Thirty-Five
Claire
* * *
The hours passed slowly.
I couldn’t sleep, and I had a pounding headache. At one A.M., I went down and took two ibuprofen. At two, I drank another glass of water. At three, I gave up on sleep and reached for my phone, tempted to text Theo and ask him if everything was OK. I couldn’t stop thinking about him—something was off, I just knew it. Even the sex had seemed less intimate tonight. He was closing himself off for some reason. Was he losing interest already? Or was he upset about something? Maybe I’d made a mistake telling him how I felt. I’d thought it would make him feel good, but maybe it had put too much pressure on him. Maybe it was too much, too soon.
I sighed and set my phone down again. Texting him at three in the morning wasn’t the answer if he was feeling pressured. We’d just have to have an honest conversation so I could tell him he didn’t have to worry—I wasn’t expecting anything different or more than what we had. I just wanted to share my feelings for him because it felt good to do it. And I wanted him to know how happy he made me.
I’d known that being with Theo wasn’t going to be a piece of cake. He carried a lot of pain around with him that he refused to confront, and that meant trust was tough for him. Maybe I can try to talk to him about it again. Get him to open up more about the past and what love means to him. Why it’s scary for him. What I can do to help.
I picked up the phone again and called the substitute teacher line for the district, requesting a sub for the next day. It had been months since I’d taken a day off, and I knew I wasn’t going to feel like getting up and going to work in three hours. I hadn’t even slept yet, and this headache was brutal. After making the request, I hung up and went downstairs again for some melatonin and a couple more ibuprofen. Then I went back to bed, hugging the pillow Theo normally used and breathing in his scent.
It calmed me, and I fell asleep knowing that tomorrow, everything would be better. I could fix this.
* * *
A noise woke me.
I lifted my head from the pillow. Had I imagined it? I’d been sleeping so hard, my head was a bit muddled. Maybe the noise had been part of a dream.
A moment later I heard footsteps downstairs. My pulse rocketed. Who the hell was here? I jumped out of bed and threw my robe on over the t-shirt I’d slept in. With my phone in my hand in case I had to call 911, I tiptoed down the stairs.
The front door was open, and through the clear storm door, I saw Theo’s SUV in the drive. Oh, thank God. Smiling, I started to walk through the living room just as he came into it from the dining room.
“Hey, I almost called the cops on you. You scared me.” But it was Theo who looked scared. No, terrified. He was white as a ghost. “Everything OK?”
He appeared to be trying to swallow a tennis ball. “I—I didn’t think you’d be here.”
I smiled. “I took the day off. I didn’t sleep well at all last night. Come on, let’s have some coffee and talk.”
I walked past him, heading for the kitchen.
“I have to go,” he blurted.
“Just one cup,” I pleaded. “Give me five minutes. I want to—what’s this?” On my kitchen table was an envelope that said Claire in Theo’s neat, square lettering. My heart started to pound, and not in a good way. I grabbed it and raced back into the living room, where Theo was nearly out the door. “Hey, wait!”
He paused, his back to me. “Read it after I go. Please.”
“No.” My hands shook—my entire body shook—as I ripped it open and unfolded the page.
No. Oh no, he fucking didn’t.
But he had. The words were right there on the page.
Dear Claire,
I’m sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can’t be what you want. You are better off without me.
Theo
“What is this?” I asked, my voice quavering. “What the hell is this?”
He stood still, but his body radiated nervous energy, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
“Turn around and look at me, Theo. You want to break my heart, you do it to my face.”
Slowly, he turned around, his chest expanding like he was taking a deep breath. But he said nothing.
“You’re sorry?” I read the letter again. “You can’t be what I want? What the hell is going on here? Tell me!”
He opened his mouth. Shook his head. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what?” The tears began to fall, and I swiped at them with the sleeve of my robe. “I don’t understand.”
“I can’t—be with you.” His voice shook.
“Why?”
“I told you from the start. I’m no good for you.” He was delivering his lines, but his acting wasn’t good enough. As I stared at the man in front of me with the bloodshot eyes, face drained of color, hands flexing, I saw someone who hadn’t slept all night. I saw someone who hated what he was saying. I saw someone scared.
“Bullshit.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s the truth.”
“You’re running away.” It was as if a bell had pinged, and everything was crystal clear. “Like you always do. You’re giving up on us because you’re scared of what you feel. You’re worried you let me get too close.”
Color returned to his face as his anger spiked, but I wasn’t about to give him a chance to argue with me.
“And you’re scared of what I feel. This all started when I told you I love you.” The pieces were falling into place one by one. “That’s the real truth, and you know it.”