Started With a Lie

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Three (final)

"Do you want some?" I ask Lee as I sit across from him, a plate of pasta in my hands. I am sat criss-cross-apple-sauce in my short pajamas and long sleeved shirt. The rain continues to pelt the windows and roof. I'm grateful for the heavy downpour since it covers the awkward silences.

    Lee shakes his head and then looks down. He's sat exactly as I am except wrapped in about every blanket I could find and in my brother's clothes. His index finger plays with the rim of the mug he's been slowly drinking tea from. His hair drips even with a towel on top of it. He looks like he wants to say something. I refuse to let him.

    "No, really, I have more," I assure him. Anything to not talk about us or him or me.

    He shakes his head again, his mouth opening to finally speak.

    "I've actually gained cooking skills. Takeout gets boring after only so many times," I babble, "though my favorite takeout has to be that Italian place down by Main St. and the town's center park. Have you heard of it? It's called...uh...I forget what it's called. It doesn't matter. Food's outrageous there. Outrageous in a good way, by the way. Not, like, in the 'I've lost control of my teenage son' way or anything, ha-ha. That'd be—"

"Ivory."

I lick my lips. "Uh, yeah?"

"Can we please talk?"

"We are! Look at me. Talking. Blah blah—"

"Ivory?"

"Yes?"

"About us."

"Oh."

 Wind howls outside, rattling branches against the windows by the living room. Normally, I'd get scared but this conversation is scaring me more. Letting him in the house was one big mistake. I could've called a cab or something and gave him some clothes and a towel instead of welcoming him inside. I can already feel my resistance slipping away.

"So, can you please talk about what the hell happened? Can we talk about how much I want you back despite the consequences?" he pleads, setting down the mug on a coffee table nearby.

    I stab a piece of farfalle pasta and spin it around the plate, drenching it in the marinara. "No."

    "No?"

    "No," I repeat. I look up and bring the pasta to my mouth. It takes me moments to chew but Lee doesn't talk. He wants me to explain why. He should know why. I put the fork and plate down on the table as well and sit back into the couch. I even grab a pillow. Who knows how long this talk will be? It could take five minutes or forever. "You want me to explain."

    "Yes, I think I deserve that," he says confidently. Even though he looks like a stray puppy with a towel over his drenched bangs that are usually gelled and in a cocoon of blankets, he looks ready to fight to the death. His eyes are strong and determined. He really doesn't like taking no for an answer.

    "We've gone over this multiple times."

    "I don't think the amount of times you tell me why will ever process into my head as an actual reason to let you go. You could the worst thing in the world and deep down, even then, I would never let you go."

    I sigh. "You're making this so hard for me."

    "For you?" Lee scoffs. "You initiated this. I just want to be with you. It took me forever to admit that and to be honest with you. To myself. And now it's as if I'm nothing and you can just shove me to the side."