Suggested Listening: "Recreational" by Aaron Krause
Author's Note: This is installment 3 of 5.
I was recently on the auction block as an author over at Tricky Raven and, for the next couple of weeks, will be busy writing a one-shot for my winning bidder. If time permits, I plan to work on the 4th installment of this Crossed Lines series as well. Otherwise, I'll update once I've completed the story for the auction.
BTW, there are several auction pieces already posted (as well as banners made by amazing artists) on Tricky Raven. If you aren't already a member, you should definitely check out the site. Tell them I sent ya! ;)
Crisscrossing Lines
Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows pressed hard into knees, Paul cupped his head.
He never meant for this to happen, never meant to be this kind of man.
The kind that hurts people, that breaks trust. The kind that fractures things—promises, vows, hearts.
Fractures families.
He never meant to be the kind that leaves.
But living a lie wasn't fair to anyone. Not to him. Not to Bella.
Especially not to their son.
It was time he stopped taking the easy path in life. Because martyrs aren't strong. They aren't selfless.
Martyrs are weak. Martyrs avoid the fight, they give up, they self-sacrifice so they're deemed heroes instead of quitters.
Paul was tired of being a martyr.
Working odd jobs—general labor for hire—he spent the solitary hours reflecting, lost in thought.
He contemplated the course of his life. The choices made.
Days often passed, lapsing the time between phrases uttered to his wife. More days existed than sentences spoken in their two and half year marriage.
But he imagined countless conversations with Leah. Ones where she would laugh at some remark he made solely for her amusement. Ones where they talked about their future and what would happen when they stopped phasing.
Paul was his truest self around her.
And in her unapologetic way, she made him feel safe.
Accepted.
Loved.
His desire for her never lessened. As time and distance grew, so did his love.
Leah was the one he pictured the day he stood before family and friends, repeating his vows to Bella…
To Bella.
His wife.
She had to understand—the longing he felt never was hers. This deep, intense yearning.
It was never hers.
But his son…
That was the hardest part.
Walking into the living room, Paul scooped up the toddler.
His boy, barely a day over two, could never grasp the gravity of the situation. But Paul knew happiness was a requirement.
Never wanting to be a weekend dad, he tried to make the marriage work. He couldn't stand the thought of being absent from the boy's life, or worse, some other man raising his son. Paul needed to be involved. He needed a chance to right the wrongs of his father.
This decision didn't change any of that.
Bella would understand. She wasn't the type to keep their child from him.
She also wasn't the type to walk down the aisle—all those shitty boyfriends her mother traipsed around made sure of that—but since the baby carried the wolf gene, and since she wasn't an imprint, the council demanded they make it official.
Hell, if she was Quileute, he could've convinced the old farts to keep their mouths shut. But as it was, nothing tied her to rez other than him. Hoping she'd stay just to raise their child together wasn't something any of them could count on, especially Paul. Because, like he learned long ago, only pain comes from high expectations.
Toting his son down the hall, he glanced at the closet where, last night, he stashed a packed bag. Retracing the steps that led to this decision, he reassured himself this was the only option.
He had to.
Because he refused to tell another lie to the rosey-cheeked toddler in his arms.
If he wasn't really leaving, Paul refused to say goodbye.
And he refused for months. Until he acknowledged their home, their son's life, was built on a lie—the rocky foundation of a broken marriage.
Entering the room filled with airplanes and racecars, he placed his child on the vibrant alphabet squares and knelt beside the boy.
Big, brown eyes, framed by the thick lashes of youth, looked up expectantly. Short, chubby fingers offered a favorite car, requesting him to stay a while.
Accepting the toy, Paul crossed his legs and vroomed into the land of make-believe.
While there, he talked of the new life that would come with the morning sun. He explained how sometimes—just like the trains on the model railroad set—people needed to leave. That sometimes, daddies needed to spend time away in order to fix things that broke elsewhere. But he made sure the toddler understood the tracks always stayed connected, and the trains were never far from the station.
Never far from home.
Even if, sometimes, it felt like they were.
They played this way for hours, Paul delaying the inevitable, not wanting to let go, until Bella came to tuck their son in for the night.
Nothing was as hard as this.
He pulled the boy to his chest, cradling his head and tightly hugging his body. With eyes closed, Paul inhaled his son's scent into memory.
A slight frown marring her brow, teeth pressed into her full lip, Bella assessed these peculiar actions.
This decision was Paul's alone; he never discussed it with her—never needed to because she wouldn't object, that was certain.
This was a fight neither wanted to engage in.
A final kiss to his son's hairline and Paul retreated to the living room, grabbing the stowed bag along the way.
Awaiting Bella's arrival, he stared at his hands. No ring interrupted the flow of scarred skin along his finger. He stopped wearing it months ago. And she never showed concern.
This part was easier—like a guillotine, it was quick.
Hearing the shuffle of her steps, the rustle of her clothing, Paul looked up to see Bella staring at the duffle bag positioned near the door.
Her eyes flicked to his. And she waited without expression—no question in her eyes, no quiver to her lips.
"This is it. We tried, but this life isn't good for either of us"—Paul looked over her shoulder, gaze locked on the colorful door down the hall—"For any of us."
Bella didn't object—just like he expected. She never tried to stop him, to reach for him. Never shed a tear—only offering a nod in response to their severed marriage.
A nod in response to the truth.
Paul left his keys on the table by the door when he walked out into the night.
*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)