Benevolence

Chapter 15: The Anchor

I didn't know how attached I was to him until now. Because suddenly, he has the power to end things, to break my control, to rake the ground up from beneath my feet. And I find myself imagining how lost I'd be without him.

It's dangerous: The way my mind goes racing into unforeseeable places just at the triggering thought. The way my pores raise and my skin itches at the absence of his touch. This...dependency, this obsession with him having to be by my side, it won't end well. I know that. But I can't stop—my nails dig painfully into my palms— I can't stop clutching on to the idea of him.

My eyes cast down the empty hall every few seconds as I wait for the elevator to arrive; everything in me yearning to hear his door swing open, to see him running down this soundless corridor...towards me. I wish he'd take me in his arms again and whisper how much he's sorry...that he understands and that I'm worth the wait. And the thought of this being the end of us...God— I can't see past it.

I'm angry; at myself; at my inability to open up. And this time there's no one left to blame but me.

The platform arrives with a sharp, high-pitched ding, and I pull my phone out frantically, the growing distance between us making me anxious.

I'm so sorry.
Delivered|8:30 am

You can't be mad at me forever, Drew. Please
Delivered | 8:30 am                          

The poignant smell of spilled alcohol, cheap perfume, cigarettes, and weed lingers around me, attaching itself to my skin and clothes as I stand; and I can't even find the energy to care as I rest my head back against the dirty glass wall.

This is my life: A book of strained, broken relationships.

I'm stuck in limbo, waiting for a partner who understands why I am the way I am without me having to explain...Someone who floats above my chaos instead of diving straight into it. But, that man doesn't exist. No matter how much I want Drew to be him, no one's truly capable of reading my mind. And, if I want change, if I really want to bound myself to him and to the making of Us, I have to communicate.

"Fuck," I groan, hugging myself and looking up at the ceiling to avoid tearing up. I'm tired of crying.

This fight was unlike any of the others we've had. I practically balled up all of his insecurities and threw it back in his face, the biggest one being my closest friend. I mean I should've seen it coming. He's voiced his concerns about our friendship multiple times, but Bryan...he's an asshole, and he's self-righteous, and he's been extremely ill-tempered lately, but he was also my sanity when there was none left in me. When no one else cared to, he was there to pull me out of every low moment. So, no, he doesn't deserve to be cast aside. Neither of them does. But it's also becoming clear to me that a line needs to be drawn, and that both men are standing on opposite sides.

I just— don't know where to start. Or maybe— just maybe— there's a part of me that simply doesn't want to take part in choosing where I'll stand in all of it.

Drew still hasn't responded back. Even when the final ding sounds and the elevator doors open, all that's left beneath my message is the infamous, "Read| 8:32 am" receipt; which is all I need to know not to push any further.

Outside, the streets are silent, the type that ironically follows destruction, and standing amidst it are its perpetrators. Bryan's car comes into view once I meet the sidewalk and turn the corner, but my steps falter once I see who's busy heading in my direction. I swear she wouldn't have noticed me if not for my next words. "...Celia?"