K. Bromberg - Driven

I feel schizophrenic trying to keep up with the ebb and flow of his moods. “You tell me you can’t do this, that you’ll destroy me, but then you tell me you can’t stay away even though you are the one warning me. You push me away then show up at my doorstep and give me tonight.” I walk toward him in the kitchen until I stand right in front of him. “Which way is up, Colton?”

Without a word, he grabs me and pulls me against his chest, wraps his arms tightly around me, and buries his nose in my hair. I press my hands against his back and absorb the comforting feel of his warmth, surprised at his unexpected show of emotion. His need for me is palpable. It oozes off of him and wraps its way into my soul. It takes everything I have to not tell him yes. Tell him I’ll do anything just to have a piece of him. That is how much he means to me already. But my thoughts are louder than my heart. I wish that I could just quiet my head and sink into the reassuring feeling of his arms around me. Block out everything else.

“I’m going to hurt you, Rylee. And you already mean too much to me to do that to you.” I stiffen at his hushed words breathed into the crown of my head. And despite his words, he holds me tighter. I try to push away from him but the steel hold of his arms will not release me. I relent eventually and lay my face against his chest, inhale the smell of us mingled there, feel the coarseness of the smattering of hair on his chest, and hear the strong, steady beat of his heart. “It’s a first for me to care enough about someone to stop beforehand. To acknowledge it. Regardless, knowing it ahead of time isn’t going to stop me from doing it. And I just can’t do that to you, Rylee.” His chest heaves a long breath. “And that’s why I can’t do this anymore with you. Why we can’t …”

“But why, Colton? Why can’t you? Why can’t we?” I’m panicked now, despite his arms tight around me. Now that I want him, he’s telling me no. Or maybe that’s exactly why. I’m grasping at straws now.

“Look, let’s not get this confused here. I’m not and never have been the boy you bring home to mom, Ry. I’m the one you throw in her face to piss her off and show her you are asserting your independence. Let’s not make me out to be better than I am.”

I’m still not buying it. Why does he think so horribly of himself? He can give me this crappy answer ad nauseam and I still won’t believe it. “Who did this to you?”

We’re quiet for a few moments as he mulls over my questions. Eventually he sighs, “I told you, Rylee, I’ve got a 747 of baggage.”

I push against his chest, resisting his hold. I need to see his eyes. Need to look into them. When I do I can see the emotion swarming in them. He’s hurting too. But he’s also shutting down. Putting me at arm’s distance emotionally so that it prevents further hurt in him. But what about me? I want to scream at him. What about my hurt? Why does this have to be so complicated? Why can’t I just let it be and enjoy the ride? Hope that he’ll see the real me and fall in love with time? Because I know that if he doesn’t face whatever trauma has made him this way, he’ll never get over it. He’ll never be able to have a normal relationship. He’s right. His 747 of baggage is going to ruin whatever chance we may have. “I’m not buying it, Colton.”

With my words, he removes his hands from my arms, now physically distancing himself from me. “I can’t give you any more, Rylee.” He looks down and then looks back up, the mask effectively in place. “This is who I am.”

Tears pool in my eyes, my voice a whisper. “ And this is who I am, Colton .” It’s when I speak those words that I know. I have already started to fall for him. Warts and all. Somehow, someway, despite the short amount of time I’ve spent with him, he has penetrated that protective wall around my heart, and I’ve started the slow descent toward love. And that’s why I know I can’t do this. I can’t walk knowingly into heartbreak. I’ve been devastated once. I don’t think I can survive another one. And I know without a doubt that loving Colton and not getting love in return would devastate me.

“I guess we’re at an impasse.” His voice is gruff and he stuffs his hands in his pockets. The weight of his hands causes his jeans to hang lower on his hips. I have to physically stop myself from looking at the sexy inverted triangle of muscles that peeks over the waistband. I don’t need a reminder of what I’ll no longer have.

“Then I guess it’s time for you to take me home.” I avert my eyes, unable to meet his as I choke the words out.

“Rylee …” is the only thing he says to me.

“I deserve more than this, Colton,” I whisper raising my eyes to meet his, “and so do you.”

I can see his hands grip the kitchen counter as he digests my words, his knuckles white, and his face lined in anguish. “Please, Rylee. Stay the night.”

I hear the desperation in his voice, know that he really means his plea, but I know he is asking for the wrong reasons. He is asking to ease the hurt he knows he is causing me, not because he wants to make this more than the arrangement he desires.

“We both know that’s not how this story goes.” A tear slips and slides down my cheek. “I’m sorry I can’t be what you want me to be. Please take me home Colton.”

***

The ride home is silent. Adele’s velvety voice sings softly on the radio about never finding someone like you, and deep down I know the premise rings true for my circumstance. I think that it would be hard to compare anyone to Colton. I glance at him intermittently, watching the shadows and lights of the night play over the angles of his face. I know I am doing the right thing, self-preservation at it’s best, but my heart still aches at the thought of the mesmerizing man I’m willingly walking away from.

We arrive at my house with fewer than ten words spoken between us. Oddly, I’m still comfortable with Colton’s presence despite the inner-turmoil my decision has created.

He opens my door and escorts me out with a sad half-smile on his lips. He places his hand on my lower back as we walk up the walkway. At the front door lit by a lone porch light, I turn to him. We both say each other’s names at the same time and then smile softly at each other. The smiles never reach our eyes though. They reflect a weary sadness.

“You first,” I tell him.

He sighs and just stares at me. I want so much for him to be able to express to me the plethora of emotions I can see swimming in his eyes but I know that he’ll never get the chance to tell me. He reaches out and brushes his knuckles over my cheek with the back of his hand. I close my eyes at the singular sensation. When he stops, I open them back up, tears pooling in them, to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

And I know that apology is for so many things. For what can never be. For what should be. For hurting me. For not being the person I need him to be. For not being able to confront whatever is in his past.

“I know.” I reach up and run my fingers over his unshaven jaw and up through his wavy hair before returning back to his face. It’s almost as if I am committing his lines and his features to memory. Something I can hold on to. For despite having to work with him still, I know that this will be the last time I’ll allow myself to touch. Touching him again will be too dangerous for my weakened heart.

I step up on my tiptoes and brush my lips gently against his. Within moments, Colton has his arms around me and is lifting me up to his level. Our eyes lock on each other at this equal playing field. He leans into me to resume our kiss. I feel something different in this kiss. Something shifts in the tenderness. I realize that we are saying an unspoken goodbye. All of the hurt and unspoken possibilities are thrown into the unyielding softness of our exchange. The desperation and carnal need of earlier has been replaced with a poignant resignation. We slowly end the kiss, Colton slowly lowering me, my body sliding down the familiar length of his. Once my feet are on the ground, he rests his forehead against mine. Our eyes remain closed as we absorb this last moment with each other.