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I had fucked up. I mean royally fucked up. This wasn’t the kind of fuck up like forgetting to leave the trash bins out or forgetting to RSVP to a party, this was the mother of all fuck ups. I didn’t mean for the situation to get so out of control, but here I was, three weeks after my fuck up and Luke would still barely touch me.
A
few weeks ago, I had allowed my ex boyfriend to come into Luke and my apartment to return some things from our former failed relationship. I hadn’t seen him since we broke up, over a year and a half ago, but he was moving places and found some things that were once mine he thought I would want back. When he came over, his intentions weren’t entirely honest.
He’d come onto me, far stronger than he had before. He wasn’t interested in the fact that I currently had a boyfriend who I very much loved. All he wanted was to try and get back with me as soon as possible, which had resulted in him forcing his mouth onto mine. I wasn’t a terribly strong person to begin with and he was a bit bigger than average which resulted in it being nearly impossible for me to pry him off of me.
Unfortunately for me, Luke had walked in during the middle of our struggle, but to him it didn’t seem so much of a struggle as me attempting to cheat on him. Somewhere in the middle of our screaming match, my ex had snuck out the door, not wanting to be involved in the drama.
What it boiled down to was that I loved Luke. I loved Luke more than I loved myself and I sure as hell wouldn’t cheat on him. I didn’t feel responsible for my ex’s actions, knowing that I couldn’t control that situation, but I did feel unbearable guilt for having him over in the first place when I should’ve seen something like this coming. I pleaded with Luke to hear me out that night and despite the fact that after a few tense hours of fighting and raised voices, he said he forgave me.
What he said didn’t exactly match his actions. The next morning I was planning on making him make up breakfast, but he was gone before I woke up. He didn’t respond to my text asking him if he wanted to go to lunch, and by the time I went to sleep, he still wasn’t home. The only evidence that he had indeed come home that night at some point were the rumpled sheets in the morning.
I knew Luke had been evading me in the past few weeks, but today, coming home from a long day, I walked into our apartment and saw him leaning up against the counter eating a PB&J. Normally when I would come home and find him like this before the incident he would give me a goofy grin and head over, giving me a sloppy kiss, not caring if he got excess amounts of peanut butter on my mouth.
Today however, he merely looked up from his phone which he was typing away on and nodded at me curtly. Today was the first time I’d really seen him in a while and he wasn’t looking as good as I remembered. Don’t get me wrong, he still looked like my Luke that I’d fallen in love with, he was just worse for the wear. He had bags under his eyes and his normally pale skin seemed a little bit paler if possible. His normally rosy cheeks were as pale as the rest of him and his hair looked a little frazzled. Despite the fact that I knew he was still upset with me, I felt my heart ache for him because it was so obvious he wasn’t okay.
