I love Chloe, but does Chloe love me?
I ask myself this as I sit on a ragged couch, in a tiny living room, in a cramped apartment that we have shared for the past six months.
The sun is slowly dipping below the horizon, and I check my watch again; the third time in an hour. The digital display says: 6:45pm
Chloe was off work an hour ago.
I'll bet she's staying late again; or stopped somewhere on the way back.
The small space heater by the couch hardly fazes me; I pay no attention to how uncomfortably warm the right side of my body has become. That's because I've been reflecting on the countless other times this has happened.
It's become a pattern now.
I sit on the couch in the living room and wait for her to come home. I wait for the sound of her keys in the lock. Then, like the devoted woman I am, I'd quickly race to the door with glee as it opens and I see her face. I'd welcome my girlfriend home after a day that seemed too long for me without her presence.
We'd hug.
We'd kiss.
Then, we'd separate and I'd follow her as she plops herself onto our couch. I'd sit in the empty spot next to her, my legs propped up in her lap, and we'd talk. I'd ask how she was doing, and she'd give me a tired grimace and tell me how she's exhausted from work. She'd start telling me so many things; use work jargon that she'd never take the time to explain, and mention people that I didn't know. But I'd sit there and nod, listening to every word she said, and acknowledging every emotion with a word, or a touch.
I'd smile as my girlfriend grew tired of talking, then wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat.
I'd keep smiling, even when she didn't notice me moving in to nuzzle her.
I'd remain smiling, despite her lack of response when I brushed her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck; to run my lips and face over the soft skin of the woman that I fell in love with. I'd wish that my contact against her might absorb even a fraction of the stress and tension from her busy day.
Pulling items from the fridge, the cupboards and the drawers, I'd prepare her supper for her. I'd do so, even when she finds a bag of chips or a box of cookies in the pantry, and then takes them with her to eat while she watches TV.
I put her plate of food in front of her, where it remains and later gets thrown out uneaten because she's filled up on snack food and isn't hungry anymore.
I do it all because I love Chloe.
Does Chloe love me?
The night would progress with small talk here and there. I'd bring up the things I've done during the day; the photographer jobs I've gotten, the people I've met, and the accomplishments I've earned. I'd share the details of my life with my girlfriend.
She'd tell me she's interested, despite her constantly looking around the room.
She'd tell me she's interested, despite the distant look in her eyes.
She'd tell me she's interested, despite regular interruptions about something that was on her mind.
A voice in my head tells me the truth, but still I'd keep talking; I'd go from subject to subject in the hopes that I'd mention something that will interest her.
Then, like clockwork, she'd stretch her legs, tell me that she's tired, and that she's got work again in the morning. She'd tell me that it's time for bed.
I'd nod as a way to assure her that I understand.
She'd get up.
"I love you, Chloe." I'd tell her as we embraced and shared a kiss.
"I love you, Chloe." I'd say to myself as she walked away from me, into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
"I love you, Chloe." I'd whisper to her as she slept when I got into the bed beside her hours later.
But it'd be okay, because there was always tomorrow.
Even if the same thing happens again, it would be okay.
It's okay, because I know that she's busy, and that her job is tiring.
It's okay, because she doesn't mean to be distant.
It's okay, because I love Chloe. With all of my heart and soul, I love her.
Does Chloe love me?
Something's not right though.
The times between when she comes home from work, and when she goes to bed have been growing shorter. And shorter.
She's becoming hesitant around me. She's stopped bringing up the things she's done. She's more reluctant to return my embraces. Her kisses have become lifeless; no passion.
Empty.
That small voice in my head has been growing louder.
With every passing day, I ignore it less.
It'd tell me awful things.
It'd tell me horrible things.
It'd tell me things I'd never think about Chloe.
It'd keep me awake at night, tossing and turning beside her.
It'd tell me that she resented me for choosing Arcadia Bay over her; that she hated me because I sacrificed her mother's life for her own.
Sometimes I'd wake up to a damp pillow; but when you flip a damp pillow over, it's good as new. Right?
She is becoming more foreign to me as time passes. Like a stranger.
But I know that my girlfriend is still in there somewhere, hidden. I just know she is.
I'll find a way.
Work my way through it.
And that's because I…
I love…
…
Does Chloe love me?
Tonight's going to be different!
I tell myself this as I sit on our ragged couch, in our tiny living room, in our cramped apartment.
I'm through with this pain.
It's 6:30pm and I couldn't be happier that Chloe will be home any moment.
That's because she has to tell me what's going on. I'm going to make her tell me!
She's going to tell me the truth.
Finally, the sound of keys in the lock. I move myself off the couch so I'm standing there when the door opens.
"Hello, Chloe."
"...Hey, Max."
As expected: we hug, and we kiss.
Then we separate.
And we both stand there now.
Silence
Neither one of us have a word to say.
Neither one of us can look the other in the eye.
Finally, I can't stand it anymore! I break the silence.
"I'll go make us supper."
She doesn't respond.
I move into our kitchen, open up cupboards, and go into the pantry. I grab the first ingredients I see. I have no idea what to make; all I can think of is my plan.
I'll tell her that I've had it!
I get two plates out.
I'll tell her that she has to come clean!
I put the meat, the lettuce and the tomatoes on the bread, and spread the mayonnaise.
I'll tell her that she has to tell me what's going on, or...or...
I pour from a bag of chips on each plate.
Sandwiches and chips it is.
I carry both plates in my hands
"Supper's ready."
Chloe flicks off the TV, slides off the couch and saunters over to the kitchen table.
We both sit down.
And then we eat.
We stare at our plates, at the food, at the chips; we look everywhere but at each other.
The sound of our chewing and the crunch of the chips drown out the deafening silence in our apartment.
"So, uh…" She moves a chip back and forth on the table with her finger. "I heard you took some pictures at a party at the Hilton downtown?"
It was a wedding.
"Yes."
"When was that again? Last weekend?"
It was a month ago.
"Mmhmm."
She presses down on the chip until it shatters into crumbs and bits. "How did it go?"
I want to tell her that it went great; I really do. I want to tell her how everybody danced and laughed, and balloons fell from the ceiling. But why bother?
I shrug, and look at my feet shuffling underneath the kitchen table.
"Something wrong, Max?"
Finally, I look up and our eyes meet. I think I see some concern...or perhaps anxiety.
But I can't tell. It's been so long since I've seen those eyes; seen the hazy purplish-blue, the same colour that her hair was not that long ago, staring back at me.
I miss seeing those eyes.
I take a breath. "Chloe? I need to talk to you about something."
Her eyes go wide for a moment, then return to normal.
Her back straightens against the chair.
Her lips tighten and I see her swallow the lump in her throat.
She knows what I'm going to say.
"Y-yeah?"
My hands are shaking. "Do…do you—"
Chloe's cell phone rings from the coffee table.
We stare at each other for a moment longer, then she turns to look behind her and mumbles, "I'll get it."
I just nod.
Chloe gets up and snatches the phone off the coffee table.
"Hello?"
"What?"
"No, no, that's not fair! Why should I have to cover overnight when I worked all day?"
"Fine...fine… Just gimme a minute, okay?"
She sticks the phone in her pocket and slowly comes back to the table.
Her eyes look sad, and her mouth is frowning. She stares at the floor while grimacing. "I… I'm sorry, Max…"
I look back at her, feeling numb and nauseated.
"Somebody called in sick and they need me to cover overnight. So...I should head to bed now."
"It's okay…"
No, it isn't.
"I understand."
Why do you do this to me, Chloe?
"I'll be here when you're done work."
Lying in bed...crying myself to sleep.
"I promise I'll be back by 7 am sharp."
She doesn't sound so sure.
I stare at my barely-touched supper as I hear her walk away, toward the bedroom.
I wait for it; the sound of the door closing behind her.
The sound of her leaving me alone in our cramped apartment again.
It's time to accept the truth, Max.
But then…
"No!"
I look back at her. She's on the phone again, her hand clutching it so tightly I fear it will snap in her fingers.
"Look, we've got a whole staff of people on the call list! I worked my ass off for this night, goddammit!"
My senses are abuzz now.
"I don't care if you fire me! Go. Get. Somebody. Else!" She yells and then throws the phone across the room.
I nearly stumble with shock as I get up from the table.
Chloe is standing there in the open doorway to the bedroom. She quickly turns around and walks towards me.
My mouth is still open, in surprise but also to respond.
Suddenly, Chloe takes me in her arms.
We kiss. But… there's something different about this kiss.
This kiss has energy to it.
I can feel her in this kiss.
The passion and drive of a young girl after confessing her love to the person she's smitten for.
I return the gesture, all previous thoughts leaving me.
Our legs are moving on their own now as our tongues become intertwined.
She separates from the kiss, only to lay me gently down onto the couch. She lowers herself onto me, and we begin kissing once more in earnest. I can feel the intensity increase, the passion grows. I lose track of time - lose myself in her - when she pulls away.
My eyes remain closed when suddenly I feel a drop of moisture hit my cheek.
My eyes spring open and...Chloe is…crying.
"I'm sorry…" Her head bows in shame. "I'm so sorry…"
She lays her head onto my shoulder and begins to sob. "I'm sorry, Max!"
I begin to cry too now, but I do my best to hide it from her. I rub the back of her head as we lay on the couch, embracing tightly.
"I've… I've been such a shitty girlfriend to you!" She looks up at me through glistening, red eyes. "I keep leaving you alone, and… and…"
She hiccups out a few more sobs. "I thought you'd have dumped me by now!"
I hesitate for a moment.
"Never, Chloe."
She looks up at me. "How? How do you put up with me?"
I cup her cheek with my hand. "Because…"
Because...
"Because I love you, Chloe."
A small smile appears on her face. She leans in for another kiss. This one is gentle, containing all the energy it needs.
We both sit up on the couch, and we discuss how we've felt. I tell her how I've felt about her as of late. She tells me about how she keeps a picture of me in her locker at work and keeps sneaking to the back to look at it. I tell her how that wedding I worked last month made me think about how marrying her would feel.
We talk, we hug, we kiss, and we both cry until neither of us has any tears left.
Eventually, we just sit in silence, but it's not an empty silence. We listen to each other's breaths. We listen to the sound of each other's heartbeats.
"What if they fire you for not coming in tonight?"
"Let them. I don't care."
She presses her forehead to mine. "Max, I want you to know… that I love you."
I can't help myself. I begin crying again; only now they're tears of joy.
She holds herself against me. Through my tears, I say it once more, "I love you, Chloe."
She kisses my forehead, "I love you too, Max."
We end up falling asleep on that couch and I have the greatest sleep I've had in weeks.
That's because now I know.
I love Chloe.
And Chloe loves me.