Page 55 of Off Limits

“Do you believe that I love you?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve known each other a long time, Shay. I feel like you should know me well enough to know that when I tell you I love you, itmeanssomething. It’s not something I tell people. In fact, I’ve never told anybody else, besides my family. But if you can really think that I’d profess my feelings to you and then sleep with somebody else just because I can’t be with you, or haven’t seen you in a few weeks, then…I don’t know.

“I understand maybe you have some insecurities about yourself, even about the relationship because you’ve never been in one, I’ve hardly been in one, and we’re apart more than we’re together. But if you don’t trust me, don’t believe me, that’s a much bigger problem. One that I don’t know how to fix.”

I’m so confused. He’s talking about problems, being unfixable, yet saying he doesn’t want to break up. He also didn’t answer my question. What am I supposed to say? How do I respond to that? It certainly sounds like he wants to break up.

“I have to go check on dinner. Don’t…don’t leave.”

My mind is being pulled in a million different directions. Do I trust him? If not, why? In all the years I’ve known Lochlyn, he’s never done or said anything to make me not trust him, to not feel safe with him. He’s told me things he’d never told anybody else, has always made me feel like I could tell him anything and everything. So where is my concern coming from? Is it really just a lack of self-confidence? Is it Chelsea getting in my head that he’s most assuredly living it up in Ithaca?

Or does some part of me doubt him? Doubt his feelings for me. It all boils down to my own insecurities in myself. He’s told me, and shown me, in a million ways, how he truly feels about me. What is wrong with me?

Lochlyn finds me on the couch, knees pulled as close to my chest as they can be with my arms pressed in between, heels of my hand pressing into my eyes.

Sighing at my pathetic sight, he sits down, pulling my legs straight across his lap and wrapping his fingers around my wrists to pull them away. Even fighting him slightly, he peels me apart with ease. I can’t look at him, can’t talk to him. Everything I’ve wanted for so long feels like it’s slipping through my fingertips.

Tilting my chin up to meet his eyes, I find sadness. It rips through me. “Come eat.”

Following him into the kitchen, I try to steel my emotions. If I don’t, I’ll be a blubbering ball of tears before I even sit down.

Lochlyn made chicken parmesan, a favorite of mine. Just another example of the little things he does to show me he loves me. Why am I being so stupid?

“So, how were your midterms today?” He’s making conversation, trying to be normal. It feels off, though.

“Um, they were fine. Not too hard, I feel pretty confident. I was a little distracted. How was yours?”

“Good, fine.”

“This is really yummy, thank you.” The whole conversation feels scripted, like we're actors who are saying what we’re supposed to instead of two people in a committed relationship.

“You’re welcome. I wasn’t expecting Chelsea to not be here, so there will be leftovers; probably will make a good lunch tomorrow. I could run to the store and grab sub rolls or something, change it a little.” He’s talking about tomorrow in regards to being together. I take it as a good sign.

“That sounds nice. Do you want me to come back around lunch?”

His eyes dart up to mine. “Come back? Where would you be going?”

“I, uh, figured I’d be going home.”

“I want you to stay, Shay. If you don’t want to. that’s fine. ButIwant you here.” Another good sign.

“Okay. I wasn’t sure. I’ll stay.”

Strained. It’s the only word that comes to mind when I think about dinner, the way we’re acting around each other, the atmosphere.

He lets me help clean up after dinner, standing so close to each other our arms brush every so often. Tension is not a strong enough word to describe what’s existing between us.

Not sure what to say, I choose silence, assuming he’s doing the same. Maybe I’m being a chicken by not talking first, but I figure so is he.

After we finish cleaning up, he takes my hand and leads me upstairs. I’m sure he’s not expecting to just get naked and have sex. That won’t solve any of our problems, but I certainly wouldn’t say no.

When we get in the room, he doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t start tearing my clothes off. He leads me over to the bed, flops down, and pulls me down to lie against him. Arranging me how he wants me, head on his chest, arm draped over him, so my hand reaches his far shoulder, he runs his fingers up and down my arm while the other draws small circles on my back.

Lying in his arms was all I’ve wanted for six weeks, yet now it feels different, it feels off. It’s not bringing the comfort I thought it would.

When Lochlyn clears his throat, I nearly jump out of my skin. “I need you to talk to me. I need to know where your head’s at. For some reason, you seem to think it’s going to be so easy for me to just forget about you and move on, because we’re not physically together every day. Is it me? Have I done or said something that makes you feel that way?”

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