A few minutes later, I was sitting beside my car in the gravel, my jeans smeared with dust, and I got a text.
I tried to call again, straight to voicemail again.
And as hard as I tried to feel otherwise, as hard as I tried to hope that we’d get past this… I already felt it. I felt burnt out.
Maybe it was the grief. Maybe I’d just finally gone crazy. Maybe I just didn’t have anywhere else to go. But when I got back to my apartment complex, I didn’t go to my apartment.
Hamlet in hand, I went to Garrick’s.
I don’t know what I looked like when he opened the door. I don’t really want to know. But he opened the door wider almost instantly, gesturing me in with no questions asked.
I’d never been in his apartment. I should have taken it all in or asked him to show me around. I should have said something, but the only thing on the tip of my tongue was a sob, and it took all of my energy, all of my concentration to hold that inside.
But even that wasn’t enough when his fingers tilted my chin up. He spoke my name, and I saw the worried look in those eyes. The tears streamed out of me like a cup overflowing, and I couldn’t control it, couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t explain.
He took Hamlet’s box out of my hands and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. He led me down a hallway almost identical to mine into a living room that was vastly different. It was filled with books, some in shelves, some in stacks on the floor. The furniture was simple, slightly modern, but not so modern that I hesitated to sink into the cushions of the black couch, snatching up a white pillow to hug to my chest. Then Garrick was beside me, pulling the soft pillow out of my hands, and replacing its comfort with himself. He pulled me into his lap, cradling me like a child, wiping away tears, brushing back my hair, rubbing at my back.
“He hates me,” I finally managed. He hadn’t asked, but his concern tugged at me anyway, tugged the words right from my mouth.
“Who does, love?”
Quick, short breaths puttered from my lips, little whimpers that I couldn’t seem to control.
“C-Cade.”
“Cade could never hate you,” he said.
“He does. He left. He won’t even talk to me.” I dissolved into another fit of tears, and he just pulled me in close, tucking my head underneath his chin, against his chest.
He let me cry, murmuring things all the while.
He must have whispered a thousand variations. But he never stopped trying, no matter how much I wasn’t hearing him. When I was finished crying, I was too tired to do anything else. I lay limply against him, doing nothing but breathing in and breathing out. And he held me still. Finally, a noise broke through the fog. A low, annoyed groan.
Hamlet. I’d left Hamlet trapped in that box this whole time.
Filled with purpose, I sat up, clear headed again for the moment.
“I’m sorry, I need to take her home.” I was standing and reaching for her crate, when Garrick took me by the elbows.
“Stay, love. You’re upset. I’ll take care of the cat.”
No. I couldn’t let him do that. Because then he’d see that all the cat stuff I’d bought the night before was still brand new and unused.
“No, it’s okay. I really should go. I’m okay, now. Thanks.”
“Bliss, please, talk to me.”
My body was leaning toward him against my will, aching for his comfort again, but I hadn’t made a decision yet.
“I don’t know…”
“How about this—you go home and take care of the cat, and in a little while, I’ll bring dinner. We can talk or just watch a movie or whatever you need to do. I just… if you leave like this, I’ll go crazy worrying about you.”
After a moment, I nodded.
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“Yes, just give me an hour, okay?”
He smiled, and I knew… I was in trouble.
I was pretty sure my new cat hated me.
Not that I blamed her, after I left her in that box for so long.
No matter what I did, she let out that closed mouth growl every time I took a step anywhere near her. I set up food for her in the kitchen, which she ignored. I made a litter box and put it in a storage closet. I picked her up, and carried her to the box, placing her inside so she’d know where it was. She hissed once, and then ran, kicking up litter in her wake. She disappeared under my couch, only her glowing, evil eyes visible in the darkness.
Why hadn’t I told Garrick I had a cat named Lady Macbeth? That would have been so much more fitting.
For the rest of the time, I was left alone with my thoughts, which were about as pleasant as the Ebola virus. I straightened up the living room, then thought about running away. I straightened up my bedroom, then rushed to the bathroom, certain I was going to vomit. I didn’t. I almost wished I had. I could have said I was sick.
Before I really got the chance to talk my self into or out of this… there was a knock at the door.
My heart felt like someone was using it as a trampoline. I took a deep breath. I hadn’t promised him anything. He’d said we could talk. Or watch a movie. Or do whatever I wanted. This didn’t have to be a big deal.
When I opened the door, Garrick looked so cheerful that it was hard to keep dreading his presence.
“I forgot to ask what you wanted, so I got pizza, a burger, and a salad.” He was balancing all three in his hands, and I was all at once overwhelmed with how much I
I smiled, “Pizza is good.”
I moved back, and he stepped inside my apartment. As much as I was freaking out earlier, it felt natural to have him here. Not that I wasn’t still nervous, it was just… he felt like he belonged.
We made our way into my kitchen/living room, and he set the food on the small circular island that jutted out from my kitchen counter. I busied myself getting us both drinks and plates, and when there was nothing else I could distract myself with, I pulled out one of the barstools tucked underneath the island counter, and took a seat beside him. I pulled a slice of pizza on my plate, and he opened the salad.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“You are not seriously going to sit there and eat a salad while I stuff my face with greasy goodness, are you?”
He dumped dressing on top of his lettuce and grinned. “Oh, I’m going to eat the burger, too. And some pizza, if you leave me any.”
I rolled my eyes. Guys sucked.
We talked. Not really about anything that mattered. He balked when I dipped my pizza in ranch. When I made him try it, he puckered his face up like it was gross, but I saw him dip a slice again later when I was up refilling my drink. It wasn’t until I was so full that I felt like I was going to burst that he brought up my earlier breakdown.
“So, can you tell me now what happened with Cade?”
I picked at the pepperoni on the half-eaten slice of pizza on my plate.
“We had a fight, I guess. I think. I’m not sure. We’ve never really had a fight before.”
“About?”
