, lost is in his own head a lot of the time, but if he had a problem, wouldn’t he have slipped, shown me that side of him, at least once? My mind races, trying to remember a time, a situation in which I could pinpoint what he’s talking about, but I come up with nothing.

“The way you looked at me back then,” he continues. “I craved it. You looked at me like I was your fucking hero.”

“You were.”

“I didn’t want that to change, and I didn’t know how to keep you and fix myself at the same time,” he admits, hanging his head. “I was so fucking scared that I’d turn into a man like him, and the thought of you getting hurt because of my baggage was terrifying. So, I let you go. Figured I’d go to therapy, sort my shit out, be better, and that we’d be able to pick up where we left off, or start fresh. Fucking anything. I don’t know. I just knew that once I was the man I wanted to be, I’d find you.”

That answer does nothing but piss me off.

“Is that what this is, is it? Are you here to claim me now? Four years is a fucking long time to wait, don’t you think?” My voice gets louder, and more aggressive as the words come out of my mouth, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t get mad, he just watches me. His silence does nothing but make the hurt already spreading through my chest ache. “Why didn’t you call me? Message me? Anything. I would have been there for you. You’re saying your plan was to come back, start over, but you didn’t. You didn’t come back for me, Pax.”

The silence between us continues, and I reach my breaking point. “You know what?” I whisper. “I’m not doing this. You can let yourself out.”

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