Chapter 4

Angela's bawling her eyes out and it's all my fault. She burst into tears and can't stop—she's practically hyperventilating now. I shove a bunch of tissues at her and lead her to the bed to sit down. Her deep sobs make her entire body spasm so I hold her more tightly against me and whisper words of comfort to soothe her but she's too far gone in her tears to hear me. There's nothing I can do except feel like the louse that I am. I did this to her; she's falling apart at the seams and it's all on me. Guilt roils in my guts and I wanna be sick.

"Angela? Angela, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry", I repeat the same words over again because I can't think of anything else to tell her. I am sorry and ashamed. I want to kick myself.

She looks up from her pile of soggy tissues and fixes me with bloodshot eyes. The hurt in them is raw and she looks so vulnerable, like a lost little girl.

"Angela? I . . . I . . . I …" I begin speaking but the quiet pride on her face shuts me up. She's almost regal in her pain.

"I'm a fool", she utters quietly. She's looking at the floor now, embarrassed.

"No Angela. You're not. There's nothin' wrong with crying. I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't realize …"

"You didn't realize?" she asks me, her voice bitter and choked up.

I have no answer. No matter how much I've tried to rationalize it, I cheated on her—on us. I knew she loved me but I justified my adulterous actions by claiming that we didn't have a binding commitment. As if six years of living together, raising each other's kids, being best friends, life partners, spending all of our time together, dating, kissing, and talking about the future and marriage wasn't a commitment. Who was I kidding? It was fear, pure and simple. I f**** up big time.

All this is going through my head but I still haven't answered her. She looks at me dejectedly and disentangles herself from my tight grip.

"Tony, forget this. I shouldn't have come", she tells me barely above a whisper. She avoids looking at me and makes a dash for the door.

"Angela, wait!" I call out to her. "You can't leave!" Before she can escape, I grab her around the waist and hold her.

"Let go of me!" she cries. I reluctantly release my hold. She's in agony and I've just realized what a complete ass I've been. If I don't fix this now, our entire relationship might end up in the toilet. I can't lose her. I love her. I . . . love . . . her. I do. I really, really do. What have I done?

"Angela please stay. We need to talk about this. I can't lose you. Please."

"Tony don't", she sobs. She fights against me when I try to hug her and explodes in a torrent of rage, repeatedly pummelling my chest with her palms. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you", she chants over and over again. Her hot tears are spilling onto my bare shoulders, cutting through me like lava.

"Well I love you!" I shout at her. She stops and looks up at me stunned. "I love you Angela", I repeat to her. "I love you and I don't want to lose you. Please. I was wrong. Hit me, even hate me, but don't walk away... walkin' away is the worst thing I could've ever done!"

Angela goes completely still and quiet. Her sobbing has calmed down and she's merely sniffling now, staring at me through her tears. Staring at me as though I've grown a second head. "What did you say?" she asks me incredulously.

"I said I love you." There, it's out. It needed to come out. It's true. More true than I ever realized.

"You do?" She doesn't believe me.

"Yes. A million times yes. Angela, I hurt you and I'm sorry for that. I never should have gotten involved with Kathleen. I'm not sure why I did-maybe I was scared of 'us'. But it was wrong . . . especially after what we talked about in Jamaica. I never should have . . . I've been an idiot Angela. Please tell me it's not too late for us!" I want to beg, plead, get down on my knees and grovel.

"I don't know, Tony. I just don't know anymore. You hurt me so much. I never wanted to date other people—I only said that to save face. Because I was dying inside. Tony, that day when you came back from the motel, I felt like dying. How could you not have known that I loved you?"

"Because I tried to convince myself that we loved each other only as friends, Angela. I didn't know if I could offer you anything. I was scared to lose you." Tears are prickling behind my eyes and I'm choking up. I've wronged her so badly.

"Tony, sleeping with Kathleen put us at risk. More than any attempt at romance ever could have. I trusted you with my heart and you broke it", she cries. She's biting her lip trying not to cry again but the tears are spilling fast. My tears join hers and they mingle when they splash onto my arms. I hastily wipe my face and grab some damp tissues out of her fist.

"I know Angela. I know that now. But I wasn't thinkin' that night at the motel. It just sorta happened! And then I got scared; scared of 'where we were going' and I didn't know how to just dump her. But I'm gonna end it with her now. Absolutely . . . she has no place in my life. She was a mistake. It was erotic art that did it", I say sheepishly.

"Erotic art? Tony . . .", Angela lets out a little snort of derision and rolls her red-rimmed eyes. "Tony, if all I needed was an erotic image to seduce you, I would have gotten you a Playboy magazine."

"No, Angela. I wouldn't want that trash. You seduce me. You always have, every day for six years. Resisting that desire is the hardest thing I've ever done", I say. I want to explain that it was her dark eyes, her smile, her awkwardness and sweet naïveté that captured my heart and made me fall in love with her. But I'm overwrought by the moment and the spark of hope that suddenly appears in her eyes.

"Why did you resist me so much? That night in Jamaica? Why Tony?"

"I don't know! I was scared that we'd slide into something we couldn't handle. I wanted to marry you but wasn't good enough for you yet! But I did want you, Angela. I wanted you so badly that night", I finally admit my true feelings to her.

"Not good enough?" Angela questions me. She seems shocked by my admission.

"Yeah Angela. Not good enough. I wanted to have my college degree first, a decent job, something to offer you. But all that waiting-it was wrong. 'Cause I knew you loved me and I pushed you away. I was a coward. A proud, stupid coward."

"Can you swallow that pride, Tony?" she asks before adding, "and that ego you once assured me you don't have?"

I know her question is important—no, pivotal to our entire relationship. It all comes down to this—my stupid egotism and fear. I lead her back to the edge of the bed to sit down because I need to sit down. My legs feel a bit shaky; this marathon of introspection and raw honesty is running me ragged.

"I'll try, Angela", I say softly. Our eyes meet and I'm pulled into their dark fathomless beauty. Throughout the years, we've spoken volumes with only our eyes—the windows into our souls. It's connected us at a level so deep to be almost spiritual and timeless. Yet we avoided using the words that mattered the most. I should have told her I loved her years ago. Years.

"Oh Angela", I sigh. Ironically, when I need words the most, they elude me. A deep exhaustion overtakes me—this confrontation of truth has done me in. She appears to be completely spent as well. I put my arm around her again, knowing that it's alright to do so now. She rewards me with a weak smile and rests her head on my shoulder.

"Are we going to be alright, Angela?" I ask her. Tonight scared me and I'm still trying to regain my equilibrium.

"I think so, Tony. So long as we can be honest with each other and say how we truly feel." She lets out a deep sigh and closes her eyes. Then she startles me by suddenly popping her head up and speaking. "Tony?" she asks.

"Yeah Angela?"

"I realize now why you left; why that night fateful as it was, was so different... I didn't ask you to stay."

"Don't defend me, Angela."

"I'm not. I'm merely seeing a shade of grey", she tells me. Her face is flushed and she looks down before meeting my eyes again. "So I'm going to ask if I can stay tonight." Her jaw is set in a determined line but her eyes are tender. She tentatively takes my hand and says, "Please hold me tonight. I'm so tired and I don't want to go back to my room and overanalyze everything we've just talked about. I only want to be with you."

Her words startle me. Is she talking about sex? Or merely sharing a bed? I look over at her; she's crawling across my bed and I'm distracted by her sleep shorts or rather what's beneath them. The suggestive outline of her behind and her long, golden legs affect me despite my intense fatigue. There's no way I can simply sleep beside her when she looks like that. But she appears oblivious and makes herself comfortable in my bed. I hesitate before crawling in beside her. I don't want her to leave. Not after what we've just been through. We need to stay together and talk some more and definitely cuddle and maybe kiss and . . . it's going to be an interesting night.