Stay, Stay, Stay

We sat side by side on the couch, my barely used throw pillows smushed behind us. We hadn’t said anything, not a single word. After a few minutes of standing pressed against each other Sidney led me to the couch and there we sat. There was a tension in the air and I assumed he was just as hesitant to speak as I was. Would opening our mouths and starting a conversation ruin the temporary connection we’d rekindled? Would it send everything crashing down? Would it end like our last real conversation? I drew in a deep breath as the questions rolled around my mind. He shifted towards me slightly and looked down at his hands. He was going to say something, I could feel the apprehension coming from him.
“Did you,” he began, voice hoarse and tight. “Did we break up because of my comments about Serena?” his eyes slowly met mine and held my gaze.
I took a few seconds to process what he was asking, then a few more to keep myself from laughing at his short memory. “No,” I shook my head slowly. “Not that alone.”
“Okay,” he nodded like a child in school who was beginning to understand the lesson being taught. “Then why exactly?” he bit his lip and stared past me.
I crinkled my brow and tried to find the proper arrangement of words that would explain it to him. I was surprised he didn’t already know, I’d thought I’d explained it to him. I tried to recall our phone conversation but all I could remember was the sadness in his voice and the lump in my throat. “There were a lot of things,” I shrugged. “A lot of little but important things.”
“Like?” he urged, reaching slowly for my hand then pulling away at the last minute.
“Like, we’re different people,” I sighed. “We’re monumentally different.”
“Why do you think that’s such a horrible thing?” a small smile was threatening to creep across his lips.
“Because we spend most of our time disagreeing with each other, I mean that last night at the apartment is just an example of how differently we see the world. How can we have a relationship if we live in obviously different worlds?” I could hear the frantic edge in my voice but I couldn’t tame it, I was past being calm.
He didn’t say anything at first, instead just smiled and shook his head, I swore I heard him laugh. “I don’t know how you can say that.”
“What do you mean you don’t know how I can say that? Were you not in the same relationship I was?” I squeaked.
“I’m starting to wonder that myself,” his eyebrows were knitted together but he was still smirking. “There’s no doubt we’re different— which I think is a good thing for the record— but we don’t live in different worlds at all. We have a lot more in common than you’re willing to recognize.”
“Like what? And don’t say hockey because you’d have that in common with any girl you met.”
He snickered and shook his head again. “Bea, next to me you are the most control hungry and stubborn person I have ever met.”
“I am not!” I cried. “I’m not nearly as bad as you are!”
“Good god, you have an app on your phone that tells you when to change the bed sheets, you get nauseous when you’re not given a minute by minute itinerary and don’t think I haven’t seen you refold my clothes.” He reached for my hand again, this time taking it in his.
“Those aren’t control things,” I said quietly and looked down at our hands. “I just like things being done a certain way.”
“Your way.”
“Is that so wrong?”
“Sometimes,” he squeezed my hand gently.
“Well you try to fix everything,” I looked back up at him. “You’ve been trying to fix me since we met.”
“I have not,” he groaned.
“Yeah have so! You swooped in to pick up the pieces after you found out about my stuff with food and depression. You begged me to move in so it would be on your terms and you made it your mission to heal me. And the more you push and make it your problem the more I want to push back.” I was getting anxious and panicky, this was going to end in a fight and I didn’t want to be here for that. I didn’t want to fight with him anymore.
“I didn’t mean to,” his jaw was clenched and I couldn’t tell if he was angry or upset.
“I should go,” I tried to stand up and pull my hand out of his. My breathing was getting faster and I was significantly overwhelmed.
“Please don’t,” he pulled me back down, holding on a little tighter. “Please stay and talk about this.” His voice wasn’t sad or pleading, it was solid and determined.
My heart was beating faster than it had in the kitchen and my thoughts were racing. All it would take was one misunderstood statement for the whole conversation to fall apart. “No, I really need to leave.” I pulled away again.
“You’re panicking,” he said flatly, loosening his grip on my hand. “You’re getting overwhelmed and your first instinct is to run. You can run if you want to, I can’t stop you. But if you stay we can talk about this. I’m still not ready to give up on us.”
I paced around the room in front of him. My breathing was still shallow and laboured and I couldn’t shake the anxiety that was taking over my senses. It was like I had no control over my own body and I was forced to stand by and watch because I wasn’t really there. My heart was racing and I couldn’t tell if I was going to run away or fall on the floor in a fit of tears.
“Why does this scare you?” he stood in front of me, body open to me and face relaxed. It was as if I was harbouring all the hurt and fear for the both of us.
“It doesn’t,” I lied and counted my seventh lap around the small space.
“It scares me too,” he said calmly. “You scare me.”
I stopped pacing for a second and stared at him, studying his expressionless face. I shook my head then returned to my patterned walking. “I’m not scared,” I muttered, my second lie in a single minute
“I don’t like the idea that I might care about you more than anything else. I’m not used living for someone else, I’ve spent my whole life in my own zone, working towards the same goal. Do you know how easily you could convince me to give it all up for you?” He opened himself up in a way I hadn’t seen before, but I was so in my own head I didn’t see his vulnerability.
“You think I would ask you to give it up?” I spat at him, hurt that he would even think that. I hadn’t stopped moving, still walking back and forth and counting.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with the same hand that had held mine. “I’m saying,” he took a deep breath and moved closer to me. “I’m trying to make you see that you aren’t the only one who is intimidated by all this.”
“I should leave,” I said again, this time eyeing the doorway. I could make a break for it. I could take the easy way and run from the house, get in my car and drive away. I could find a new job, never watch hockey again and forget that he existed. I could leave, I could be happy. I could be happy somewhere else.
“Stop looking at the damn door,” he grabbed my wrist and pulled me against him. It wasn’t a domineering or harsh reach. His heavy hand around my somewhat smaller wrist didn’t hurt or trap me, it just held me. Loose enough that I could run, but tight enough that I wanted to stay. He held me tight against his chest, like I had held him in the kitchen. We stood without speaking and I could slowly feel my heart even out and my breathing became natural. He didn’t move until I looked up at him, even then he wouldn’t let go.
“I’m afraid of this,” I finally said just loud enough that he could hear.
“Of what?” he mumbled into my hair.
“Of relying on you.”
He laughed and I felt his head shake against mine. “You don’t rely on anyone, Bea.”
“But I do,” I whined. “I’m doing it right now.”
“Accepting my support isn’t relying on me,” he brushed the hair out of my face.
“I don’t want you to have to support me. You have so much going on in your life you shouldn’t have to worry about me.” I turned my head away from him. I didn’t want him to see how frustrated I was, how close the tears were.
“I don’t have to worry about you though. I mean I do worry about you, but I don’t have to. I don’t think you’re some fragile creature who can’t take care of herself.”
“Then why do you push so much?” my voice cracked and I could feel anger returning. I didn’t want to cry, I didn’t want to feel anything.
He loosened his hold on me and I felt him sigh. “Because I don’t like that I can’t control things for you.”
I stared up at him alarmed. The confession of his desire to control me made my stomach twitch.
“That came out wrong,” he blushed and looked at the ceiling. “To be clear I have no interest in controlling you or your life. I just want to make things easy for you.”
“Even though you know it’s not as easy as you think it is?” I pushed away from him, the moment was over and I wanted to sit and process things without his arms influencing me.
“I know,” he slumped down beside me and rest his head in his hands.
“Here’s the thing,” I curled my feet underneath me. “I’m sick of talking about my shit. There will be days when I want to talk about it, but for the most part I don’t want to. It already monopolizes my mind and I don’t need it taking over our conversations. It’s not as if I don’t recognize I have issues, so if I’m not eating at a team dinner I don’t need you getting pissy, I don’t need you pointing it out. Because not only does that make me resent you, but it makes me even less inclined to eat. So if we’re going to try this again you can’t let that become your problem.”
He looked up from his hands and stared at me before sitting up straighter. “What do you mean ‘try this again’?” He looked bewildered.
“Well, I mean… if you want to.” I bit down on my lip nervously and felt my face heating up. If he didn’t want to get back together I’d just wasted my time.
“Just to clarify you mean getting back together, right?” he eyed me.
“Yes,” I smiled and shook my head. “Did you really think I didn’t still love you?”
“Kind of,” he shrugged and smiled back at me.
“But one more thing, if you’re going to be there for me sometimes you have to be there for me all of the time. None of this no talking on game days. And you have to tell me how you’re feeling because I can’t be walking around worrying about you all the time. And if you ever call me heartless again I’ll show you exactly what cold looks like. Oh, and I slept with Max and I can’t exactly take that back.” I watched him nervously. His face shifted as he processed everything I said.
“You slept with Max?” he cocked his eyebrow and looked slightly horrified. “Like Talbo, Max?”
“Yes, I slept with Max Talbot,” my face was on fire and my stomach tight with nerves. Could my one night romp be a deal breaker? Would he take it as a personal attack or see it for what it was?
He looked at me with tight lips and unreadable eyes. I was sure he was going to reject me, call me a harlot and send me packing from his life. His expression loosened until there was a small smirk on his face and a familiar sparkle in his eyes. “That is disgusting,” he choked back laughter. “You slept with Mad Max?” he repeated, this time letting with laughter out and shaking from amusement. “Why would you do that? Have you gotten tested?”
“Why are you laughing?” I cried defensively. Did he not believe me? Did he not think I was capable of getting someone else?
“I’m not angry,” he took my hand back in his. “I’m laughing because it’s so unexpected. I would have thought James, maybe even one of the girls on the media team, but Max…” he snickered. “Max is like a dream come true for you.”
“Kind of,” a smile creeped across my face. “How are you not angry?”
“Because we weren’t together,” he was still laughing, his eyes squinted and his straight, white teeth showing. “And to be honest I’m kind of impressed.”
“Impressed?” I rolled my eyes at him. He really did’t think I could get someone else.
“With Max,” he clarified and I instantly felt relieved. “That he could get you.”
“You managed,” I smirked and moved closer to him.
“Twice,” he leaned forward and kissed me softly. I’d missed his lips more than I had recognized. The feeling of them on mine, the warmth of him in general. “Does this mean you’re going to unpack?” he lazily wrapped his arm around my shoulders and guided my body against his. I rest my head on his shoulder and snuggled against him.
“Is it okay if I don’t?” I laced my fingers between his and squeezed our hands together. “If we’re going to do this I want a fresh start, go slow.”
“But I like waking up beside you,” he said somewhat pathetically.
“It’s not like that will never happen,” I teased and nudged him with my elbow.
He sighed and buried his head in my hair. “Fine.”
His lips started at the top of my head and made their way down my neck. He sucked lightly on my collarbone as he pulled me onto his lap. I moved voluntarily, twisting my fingers in his hair as his nipped at my clavicle and his hands moved up my back, under my shirt. I felt comfortable in his lap, we were equals in his lap, facing each other and both in control. I guided his lips back to mind and let myself get lost in their varying pressure and movement. There was no start and stop between us, we moved together, connected by our mouths and mutual admiration. I could taste his relief and feel his excitement, both literally and figuratively.
“I really like your hair,” his lips moved away just slightly and I could see his eyes taking in my hardly made up face.
“I really like you,” I grinned, fully aware of my own cliche cheesiness.
“I really like you too,” he kissed me again then pushed our bodies so we toppled over, laying on the couch. I made sure we stayed on our sides, still facing each other, no one on top, still equal. His hand moved to the front of my shirt and he cupped my breasts hungrily. I wanted him to, I wanted him to touch every single part of me. But I wanted to go slow. A fresh start meant starting at the beginning. He tried to move his hand under the waistband of my pants and I pulled apart from him. He groaned and looked at me needfully.
“Not yet,” I whispered and nestled my head in the crook of his neck. “I want to go slow.”
“Slow is hard,” he whined. “I’m hard.”
“I think you’ll survive,” I giggled and wrapped my arms around his torso. I think we both knew that I needed to have control for just a little while. Eventually I’d let up but for the first few weeks I needed to call the shots, or at least think I was.
He hugged me close to him and sighed, pushing himself against me. He was trying to guilt trip me with his body language and instead of feeling back I laughed at his desperation. He didn’t push it further and we lay together until our breathing became sync and I couldn’t force my eyes open anymore.

Sidney was right, it was nice waking up next to each other. When I opened my eyes the sun had begun to set and I noticed him watching me. “Sorry,” I mumbled, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
“Discussion makes you tired,” he laughed and tucked my hair behind my ears.
“Do you think this can work?” I asked sleepily. “Do you think we can work?”
“Of course I do,” I felt his hands move down my back and rest above my bum.
“But I hardly know you,” I shook my head and moved to sit up. The questions may have seemed sudden to him, but were completely rational in my mind which was still thick with sleep and recalling the dream I’d had as I lay against him. In the dream we were away someplace, not for hockey but some other country. Somehow he’d gotten missing and I was running through this unknown place searching for him. When I went to the authorities they kept asking me things I couldn’t answer, his favourite band, his political views, his blood type. Before I woke up they were telling me if I didn’t know these things we’d never find him.
“What do you mean?” He sat up beside me and rubbed his hand along my back. I looked back at him and ran my hand through my hair.
“There’s so much I don’t know about you,” I felt my voice crack. I was becoming surprisingly emotional, left over dream emotions I reminded myself and took a breath.
“What do you want to know?” he smiled. “You know me better than anyone else.”
“There are so many things, Sid. Like, What are you political views? Do you believe in God? Economically are you more of a capitalist or a socialist? What did you think of Catcher in the Rye? Better yet, did you read it?” The questions came flying out of my mouth and an unnatural speed, there were so many of them and I was starting to panic, worrying I’d never know the answers.
“Bea, why are these so urgent?” He chuckled and put his arm around me again.
“Because they are,” I sighed. “Because these things make up who a person is.”
“But they don’t,” he shook his head and I leaned against his chest.
“They’re important though,” I pleaded. “To me.”
“Okay,” he took a deep breath. “I don’t know where I stand politically. I guess I’m liberal but I know I’m not as liberal as some,” he squeezed my arm teasingly. “I do believe in God. I like believing in something, it makes everything seem more manageable. I don’t really have a set opinion about organized religion and all of that but I consider myself Catholic, even if I’m not the most by the book believer.”
“Okay,” I said softly.
“What do you mean economically?”
“Like capitalism or socialism. The individual vs. the greater good. Independent wealth vs. equality.” I looked up at him waiting for his answer. It was a surprisingly important question. If he confused socialism for communism it might be a sign that I’d made a mistake.
“I’d like to think the greater good,” he smiled at me. “But I’d be a hypocrite to say I don’t like some aspects of Capitalism. I like my freedom to earn and do what I want with my money, but at the same time I want everyone to have a chance at life.
“How very Canadian,” I rolled my eyes and smiled to myself.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a Canadian thing to say. You’re sitting on the fence post trying not to offend anyone.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I could tell he was confused, worried he’d said the wrong thing.
“No, it’s just a thing.”
“Good,” he relaxed.
“You haven’t answered the most important question,” I let my hand rest on his thigh, my palm spread out over it.
“Right, the book?”
“The book.”
“I liked the book.” He laughed and kissed my temple. I knew I hadn’t made a mistake.

Notes

Y'know I have no idea how I have written three chapters in three days. I don't think I've ever done that before. But I'm glad I've managed it. Bea makes me laugh... which I guess is like laughing at my own jokes... this isn't the first time I've done that... Anyway, I feel like quoting the great Michelle Branch and saying "Are you happy now?" but with less angst and more inquisitiveness.

Tell me how you feel.

xx
-T