Page 72 of Resistant

His words are clipped, and there is more than guilt and shame blooming in my chest. They have been joined by my old friends panic and fear.

“Because I don’t know that I’m emotionally available for this.”

I point between us again.

His face is an unreadable mask and I’m terrified I just opened pandora’s box.

“Are you unhappy here, with me?” he asks.

“Well, no.”

“Do you want something I am not giving?”

“No.”

“Do you feel like I’m pushing, or asking for something?”

“I don’t know.” I throw my hands up in frustration.

“Is there something between us that you want to change?”

“Yes, no. I don’t know, Declan.”

An unbidden tear rolls down my cheek, and I don’t even understand why I’m crying.

“Okay, Angel. Let me know when you figure this out. And we’ll talk again.”

He gets up from the stoop and walks quietly into the house. I hear the bathroom door shut and the water turns on.

I follow him into the house, but when I reach for the bathroom door, it’s locked. And the tears pour out of me, a faucet with no off valve. I don’t know why I’m so sad, I felt like I needed a step back, and now that I’ve essentially asked for it and received it with no push back, I’m devastated. I am so fucked up.

I pull off my clothes and throw on one of Declan’s t-shirts that still smells like him. Apparently, I’m into self-torment, and climb into the bed on his side, pulling the sheet to my nose. I cry silently, my tears soaking the pillows and the sheets. My thoughts swirl in a tangled mess in my mind until exhaustion finally takes over.

I wake up hearing his soft movements around the room, and he steps out. The door quietly clicks behind him, and I dissolve into sobs, the hot tears scalding my face as they fall.

Rejection from him is a bitter pill I never expected to swallow. The space between us feels like acres and I don’t know if I can fix this. I’m so angry with myself. I’ve done this all by myself. Confusion wars with my response to his rejection. I thought a step back would be best for me, but I’m consumed by anguish.Am I really emotionally not ready for this, and did I just royally fuck everything up for myself?I fall asleep with my face smashed into the dampness.

In the morning, our routine is the same as usual, but nothing is the same. Declan talks to me about his work around sips of his coffee, we eat breakfast.

It’s pleasant, but there are no easy smiles, no heat, and worst of all he doesn’t touch me. Not even in passing. I know that he’s giving me space, but at the same time I feel like I may have pushed him too far and broken an unspoken trust between us. My heart aches. I have a constant lump in my throat, and I don’t know how to move forward. I’m giving myself whiplash.

I feel him watching me, studying my movements and the expressions on my face. And as the day goes on, the distance between us grows.

I make a few attempts to show him affection, and Declan politely side steps away from me. I’m not too proud to admit that his polite rejections leave me feeling impoverished.

My emotions unravel like a tightly drawn string that has been partially cut. One strand at a time pops free until it’s a tangle, tension filled mess.

I make up my mind that I’m going to be vulnerable and tell him all the fears living inside my head. And see what happens. It’s terrifying.

I’m about to ask Declan if he wants to talk when there is a knock on the door. I sigh a little, and Declan glances at me as he makes his way to the door.

Mr. Sparkly Glasses steps in with a wide smile that makes me want to kick his teeth in. He sits down in the only chair, and Declan sits on the couch.

“Mornin’ y’all. I stopped by to talk to you a bit about what I need you to do once you get out. Is this a good time?”

His head swivels back and forth between us and I mentally cringe. If Rick, a socially stunted baboon can feel the tension between Declan and I, we may have turned a corner we can’t come back from.

I go to the kitchen to hide my face and give myself a moment to get my shit together. I grab some glasses and fill them with water on a tray, taking my time and listening to their conversation.

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