Where the Stars Fall

13 | Honesty

THE ALARM CLOCK on the nightstand reads 3:15 a.m. and my mind can't stop racing.

What a mess, what a sodding mess!

In all seriousness, they should raise a statue to the guy who finally cracks the code to the female mind. Women are indeed a complete mystery, even Stephen Hawking said so, and everyone knows the guy is a genius. We might as well be realistic, when the man who knows all about black holes and quantum mechanics doesn't get it, the rest of us are pretty much doomed.

Take honesty, for example. Everyone says it's an important virtue, one that reveals strength of character, right?

Wrong.

For crap's sake, why do people ask the obvious but then go apeshit if we don't tell them what they want to hear? Why do we have to be downright insensitive bastards every time we're sincere? How can they demand honesty, if they can't handle the ugly truth?

I roll over again and try to force myself to sleep.

On the bright side, it seems I've survived this miserable day. I'm in my bed, still in one piece, which is surprising, to say the least. Olivia is still sleeping on the sofa, admirably oblivious to the bungled mess of epic proportions that almost happened.

But my thinking mind just won't shut down...

It was Josephine who was on my doorstep. When I came down, even before I opened the front door, the taxi that had brought her was already turning the corner and driving away.

"Jo, what are you doing here this late?"

"I would have told you I was coming, but then it wouldn't be a surprise!"

I nodded, speechless.

"I thought it'd be nice if you offered me a drink."

"It's been a long day. I was about to go to bed," I told her flatly.

With a sort of begging pout, she insisted, "Just one. Then I'll go. Unless you want me to stay, of course."

She gave me a flirty wink as she tried to push open the front door.

I blocked her.

"I'm sorry if I got a bit carried away this afternoon. But I really need to tell you something."

"What?" I asked.

"Here?"

"Like I said, it's late. I'm calling for a taxi and tomorrow we'll talk, all right?"

"It's about last night."

"What about last night?" I ran my hand through my hair, impatient.

She began fidgeting with her hands. "It's you, it's us. I've been thinking a lot about us, about our relationship. You know when they say, men and women can't be just friends? They're probably right... You know me, I'm not one to cover up my feelings. I need us to talk about it."

"What?!"

"Come on, Brian, this is awkward. Let me in."

"I'm sorry, but we'll have to continue this conversation some other time."

A mixture of frustration and anger clouded her features. "What the hell? You're sending me away?"

"I'm politely asking you to leave. I'll call you tomorrow. Promise."

"You're not alone, are you?"

I remained impassive. "Tomorrow, Jo."

Then she totally snapped, swearing at me, calling me every name in the book. Because I didn't call her back. Because I never call. Unless I need a shoulder to cry on.

That was a low blow. It's true, I'd invited her for a drink last night, at bloody two in the morning. For some stupid reason, I'd also opened up my life a bit to her before she passed out on the sofa.

I tried to calm her down, always fearing that dreadful instant neighbours start to shout back and switch on lights. Or even worse, call the police. But she sat down on the entrance steps, insisting she wouldn't leave until the woman inside my apartment got out. Because she should know too, how much of an asshole I am.

Had she gone completely insane?

After some time, I finally made her see the entire scene was absurd. That for everyone's sake, I'd better take her home. Which I did.

The moment we stopped in front of her house, I told her, "We can talk for a little while in the car. I'm not coming in."

"Please, look at me."

Anticipating a difficult conversation, I dragged a hand through my hair before I turned to face her.

"I've come to realise we all need somebody, one special somebody. And I think that person might be you. You're such a good friend, but maybe I want more."

"Jo, you're a fun person to hang out with." At least until today. Before all the crazy temper outbursts. "But the things is..."

"Please, be honest. Tell me what I mean to you", she urged me, her begging eyes transfixed on mine.

"I've got enough stress in my life. With my job, family issues. You don't add to it. You're laid back, don't let little things bother you. You're a drama-free zone! That's nice."

"But?" she asked, her hand tightening around mine.

"You're an exceptional woman. I like you. But I think we should stop seeing each other for a while. I can't give you more. I've got nothing to give you."

"But, babe–"

"You deserve to be with someone who can give you exactly what you need and–"

"But I don't want anyone else. I want you!"

"–and that person isn't me. I'm sorry, Jo."

Well, apparently, honesty is not the best policy indeed. The only thing it brought me was an I'd-fucking-shoot-you-in-your-sleep-if-I-could-get-away-with-it deadly stare and a resounding 'Go fuck yourself!'. It's still echoing around my head. That, before she stormed out and slammed the door, yelling that I'm a nasty prick who for sure will rot in hell.

Thank God this day is over.