going near that asshole
Andy again.” He points his finger at me like its fucking
loaded.
Cold and uninviting Zombie Damon is reemerging.
He’s damn good at making me feel used. We just had sex. Amazing
sex. He came twice, for crying out loud. That’s practically unheard
of for a guy. And already he’s acting like it was nothing. Like I’m
nothing. I’m fucking sick of it.
I snatch up my clothes from the floor and hold
them protectively in front of my chest. “You know, I believe you
when you say you’re trying, but don’t forget that I am too!” I
snap.
Damon runs his hands through his hair and
watches me blow up.
“You refuse to just talk to me. You fuck
me then walk away. It makes me feel like some used up piece of
trash, Damon! I love you and I’m waiting for you, so
if you think I give two fucks about some maintenance guy, you’re
dead wrong!” I shove myself into my clothes and storm off in search
of Hemingway.
I find my pup and plop down on the floor to pet
him. I need to take a drive or something. I snapped at him,
but it felt good for all of five seconds and now I feel like I’m
the asshole. I don’t want to yell at him. I don’t know what he’s
thinking, but I’m trying hard to find out. If he would just open up
and tell me, I could help him.
Every bit of an hour has passed since I stomped
upstairs. I know I should go find him and apologize. That’s what
couples do, right? They fight, and then apologize, and life goes
on. I pat Hemingway on the head then hop to my feet. I pad
barefoot down the stairs, then down the hall to his office. He’s
always in there. I don’t even have to guess where he is anymore. If
he isn’t in his bed or the kitchen, he’s in his office. I hear a
big thud when I get close to his office door and I waste no time
swinging open the door.
Damon is walking away from that damned cabinet
with a limp. The bottom of one of the cabinet doors shows a crack
in the wood. Small splintered pieces protrude in all directions. Christ. Maybe I should get him a punching bag. It’d be safer
than kicking the furniture.
“What’d the furniture ever do to you?!” I demand
loudly.
He turns to see me, his eyes glistening with
tears. He’s been crying. Fuck. I really feel like shit now.
He flops down in the chair behind his desk and I rush to him,
climbing awkwardly up to straddle him.
“Listen to me.” I take his face in my hands and
force him to look at me. “I’m sorry. We’re both trying and that’s
all that matters. It’s not perfect and it doesn’t have to be
perfect, it just has to be. Just being is enough.
It’s fine. It’s plenty. We may be fucked up but at least, we’re
fucked up together, right?”
I swipe my thumbs across the moisture beneath
his gorgeous, sad eyes and lean in to kiss his forehead. He doesn’t
do much to respond and that’s fine. It’s not always the most
wonderful relationship, but it’s mine and I wouldn’t give him up
for the world. He needs me and I know it, even if he can’t or won’t
say it.
***
One month
later
It’s the same thing every day. Damon gets up and
goes to “work,” which usually consists of him spending most of the
day in his office on the phone and on his computer. He owns a
string of clubs, bars, and other businesses that require his
attention. He delegates a lot of stuff to Brian and seems to have
good faith in all of his site managers. He makes site visits to the
bars and clubs every once in a while, but for the most part he
works from home.
I get up and pretend to be handling his distant
behavior just fine. I’m not. I’m lonely and still grieving for the
old Damon. I do most of my thinking on my drive to the bookstore
each morning. I try not to make a big deal of it at home because I
don’t want to throw it in his face. I have to believe that he’s
working on getting himself together.
Every other week, I drive my swanky new Volvo
SUV over to Captain’s house and drive his car
Andy again.” He points his finger at me like its fucking
loaded.
Cold and uninviting Zombie Damon is reemerging.
He’s damn good at making me feel used. We just had sex. Amazing
sex. He came twice, for crying out loud. That’s practically unheard
of for a guy. And already he’s acting like it was nothing. Like I’m
nothing. I’m fucking sick of it.
I snatch up my clothes from the floor and hold
them protectively in front of my chest. “You know, I believe you
when you say you’re trying, but don’t forget that I am too!” I
snap.
Damon runs his hands through his hair and
watches me blow up.
“You refuse to just talk to me. You fuck
me then walk away. It makes me feel like some used up piece of
trash, Damon! I love you and I’m waiting for you, so
if you think I give two fucks about some maintenance guy, you’re
dead wrong!” I shove myself into my clothes and storm off in search
of Hemingway.
I find my pup and plop down on the floor to pet
him. I need to take a drive or something. I snapped at him,
but it felt good for all of five seconds and now I feel like I’m
the asshole. I don’t want to yell at him. I don’t know what he’s
thinking, but I’m trying hard to find out. If he would just open up
and tell me, I could help him.
Every bit of an hour has passed since I stomped
upstairs. I know I should go find him and apologize. That’s what
couples do, right? They fight, and then apologize, and life goes
on. I pat Hemingway on the head then hop to my feet. I pad
barefoot down the stairs, then down the hall to his office. He’s
always in there. I don’t even have to guess where he is anymore. If
he isn’t in his bed or the kitchen, he’s in his office. I hear a
big thud when I get close to his office door and I waste no time
swinging open the door.
Damon is walking away from that damned cabinet
with a limp. The bottom of one of the cabinet doors shows a crack
in the wood. Small splintered pieces protrude in all directions. Christ. Maybe I should get him a punching bag. It’d be safer
than kicking the furniture.
“What’d the furniture ever do to you?!” I demand
loudly.
He turns to see me, his eyes glistening with
tears. He’s been crying. Fuck. I really feel like shit now.
He flops down in the chair behind his desk and I rush to him,
climbing awkwardly up to straddle him.
“Listen to me.” I take his face in my hands and
force him to look at me. “I’m sorry. We’re both trying and that’s
all that matters. It’s not perfect and it doesn’t have to be
perfect, it just has to be. Just being is enough.
It’s fine. It’s plenty. We may be fucked up but at least, we’re
fucked up together, right?”
I swipe my thumbs across the moisture beneath
his gorgeous, sad eyes and lean in to kiss his forehead. He doesn’t
do much to respond and that’s fine. It’s not always the most
wonderful relationship, but it’s mine and I wouldn’t give him up
for the world. He needs me and I know it, even if he can’t or won’t
say it.
***
One month
later
It’s the same thing every day. Damon gets up and
goes to “work,” which usually consists of him spending most of the
day in his office on the phone and on his computer. He owns a
string of clubs, bars, and other businesses that require his
attention. He delegates a lot of stuff to Brian and seems to have
good faith in all of his site managers. He makes site visits to the
bars and clubs every once in a while, but for the most part he
works from home.
I get up and pretend to be handling his distant
behavior just fine. I’m not. I’m lonely and still grieving for the
old Damon. I do most of my thinking on my drive to the bookstore
each morning. I try not to make a big deal of it at home because I
don’t want to throw it in his face. I have to believe that he’s
working on getting himself together.
Every other week, I drive my swanky new Volvo
SUV over to Captain’s house and drive his car
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