The Lie(48)

I have to put up with a hollow chest filled with hornets. I feel utterly empty because Natasha is back in London, has been for two weeks now. I feel completely ravaged because I still remain married, still lost in what the hell I should do, what the right thing is.

After Natasha told me she loved me in the car, leaving me to soldier the weight of it, I grappled with what to say to her. I texted her that night asking if she was all right and she said she was fine. That was it.

Then on Monday she came to my office as usual. I tried to bring it up but she only raised her hand and said it didn’t matter.

I wanted then to tell her how I felt, that I loved her too, that I’ve been fighting these feelings for months. I wanted to tell her everything.

But I couldn’t. I don’t know why I held on to my truth like that. Maybe I was protecting myself, protecting Hamish. Maybe I was protecting nothing at all and I was just a chicken shit. The latter is probably true. In the face of it all, I just wanted to run and hide.

I wish I hadn’t though. I wish I could have manned up and told her the truth. And because I didn’t, the last week of us working together was strained. The joy, the fun, the laughs were all gone. Natasha completely threw herself into her work, saying she needed to do as much for me as she could, but I could tell she was just looking for a distraction. She laid herself bare to me and I couldn’t do the same.

Coward.

And then the last day we were together, the last time I saw her, she leaned forward, kissed me gently on the cheek, and whispered, “I still mean it.”

And I said nothing.

Fucking coward.

So here I am, in my office at the start of the new semester, wondering how she’s doing while trying to go over my course outline at the same time.

It’s five o’clock. I should be heading back home but I’m spending more and more time at the office, just like before, only now I’m alone. The only reason I head back early is to see Hamish, but even then I noticed Miranda is being more possessive over the amount of time I spend with him, which is ridiculous.

I can’t help but think back to what Natasha said about her parents and how her childhood was tainted with their fighting. I don’t want Hamish to grow up with his parents possessive over him and not even speaking to each other. In the last week Miranda said she wanted a bedroom of her own, and what’s he going to think when he gets older? We don’t talk, we only fight and now we sleep in different rooms? He’s going to realize that his family is irreparably broken from the inside out.

I exhale loudly and stand up, stretching my arms above my head. My mobile beeps.

I pick it off the desk and peer at it.

It’s Natasha.

I’ve barely heard from her, with only the occasional email.

Do you ever get lonely? the message says.

My heart sinks as I text back, Always. Are you lonely now?

Yes, I miss you. I need you.

I miss you, too.

Do you need me?

Yes. I stare at the phone, wanting to say more. But I don’t.

Did you ever love me?

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. I stare up at the ceiling, seeking answers, but there’s only plaster.

I can’t do this over the phone, I text her.

I wait. There’s no response.

I flop down in my chair and stare at the phone.

Please text back, please text back.

She doesn’t.

Finally, I call her. It goes to her voicemail, the same one she never checks.

I text her again: Where do you live? I’m coming to you.

She texts back her London address.

I’m not thinking properly. I’m irrational. But nothing is stopping me as I look up flights to London. I find a thirty pound shitty Ryanair flight that will get me into the city no later than 9pm. There’s no way to get back until the morning, but I can still make my afternoon class. It just means I’ll be spending the night in London.

You’re booking a hotel, I tell myself.

I then text Miranda, telling her I won’t be home until late, knowing she goes to bed early anyway.

She never texts back.

I grab my stuff and go.

It’s crazy, and I’m thinking it even as the plane lands at Stansted Airport. But if I don’t deal with this now, with her, it will haunt me. If I don’t deal with it now, I’ll never be able to let it go. I need to be able to see what can be. I need to look down that path, see where it ends, and make a decision.

If only it were so easy.

The cabbie drops me off in front of a modest brick building in Woolwich, above a takeaway Chinese shop and a nail salon. I ring her buzzer, waiting as a group of college-age kids stumble past, drunk.

She answers it, her voice crackling. “Brigs?” Then she buzzes me up.

I rush through the door and take the stairs two at a time. I was trying to be calm and composed the entire flight down here, but the minute I hear her voice through the intercom, every part of me lights up. Now I can’t get to her fast enough.

Just as I reach her door, it flings open, and Natasha is standing there, wearing a plain black dress. I’ve never seen her legs other than in jeans, and I take a moment to stare at them, long, incredibly soft, and curvy, before I bring my gaze to her face.

It’s her face that sets my skin on fire.

It’s her lips, full and sensual, that make my heart drum against my chest.

And it’s her eyes, wanting so much from me, wanting to give me so much, that has me storming through the doorway and grabbing her. My mouth is wild on hers, unapologetic, and thirsty beyond repair.