left alone in desert
this house becomes a hell
this love becomes a tether
this room becomes a cell

I have never been good at apologies. But after at least a week of roaming around the house desolately, barely speaking to Jack and Annie, who were bound to start getting suspicious soon if they hadn't already, it was clear that I had no choice in the matter. I was barely civil to those unfortunate enough to attempt to initiate a conversation with me, and when they left me to my own devices I just wandered the halls and the roads near the house at all hours.

how long must I suffer?
dear god, I've served my time
this love becomes my torture
this love, my only crime

I tried to justify it to myself, over and over, until even I got tired of hearing, "Well, it really wasn't fair of him to put me on the spot like that. And he's only a child. And how can he expect me to give up everyone else just for this?"

So at 3 in the morning I finally picked up the phone. Ned and Irene had gone to Denver for the weekend. It was safe. He should have been there. No answer.

lover please release me
my arms too weak to grip
my eyes too dry for weeping
my lips too dry to kiss

First: Fuck this. I'm not dependent. I'm the one who's used to being left alone, remember? I drove him away because I needed to find out if he'd go. It was a test, and he failed. (Or was it me?) If he was in love, he would have stayed. It's fine. I'm tired of feeling like there's some connection between us that's been broken, so now there's something missing inside me. There isn't. I'm the same as I was before that night. Nothing lost, nothing gained.

Calling Jesus, please
Send his love to me
I'm begging Jesus, please
Send his love to me

Then: Where the hell is he? It's 3 in the morning. Is something wrong? Or has he returned to swimming in the bottomless sea of guitar-player groupies? Why would that bother me? Why should I care? It was just something we did for a while. No one ever has to know. Maybe this searing physical tension, this unholy blend of fear and adrenaline and anger and sadness, that I'm feeling is just a symptom of some illness. Maybe I'm coming down with something. Maybe it's menopause.

And so I was back to where I started. I knew I would torture myself all night with this train of thought charging forth at full speed if I didn't take something for it now. Oddly, I hadn't felt the urge to collect any new scars since that first night. Not even after he left. While he was here, I was too intent on not doing it to really be tempted, and since he'd been gone, I had been too apathetic. I did feel emptier now...

I had taken the pill at least an hour ago, and it hadn't done any good at all. I was calmer, but still physically wired. So I headed out for yet another late-night walk around the house, slipping on some sneakers and wrapping myself in a robe. And there it was. He's sitting in his car, in the driveway, wide awake, with the engine off. I walked over and he just stared at me silently through the window, with the expression of a moth who's been burned by the light before. (Do moths ever get burned? I don't know. It's just what I remember thinking he looked like.) I tried to open the driver's door, but it was locked. It was time.

I tried to enhance the compassion in my voice. "I'm sorry."

Muffled through the glass, but still vitriolic: "For what, for not feeling what I thought you did? For not feeling what I did?"

"I never said I didn't--"

"You didn't need to say it."

"Yes, I did. You should have bothered to listen instead of jumping to your own conclusion."

"Maybe I was just as scared as you are."

"I'm not--"

"You are."

"You're very presumptuous," I noted with a hint of genuine irritation. "Why don't you get out of the car so we can have a normal conversation?"

"Why don't you get in the car so we can have a normal conversation without freezing to death?"

"You never give an inch, do you?"

I walked around to the unlocked passenger side. It was just as cold in the car as it had been outside, only instead of the smell of recent smoke and fire, there was the smell of recently-cleaned leather. I wanted to get out again as soon as the door clicked shut. We sat there quietly for a minute or two.

"So why did you come here? Were you going to come in?"

"I wanted an answer. I wanted a real answer so that I would have a reason to hate you, because I knew what the answer would be."

"No, you didn't."

Quiet filled the space so aggressively until I couldn't be sure I had said what I did. There was a faint trace of my recent voice in the air, and then it simply disappeared. Maybe I hadn't spoken at all.

"Then I think we should tell them."

"It's just--"

"Because I'm going insane. Every time my mother calls my name I fear she's found out. Every time I get a letter in the mail I'm afraid it's from you, even though I'd love it if it were. Every time I get a phone call I'm thinking, what if it's her? What if they figure it out? It's not that I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of what will happen when they put two and two together. And I shouldn't be afraid of them. I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions, and as much as I love my parents, they're just going to have to handle it. So I need to tell them. And I need you to be okay with that."

"How can I be okay with losing everyone else in my life? It won't just be them. It'll be Jack and Fi, too, my best friends and my own children."

"This is the hard part, right now. But the sooner we get through it, the sooner everyone can have a chance to start dealing with it and being okay with it."

"This is the kind of thing someone could stay angry about for the rest of their lives. The odds of anyone ever being okay with this are horrible."

"So you think we should just stop this and return to our separate corners and never speak of it again?"

"I think you don't know what you're getting into."

"I came back. You gave me your answer."

"Things will never be the same."

"You said nothing lasts forever, anyway. What if we die tomorrow?"

I leaned over and kissed him chastely. "We just might."

I got out of the car and walked toward the house, leaving the front door open behind me. I heard the driver's door squeak open and click closed.