The Lie(85)

I would murder Melissa with my bare hands if I could. The thoughts she’s put in her head. She’s starting to actually believe it.

“Don’t go,” I tell her. I want to drop to my knees to get her to stay.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, turning from me, angrily wiping away her tears. “I don’t want to hurt you but I can’t do this. I can’t go through this again.”

“Then don’t go,” I repeat. “Please just f*cking stay here and love me.”

She looks over her shoulder at me. “I do love you, Brigs. I do, I really do. I love you more than anything. That’s why I have to do this.”

I close my eyes, breathing in sharply through my nose.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, my nails digging into my palm. Everything in my chest seems to tense and shatter. “Please, please don’t do this to me. I am glass and in your hands and I am breaking. Can’t you see that?”

I finally open my eyes, hoping to see something in her has changed. Whether she chooses to be stubborn or not, the fact remains that she is.

She’s shaking her head, staring at me with the saddest eyes.

She’s leaving me because she believes it’s the right thing to do.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a low voice and I wish I could turn to stone. “Please don’t hate me.”

I stare at her. I am dissolving before her eyes. “I could never hate you,” I manage to say. “I love you.”

“Then if you love me, let me go,” she says. “Let me leave. Let me make things right.”

I’m shaking my head. “You’re only making things wrong.”

“Good-bye Brigs,” she says with a sob, unlocking the door and flinging it open. “Please, don’t contact me. For your own sake. And mine.”

Then she’s running out the door, her hair whipping around her like a cape of gold silk and I have to lean against my desk to stay upright. The last words I said to her all those years ago ring through my ears and now, now I understand the exact pain she’d spent all this time trying to get over.

My heart is crushed. Absolutely. It feels like an anvil on my chest, pushing and pushing until I can barely breathe.

I want to collapse to the floor. Writhe in pain. I want to sink into the deepest sorrows, be dragged back into those inky depths. The hellish suffering. The turmoil that slices you up inside like poison-laced razorblades.

But this isn’t like last time.

Because I don’t feel guilt.

And I don’t feel shame.

I’m angry.

Really f*cking angry.

It’s my anger at Melissa, at the situation, at my own carelessness that keeps me from focusing on my water-logged heart. It keeps me moving. I’m not going to roll over and play dead and admit defeat. I crawled straight out of hell – I’ve been through the worst already. I’ve come too far to bloody give up because things seem impossible, because someone wants to make my life miserable.

No one makes my life miserable but me.

Natasha told me to stay away, to not contact her.

I’ll grant her that – for now.

But if I’m going to get her back, I have to do what I can to change this.

I have to do what’s right.

***

The week slogs on by like molasses and I stay true to what she asked of me. I don’t contact Natasha at all, even though she’s on my mind every minute of the day. I’m wondering if she’s still living with Melissa, if she’s managed to find a place yet or if she’s somehow putting up with her and deciding to stay put. That doesn’t seem like something she’d be able to do but then again, I didn’t think it was so easy for her to leave me either.

I’m trying not to be bitter about it. It’s hard though. Because as much as I understand Natasha’s reasoning, I don’t understand why she thinks losing my job is harder than losing her. Jobs come and go. Love is a million to one.

I don’t see her at school during the week and I don’t know if that’s luck – or bad luck – or if she’s even at school. I do see Melissa though, unfortunately. She hasn’t said anything to me but she does stare at me with this smugness I wish I could wipe off her face. I don’t give her anything though. I act like normal, even happy at times and forever the dorky professor because the last thing I want is for her to take pleasure in what she’s done, to enjoy my pain. So I wear a mask and I wear it well.

When the weekend finally arrives, I fly up to Edinburgh to my parents’ house, asking Lachlan to be present as well. I wasn’t too sure I wanted Kayla there but Lachlan was adamant that she’ll soon be my sister-in-law and that she’s part of our clan. I had to agree.

On Saturday night we’re all gathered around the dinner table, everyone looking at me expectantly. I know they think I have some grand old news and while it’s news, it’s not at all what they’re expecting to hear.

My mum, in fact, looks especially anxious, like she thinks I’m about to announce Natasha is pregnant or we’re getting married or something of that nature. I’m sorry to disappoint her.

I clear my throat. “Well, I bet you’re wondering why I asked for you all to come to dinner.”

“I assumed it’s because of your mother’s cooking,” my dad says.