My agitation has me wound so tightly I’m ready to snap at the slightest tug.
Alia:
Cal, please. Can we talk?
Talk about what? She could’ve pulled me aside at the bar and explained things. Why did she wait?
Alia:
I can come over if you’re tired.
Tired? Is that why I can’t breathe? I swallow the knot that’s been wedged in my throat for the last couple hours. The consistent stabbing behind my sternum doesn’t dissipate, my head pounding as innumerable thoughts collide into chaos.
Me:
I’m outside.
Not even a minute passes before I see Alia rushing down the path. She slows when I exit the car, slamming the door shut behind me.
We have maybe three feet of distance between us but, tragically, it feels insurmountable.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” she starts, clutching the skirt of her dress so tightly, it’s bound to leave creases.
I say nothing. She wears the same expression as she did at the bar, looking at me with discomfort, unsurety, and a whole host of emotions I don’t have the bandwidth to decipher.
“Callum?” In the silence of the night, her mellow voice falls on my skin like the lash of a crop. I hate that she sounds nervous. I hate what that could mean for us. My thin thread of patience frays.
“How long have you known? About the job?”
“A few days.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“Soon. I was waiting for the right time,” she explains.
She steps closer, but she might as well be miles away. We’ve never had any hesitation in sharing our thoughts with each other, so I findit tough to accept that she chose to shut down at such a crucial time. Unless it was intentional.
“You told Moore easily enough.”
“He found out ten minutes before you did. And only because he overheard me speaking with Irsia. You’ve had games all week. I didn’t want to talk about this over the phone.”
“Oh, there are rules for communicating that you’re leaving the country?” I question sarcastically, unable to quell the sense of betrayal flaring within me. “Wasn’t aware, sorry.”
“Please calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down. The woman I l—”
I catch myself in time, but curiosity flares in her eyes.
“You’re leaving? Seriously?” I hate how pathetic I sound. I don’t want to believe this is the end for us but, if she leaves, how will I show her what we can be? We’ve only just gotten started. Or have I been a fool, reading too much into our interactions? She said this was all temporary. She made it clear she wasn’t ready for a relationship.
In my desire for permanence, maybe I’m the one who overstepped, assuming she’ll change her mind. How fucking stupid.
“Why are you so angry?” she asks, brows drawn low. “You knew my moving back was always a possibility.”
She’s right, but my emotions refuse to adhere to the rules of logic. Not when that means abandoning the possibility of a relationship with her.
“Because you said you didn’t have anything keeping you here.” My voice is hoarse, the bridge of my nose stinging. My chest feels like it’s being clawed open, drawing blood and draining hope. “I thought that had changed.”