Page 4 of The Girl I Once Loved

I take another two sips of the hard liquor and force the words out of my mouth.

“Daisy’s getting married.”

When Gael’s expression doesn’t change, my stomach churns.

“But you already knew that. Derrick told you, didn’t he?” I ask, unable to hide the accusation in my voice.

When he nods, my anger surfaces.

“Thanks for the heads up,” I seethe through gritted teeth after drinking the rest of the clear liquid in one full swing.

“Don’t be angry with me, babe. All I knew was that Derrick was going to propose to your sister on her birthday. He made me promise not to tell you, fearing you’d ruin the surprise. Besides, I had no way of knowing she would actually say yes. This is Daisy we’re talking about. She’s always been a bit of a commitment-phobe.” He shrugs unapologetically.

“Of course she was going to say yes! She’s crazy about him,” I defend, not liking anyone talking smack about Daisy even if it’s true.

“You’re angry,” he states, as if he’s telling me something I don’t know.

“What gave it away?” I scoff.

“Maybe we should talk tomorrow when you’re calmer,” he says while getting up to his feet.

“I hate it when you do that,” I mumble under my breath.

“Do what?” He arches an inquisitive brow.

“Act like you’re the adult in this relationship,” I rebuke with a bite to my voice.

“Stop acting like a spoiled child and I won’t have to be,” he says defensively, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Wow. Condescending much?” I counter, cutting my eyes to him.

Gael drags his hand over his face, his tell-tale sign that he’s becoming frustrated with me.

“It’s late, Skylar, and it’s obvious you’re looking for a fight. I’m not going to give you one.”

“Surprise, surprise.” I roll my eyes at him.

That’s how it’s always been with us.

Anytime we’re about to have a fight, Gael always finds a way to recuse himself from said confrontation. He only resurfaces when he’s sure that the tension between us has subsided for us to have a civil conversation, always needing to be the pacifist in our relationship.

When we first started dating after I graduated from Dartmouth and moved to Boston, I found his way of dealing with conflict refreshing. I’d had plenty of boyfriends and hookups back in college who loved nothing more than creating a bit of drama to keep things interesting. Usually when that happened, I made sure to break things off since I had more than enough drama in my teen years to last me a lifetime and had no interest in repeating those old toxic habits.

Gael was different.

I liked how he preferred for us to talk about our problems when neither one of us was angry or upset. I liked how he was vulnerable with his feelings and allowed me room to be vulnerable with mine, giving us both a safe space to talk about our issues and confront them with a cool and collected level head. But after three years together, his passive way of dealing with me whenever I’m in a mood has only served to annoy me. Sometimes I wish he would stoop to my level and argue with me, lose all control and curse and fight and fuck.

Maybe if he did that, I wouldn’t feel so alone in my darkness.

I’ve come to realize that Gael isn’t capable of such a thing though.

Gael is light. Sweet and tender. He’s the embodiment of good.

But me?

My insides are a mangled mess, hungry for the comforting taste of misery and pain.

Only in the dark do I find solace.

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