"I'm standing here asking for a little bit of clarity. Doesn't that mean anything?" I say, my voice cracks at the end in a way I didn't intend. "I want the truth about why you left. Signing a piece of paper doesn't change what we had. I'm just a person and I thought you knew that."
She responds with a fury I had only glimpsed before, "Don't you dare make this about me! And you've finally found some time in your schedule to check in? That's what I'm supposed to be impressed with?" She shakes her head in what I could conceive is annoyance if I didn't know her so well. "What is it that you want? A sob story for your friends? Another chance for you to play the victim, because I left and didn't leave a note with your concierge?"
"I'm not going to apologize for being busy. I've got commitments." I add accusingly, "It isn't just about me."
"No, it certainly isn't," she laughs menacingly. "And where is the entourage, back at the hotel? Are they biting their fingernails and holding their breath hoping I won't fuck up the plan for fuckface and friend?"
I shake my head in confusion, "They're around. I'm not their keeper."
"What a gas!" She seems to be furious now. "Not their keeper? Yeah I guess it's been so long I forgot who holds the leash."
"You don't like them?" I ask genuinely surprised.
"Let's just say I've seen them around and I'll stick with my friends from low places. Don't want to reach too high, Hollywood isn't my kind of town."
"It's been hard, okay?"
"Which part? Getting everything you thought you wanted and then realizing you can't turn it off? Or having the model girlfriend that you don't trust because you've come to the realization you have more things to lose than your heart. She isn't around for this little discussion—too far past her bedtime?"
"Are you jealous?"
"Of being part of a sideshow? No, I'm realistic. I know my limit's and you have been right about one thing: I'm not alone in this."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't have to explain anything to you, that's not my job description. Read the NDA, it's about your life too." She throws up her arms and turns to walk away, "Who knows! Maybe you'll actually get what I've been "giving" you then."
"Is someone paying you off?"
She laughs and turns back, stomping towards me before withdrawing her hand in what I think is a large amount of control to not slap me. "Money is not my motivation." She closes her eyes and states calmly in a tone I've only heard her speak of a dead man before, "I don't need your pity or your high rise hotel room views." The bitterness is thick in her voice when she continues, "You think you can throw some tickets at me and everything will be fine? I don't want your world, okay? I never did."
Her words sting. I stand there, stupidly, as if my body's mere presence is enough to change things. "I'm not asking for a grand apology," I say trying to control the tremor in my voice. "I just want to understand why you left? Why you didn't say anything? Why you just cut me out? Don't I deserve to know?"
She crosses her arms across her chest and stares deeply at me. I can't read her mind but I know she's weighing choices. There's a flash of something soft before it's gone in an instant. I know she's decided something and I'm probably not going to like it. She states slowly and almost casually, "You don't get it. You never got it."
"I don't get what?" I say stepping forward with my frustration boiling over. "You keep saying that! Explain it to me then, what don't I get? I thought we..." I trail off with the words "could be something" lodged in my throat.
"We?," she spits out. "I don't exist in your world. I never did."
I open my mouth to defend myself. Her words hit me harder than the slap would've earlier. She beats me with the rest of her message. "I was just a detour. A bump in the road while you continued on in the glamorous life. You've swooped in now because it's convenient. You show up and throw some money around and you want me to be enthralled to fall back into your orbit. I'm just someone to think about when you're lonely."
"That's not fair," my voice shakes in anger. "I would never use you. That's not what this is about and you know it." I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice but I think I'm failing, "you've made up your mind about me. I'm the bad guy."
She says softly not looking at me, and pulling at her sleeve again, "you're not a bad guy. You're just not mine."
For a moment the world stops. Her words are echoing through my head. I feel like we are standing on opposite sides of a canyon and I have no way to reach her.
"We can fix this," I say not wanting to accept that this is our end. "We can talk, really talk. Wouldn't you like that? Just us."
"You never really saw me, did you?" She says quietly and somehow the softness makes it worse. I see her as something fragile I've broken. I didn't mean to but I'm starting to realize that it's what's behind her anger. She continues to list my imperceptible faults, "You saw me as what I could be for you. A piece that fixes the loneliness when it sinks into you. And the rest of the time? You were already on to the next shiny thing. I'd be left waiting, in limbo. Hoping for a gesture. Wishing for a moment. Trying...and failing—to need you and not need you."
"That's not true," I say, though even I can hear the weakness in my voice. "I tried...."
She laughs angry and bitter, "you tried? You don't just try when you love someone." She shakes her head in what I can't tell is anger or a deep sadness, "you try for things you don't really care about. I learned the hard way on this one. It's not a mistake I'm willing to make twice."
Her words hang in the air between us, a bitter scent like crushed walnut leaves in the winter. I let the words land between us because I can't think of anything to say. This isn't the time for a joke and I can't logic my way around it. Part of me knows she is right. "I wanted to see you," I say, my voice quiet now, the fight leaving me. "I missed you. I thought..." I trail off, unsure of what I thought. It was a misunderstanding? That time could erase what went wrong between us? That showing up, tickets in hand, could fix it all and smooth over whatever had gone wrong?
"Well, you've seen me." Her tone is flat, emotionless. "And now you know."
I look at her, really look at her, and it hits me how far apart we are. She's already gone, even if she's still standing right in front of me. "I didn't know," I say quietly, almost to myself. "I didn't realize..." She nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement, as if to say, Of course you didn't.
"That's the problem," she says. "You never did."
For a long moment, we just stand there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down between us. I want to reach for her, to ask her to stay, to explain myself better, but I know it's too late for that. There are some things you can't fix with words or presents. She turns and starts to walk away again, but this time, I don't try to stop her. And as I watch her go, I realize that I might not even have the right to.
