Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him-it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at leas...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
This isn't where or how I planned to run into him, but the irony in this isn't lost on me. Taylor and I were never good at timing when we first met, always finding one another at the most inopportune times. I also didn't plan to let him even get close enough to touch me for fear that I would forget everything I set out to say, but just like his first reaction was to reach out for me, my first reaction is to let him comfort me. And I let him for about thirty seconds before pulling away again. He doesn't pull away completely though. His arms hold mine steady as the questions begin to pour from his mouth—the what, when and wheres of the past few days.
I plan to get to that with him, but not here. I don't let him take my hand, instead I just begin walking away knowing he will follow. I continue to lead Taylor into the cafe attached to the hotel, sitting us at a booth in the back away from others. It's about the most private, public place I can handle with him right now.
I think he picked up on the fact that I want to do this on my terms by my lack of voice because he's fallen quiet. His eyes watch me, but they aren't as quiet. The look of despair is apparent through them. I can tell he's hurting too. Good, serves him right. Maybe now he can begin to empathize with me better.
"I didn't want to talk to you, but I think I owe you a chance to tell me why and how you got involved in this...this mess," I say. Taylor's eyes narrow and scan my face for a few seconds. He attempts to reach for my hands again, but I pull back and fold them into my lap. The only way this is going to work is if I stand my ground. The way his brows pull tight and create that crease in his forehead is enough to make me second guess this. I'm overcome with the need to reach out and smooth it. But if I fold now, we'll never fully recover.
"It started after the first game of the season, when we all went to dinner with your dad," he begins. I appreciate that he doesn't embellish or try to be subjective right away. He gives me the facts about his mom's diagnosis and my brother feeding on his vulnerable state. It's clear through his words that Taylor was desperately looking for a way to help his mom and found himself in a position to do so. I was simply a hostage in the situation. He had no way to know that I would develop Stockholm Syndrome for him, or that he would want me to.
"I thought it would be easy. I would see you while we studied and that would be that. Your brother didn't care, he just wanted to know you weren't dead. I didn't agree with it, but I would talk to my mom and the voice in my head would tell me it didn't matter. That I didn't know you, that I wasn't hurting you so it would be fine." His voice breaks slightly. He hangs his head briefly before finding my eyes once more. "But then we ran into each other at Harry's and we talked and I liked the way you asked questions and told stories and called out my bullshit. And I liked the way you laughed. I didn't see what made you such a problem. I thought your brother was full of shit. You tried to push me away though, and something told me that I needed to be closer to you. The more you told me, the more I wanted to know. And I wanted you to know more about me too. I knew what I was doing, but my mom had started her treatment and it was working Camryn. Her body was responding to the medicine. I couldn't stop."
"And then you trusted me, you told me about your mom and your dad and everything you had been through. You had this plan for yourself, and I liked how strong willed you were with it. I thought that if I could just help you accomplish that, that I wasn't doing you completely wrong. Yes, I was still taking the money, but I spent time with you because I wanted to. There was no other reason. I didn't mean to fall in love with you, but dammit Camryn you made it impossible not to. That's why I wouldn't kiss you back. I knew I couldn't. I knew you wouldn't love me back when you found out the truth. The money had already been spent, I really couldn't take it back. I've always wanted to tell you I just didn't know how because I knew it would be the same as saying goodbye to you." I remain silent. The words are lodged in the back of my throat.
"But I– I did tell Cal I was done. After you kissed me again, after I gave in for a second... I knew that I couldn't keep pushing you away, I didn't want to. And I sure as hell wouldn't sleep with you or let myself really touch you until I was no longer tied to it, to him or the money."
Taylor reaches the end of his story, a million I'm sorry's follow his final words. His tear streaked face mirrors my own. His hands are resting in the middle of the table begging me to just reach out and grab them, but I don't. I exhale deeply, collecting my voice.
"I took a chance with you. It's not easy for me to open up to other people, but I wanted to do that with you, Taylor. I liked how you brought me outside of my body and made me see myself in a different light. Everything you're saying, I felt it too Taylor. With my whole heart. I meant everything that I've ever said to or did with you, but I won't sit here and pretend that I've forgiven you, or that I ever can. I'm hurt, but I know this didn't happen because you're an evil person. I really wish I could hate you because it would be so much easier to walk away from you and never think about you again, but my heart won't let me."
Taylor's smile is pained as I finally reach out and touch his hand. His thumb begins rubbing lazy circles on my skin. We fall silent for a few more minutes, taking the time to study one another. I think we both know this is the last time we will have the chance to do so, at least for a while. I take mental images of his face, discomfort and all. I'll commit them to my memory to pull out when I want to give up on myself. For when I want to give in and call him. I have to look at him now, so when I need it, I have a reminder about why I am walking away.
"If I love you like I think you love me, why does it feel like an ending?" he whispers.
"It's not an ending, Taylor. It's...it's like two parallel lines. A pause in our story, until we're both ready to resume and love on better terms. No one else involved. Nothing else hanging over us...Just us," I explain. Taylor doesn't ask for further explanation. He only nods and continues to move his thumb over the skin of my hand.
I let myself sit there for five more minutes before the fracture in my heart threatens to rupture completely. I give Taylor one last hug and let him kiss my cheek. As he does, I promise myself that I won't let it be an ending. If we're meant to be together, we will find our way back on our own terms. Just like there is a Gabi sized puzzle piece in my heart, there's a Taylor shaped one too, and right now I'm leaving it here, in a hotel coffee shop in Minneapolis.
