CHAPTER 130: Distance growing

CHAPTER 130: Distance growing

Lisa's POV

I can’t stop thinking about it.

Three days since I saw Andre in that coffee shop, and his face won’t stop haunting me. 

Please Lisa. I'll be the only person I can turn to.

I was shocked enough to find that it was too calm, and I was somewhat afraid that it might break into a panic.

I should hate him. I do hate him. He ruined our marriage, destroyed my trust, left me for my own stepsister. He doesn’t merit my assistance. Doesn’t deserve a single thought from me.

Why then are my thoughts so occupied with the idea of doing something for him?

So it is crazy no doubt,"I know it is crazy!" Part of me wants to see him suffering, wants to watch him lose everything like I lost everything when he left. Wants him to know even a tiny fraction of the pain he put me through.

But there is also a part—a part I don’t understand and really don’t like—that keeps coming back to the despair that was in his eyes. The fear too much. And his hands trembled a little when he spoke of losing his business.

I jokingly looked up investors. Looking up business loan options. Mentally scrolling down my contacts to see who I can reach out to.
And I hate myself for it.

"Lisa?" 

I jump, almost dropping my coffee mug. I'm in the kitchen now, looking at my laptop screen though I'm not really looking at it, and I didn't even hear Leo come in. I‘m standing in the kitchen, looking at my laptop screen but not really looking at it, and 

I didn't even hear Leo come in."Sorry," I say quickly, dismounting the laptop. "I was just... distracted."

He is looking at me with that look - the one he’s been giving me.

“You’ve been distracted a lot lately,” he says carefully.

“I know I’m sorry. Just have a lot on my mind.”
Want to talk about it?”

“It's nothing important.”The lie tastes bitter. "It's just… stuff."

“Stuff,” he repeats flatly.

I force a smile. "Yeah. Nothing to worry about."

He doesn’t smile back. "Lisa, you've been weird for almost a week now."

“I said I’m fine.”

"And I‘m trying to be patient, trying to give you space to tell me what's going on, but... I‘m starting to get the feeling that you don‘t trust me."

The words land like a shock to my chest. “That’s not true. ”

“Isn’t it?” He steps closer. We used to tell each other everything. Now you barely look at me. You’re always on your phone or your laptop, and whenever I ask you what you’re working on you either close it or change the subject. You think I haven’t noticed?”

Guilt twists in my stomach."Leo—" 

“Just tell me the truth. Please. Whatever it’s been, we have to work through this together.”
I want to. God, I want to tell him everything. 

Concerning Andre, about the meeting, about how I’m apparently so deranged that I actually thought about giving assistance to my ex-husband.

But I can’t get the words out.

"It’s complicated," I say instead.

"Then five easy unfoldy steps. Talk to me" 

“I can't.” Sharper than I want, my voice rings out. Not yet “I just need some time to sort a few things out.”

“What sort of things are you sorting out?” He’s starting to lose his temper. “Lisa, I’m your husband. We’re meant to be partners. How the hell can I help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don't need your help."

I'd take the words back as soon as they left my mouth. I watch the pain flicker across his face, it is quickly veiled but not quickly enough.

“Right,” he says quietly. “Of course you don’t.”

“Leo, I didn’t mean—”

“It's fine." But the tone of his voice clearly indicates that he is not feeling fine. “I’ll stop pushing." 

He spins on his heel and exits the kitchen, and there I am, standing in the kitchen, hating myself even more.



That night, we don't even share the bed.
It's the first time since we got together that we haven't both drifted off to sleep.The distance between us is like a canyon, and I want to reach across it, want to pull him close and apologize and tell him everything.

But I don't. 



The following day, I get up before him.
I make a quiet escape from bed and head down to make breakfast — a peace offering, perhaps. To let him know I care, even if I have no idea what I care about.

I cook his favorite: scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, toast and hot coffee. I arrange the table around, even bring out the good napkins.
When he comes down twenty minutes later, dressed for work, he stops in the kitchen doorway.

“I made breakfast,” I tell him, indicating the table. “Your favorite.”

He stares at the table, then at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” I approach him. “I know I’ve been… difficult lately. I'm sorry."

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

The hope in his voice kills me. "I ... I can't. Not yet.”

The hope dies, replaced by something harder. “Right.”

He makes his way to the table and sits down but the motion feels mechanical. I sit with him, serving him eggs and bacon despite the churning in my own stomach that keeps me from eating.

We eat in silence. Or rather he eats and I push food around my plate as the tension between us solidifies so much I can barely breathe.

“This is good,” he says at last, but his voice is flat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

More silence. The clattering of forks and knives on plates. Ticking of the kitchen clock. In the silence, every sound seemed to be magnified.
"Leo—" I start.

"I have an early meeting," he interrupts, rising. His plate hasn't been cleared away. "I should get going."

"But you haven't finished—"

"I'm not hungry."

He carries his plate to the sink, washes it off quickly, and then takes up his briefcase from where he had left it by the door the night before.

"Leo, please" I stand, trailing him to the door."Don't go off like that."

He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he does not look back. “What am I supposed to say, Lisa?”

"I don't know. Anything. Just don’t shut me out.”

He laughs—a bitter laugh without humorous intent. “I'm shutting you out? That's rich.”

"What's that meant to say?"

Now he turns, and the expression on his face makes my chest ache. “You’ve been shutting me out for a week."

“I haven’t shut myself off—” 

"Yes, you have!" He runs his hand through his hair, exasperated. "And I’ve had patience. I've backed off. I've tried not to push. But I can’t do this Lisa. I can’t be in a relationship where i’m always wondering what I did wrong, where every conversation feels like i’m walking on eggshells."

Tears stab into my eyes. "You did nothing wrong."

"Then what is it?" He moves nearer and I see the desperation on his face. "What happened? What changed? Because a week ago we were happy—really happy—and now it’s like I’m losing you."

His voice breaks a little. "And the worst is that I don’t  even know why. I don’t even know what I’m opposing, because you’re not telling me"

He shakes his head. "You know what? It’s not important. The outcome is the same."

He goes back to the door, pulling it open.
"Leo, wait—"

"I want to go." He's not looking at me. "I'll see you tonight. Maybe by then you’ll be willing to really talk to me.”

Then he's gone, the door slams behind him with a finality that makes my heart kindle.
I stand there in the hall, listening to his car start, listening to him drive away.

And then I collapse on to the floor and let myself cry. 

This is all my fault. All of it. I’m ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me because I’m too afraid to tell Leo that Andre exists. Because even now, after everything, some fucked-up part of me is truly contemplating helping the man who shattered me.

Why?
Why am I doing this?

Andre’s face, that desperation, that fear, is what I think about. And I think about how fucking good it would feel to see him lose it all.

But I also think about the pleasure of being the bigger person. Of telling him that I made it, I survived, I thrived, that I’m strong enough to lend a hand—even when he doesn’t deserve it.

But that’s not why I’m thinking about doing it, is it?
I’m thinking about it because some shattered part of me still craves his approval. Still wants to show him that I matter, that I’m worth something, and that leaving me was his loss.

And in that, I’m losing Leo.

The man who actually loves me. Who’s got no reason for me to question him. Who’s just been so patient and kind and loving.
I’m destroying us to save someone who destroyed me. My phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket, hoping against hope that it’s Leo, that he’s texting me to apologize for leaving in a huff, that everything will be okay.

But it's not Leo.

It's an unknown number. But I know who it is.
Have you been able to consider that which we spoke about? I really need an answer soon.
Andre. 

I glare up at the text, my vision distorting with crying.

I should remove it. Should block the number. Should call Leo now and tell him everything and beg him to forgive me for keeping this from him.
But instead I find myself responding.

MORE TIME IS WHAT I NEED.
The response is swift.

You’re gonna have to tell me how long.
I shut my eyes and I hate myself.
I don’t know.

Three dots appear, disappear, then appear again. Finally:
Thank you, Lisa.Thank you for even thinking about this. It means more than you know.

I don't answer. I don't do anything. I just sit there on the floor of my hallway with my phone in my hand, tears welling up in my eyes.

And I wonder how I got here.
How I went from contentment—happy, really happy—to this.

How I let Andre back into my life, just for a moment.

How I come to risk all that matters to me for the sake of someone who never mattered at all.
I have to end this. Tell Andre no. Tell Leo everything. Fix this before it’s too late. 

I just sit. And cry. And hate myself just a little bit more with each minute that passes.