“Well, now that you know my name, you should look me up some time,” she then says without enthusiasm. “You know, to catch up or something.”
I nod vaguely. I have no intention of doing that. Besides, what does she expect me to catch up with her on? Social media? I don’t do that shit.
And, once again, I don’t chase.
“You take care of yourself,” I tell her. “Don’t take shit from anyone.” From him.
She’s surprised by my words, but I know they’re hitting home. I’m not unfamiliar with the look of hardship. She nods but says nothing.
I stare at her hard, reserving a spot in my mind for this encounter, for the soft curves of her body, for the beautiful face that looks just as torn apart by this as I do. I log it away, breathe deeply, turn around and walk.
Breathe, Aidan. The fuck is wrong with you? It’s a fucking woman. Two legs, one pussy, nice tits and… eyes as deep as the ocean. Fuckin’ hell, this is ridiculous. I shake off the feeling and scoff to myself as I get further away, ignoring the way the heat in me dies. She’s just a woman. A pretty little thing that was only capable of getting through to me because I was tired and angry and at my most vulnerable point after a day from hell. There’s nothing interesting about her. There’s nothing about her that should drive me to doing things I promised myself never to do again. I’m not that man.
I don’t want to be that kind of man again either.
I get colder and colder as I repeat the words that must ultimately deter me from her.
Married/Separated/Complicated.
She’s unavailable, Aidan.
Ivy Montcalm is off limits.
A quest that’ll never be completed.
Five
Ivy
3 weeks later
Is it weird I still think about him? That at least once a day he crosses my thoughts in some way? I don’t even know why I end up thinking about him. I’m only aware of it when I do.
Sometimes I question my sanity. Surely people don’t walk away from one six-hour flight and reminisce every single day of the conversation they had with a stranger. But it felt more than that to me. It felt like I’d connected. And I guess this is why I’m questioning myself more and more. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. It’s not… It’s not…
It’s not normal.
Right?
These three weeks have done nothing to calm down my thoughts. Every time I close my eyes, I see those deep brown eyes and those plump lips pulled up in a smirk. He had the blackest hair, a few inches long, set in the kind of way that won't ever behave no matter how many containers of hair product were used. It contradicted him, the man in that black pinstriped Armani-or-whatever-the-fuck-it-was suit that looked like he had the world beneath his boot. He radiated power and demanded respect, yet he spoke to me in a manner I didn’t anticipate.
Sexy. Flirty. Sensual.
He embodied that smoldering, sex charged kind of charm that had never been directed at me. The kind I escaped my world from in books, movies and poetry. The kind my friends and I would kick back and conjure up in our sex-less mediocre lives.
The snoring coming from the next room reminds me of my current predicament. Derek is deep asleep, and he has no idea that I’m thinking of another man. I wipe away a fallen tear as I turn to my side on the uncomfortable couch. If this were before, I’d have felt so guilty for thinking this way. It would be a thick ball in my chest that would leave me breathless.
Nowadays, not so much.
“I’m going to make it up to you,” Derek had said to me the next morning after I’d returned and he found me on the couch, wide awake. “I don’t expect you to jump into this, Ivy, but you’re going to want me when all is said and done. I’ve changed and I’m going to prove it to you. I’m not going to drink, or party, or game. You’re going to see the effort I’m making and we’re going to be okay again. Then we can end this separation bullshit.”
Were we ever okay, though?
Giving up on sleep, I climb off the couch and tiptoe to the kitchen. I don’t need to be quiet. Derek can sleep through anything. Still. I do it just to be sure.
I stand in the kitchen of our tiny one-bedroom unit, staring vacantly ahead at nothing. Time passes, and I can’t grasp it. It seems to be slipping from me. I wait for the weight in my body to leave, but it seems to be anchored somewhere, too stubborn to move. I look around in the silence, at the small bits of furniture. We don’t have much at all, and it doesn’t bother me, but still. I keep thinking to myself: is this what my life has amounted to? I’m twenty-four years old, legally married to a man that destroyed my trust, and slaving away at a job I’m mentally not there for.
And having to face all of this, I end up feeling numb. Being with someone you no longer are in love with means shutting down a part of yourself that doesn’t want to confront a failing relationship. To be truthful, it was never going to be a success anyway. Especially when he wasn’t patient during my depression and ended up looking for pleasure somewhere else when he went out. Our past is too dark to move on from, and it’s not weakness saying that. It was explosive and damaging, filled with verbal abuse from both sides.
Life is fucked. Because you can look at things logically and know how it should be. I could look at my deadening relationship and tell myself to move the fuck on like I tried to when I ran out almost three months ago with
