"Hunter, I can't keep doing this."
"Come on, Bob," Lance pleaded, his words slurring just enough to make me wonder if he wasn't entirely sober. "I'm sorry for what I said last time. I'm gonna try to do better. I promise I won't get jealous or expect you to clean up after me or any of that other crap."
His words excited dormant irritation and my hand tightened around the knob of the door.
"You can't be serious." My voice was unsteady with ill-disguised anger.
"Yeah? Well I am." Lance's gaze bored deep into my own equally intense stare.
I sighed in exasperation. "Hunter, people can't just change at the drop of a hat. We've had this conversation multiple times. We've rehashed the same arguments over and over. You're wasting your time; I'm not doing this anymore."
"Come on, Bob, I—"
"No!" My tome was sharp. "Do you really think I'm going to let you come crawling back in here? I know what you're here for and you're not going to get it. Especially not drunk. Goodnight, Hunter." I attempted to shut the door but Lance wedged his shoe in at the last minute.
"You've got it all wrong; I'm not just trying to have sex with you. I'm sick of the arguments, too. They were so stupid and pointless and frankly, a big waste of time. Time that would have been better spent loving you and spending time with you. I still love you, Bob, I still love you so much. I miss you so badly that I feel like there's a bloody giant cavity in my chest and it's gonna swallow me whole unless I'm with you. Please, Bob."
He was sincere, I could tell. And I knew the feeling he had described, because I was experiencing it at that exact moment. I longed to open the door, to take one small step out into the crisp dark night, to be next to him, to wrap my arms around him and to feel his arms around me, to tell him I still loved him too, even after everything we'd been through.
"Goodnight, Hunter." My voice was stiff; unnatural. I closed the door robotically and locked it, then returned to my room, ignoring his insistent knocking and the crack in his voice when he called my name. I'd heard him use those same arguments in the past and had fallen for them over and over.
But not this time.
He'd had second chances, third chances, fourth chances, and he'd blown them all.
The only problem was, he'd also blown a big hole in my chest in the process. And as much as I might wish it weren't the case, you can't build up an immunity to a broken heart.