Page 52 of This Woman Forever
She needs me to say it? “Because I wanted to keep you forever.” That’s my truth.
Her hold on my face loosens. “You wanted to trap me.” She steps away, appearing and sounding calm all of a sudden. But I feel her energy as well as I feel my heart beat for her.
“Yes.” I look at my bare feet, ashamed. Always. But it didn’t stop me when I was hiding her pills. Not the first time, and not the last time.
“Because you knew I’d run when I found out about your business and your drinking problem.”
“Yes.” Like you might run now. Like you might run when you find out about my true life before you walked into my office. When you find out I’m the reason everyone I’ve ever loved is dead.
“But I came back after I found out about The Manor and the alcohol problem,” she says, still calm, still even. Getting everything into place. Trying to understand. I have a horrible feeling in my gut that nothing I say will make a difference. “Yet you still took my pills when I replaced them.”
“You didn’t know about my history then.”
“I do now.”
I flinch. “I know.”
“Stop saying you know,” she cries, gesturing wildly with her hands.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask without looking at her. I’ll say anything. And then I realize I haven’t even apologized. Will it make a difference? Or begged, I’ve not begged for her forgiveness. “I’m...” I look up, seeing her disappear into the dressing room.
I hurry over, my heart crawling up my throat. Why would she go into the dressing room? I stop in the doorway, seeing her yanking some jeans on. What? Oh my God, no. She’s not— “What are you doing?” I ask, my eyes watching her every move as she dresses. Then she gets a bag. “Ava?” I say, my words airy and weak. I go to her, taking the bag. “What the hell are you doing? You’re not leaving me.”
“I need some space,” she says with no emotion at all, snatching the bag back and starting to pack it fast and messily.
Space. “Space for what?” I grab her arm, my panic ruling me. “Ava, please.”
She wrenches herself away, and my heart splits. She’s leaving me? “Please what?” she asks coldly as she takes her anger out on her clothes.
“Please, Ava,” I beg. “Don’t go.” What will I do without her? What will happen? How will I cope?
“I’m going.” She pushes past me, and I reach to grab her again, to stop her, but I’m so worried she’ll fight me and injure herself. She’s not thinking straight. I follow her to the bathroom, searching for the words I need to save this, to save us. I’m coming up blank. My fear is too strong. I can see nothing past it.
She stuffs some toiletries into her bag.
“Ava, let’s talk about this.”
“Talk?” She turns abruptly, her eyes still wild, her persona still so volatile.
“Please.”
“What is there to talk about?” she asks. “You’ve done the most underhanded thing possible. Nothing you could say will make me understand this. You do not get to make these decisions. You do not get to control me to this extent. This is my life!”
Nothing I can say will help? But she’s not even given me a chance. “But you knew I was taking them,” I whisper.
“Yes, I did!” she cries, obviously not quite believing it. I’m stumped. I know I’ve done wrong, but I also knew she knew, and I took the fact that she knew and hadn’t left me as a good thing. How could I have got it so wrong? “But perhaps because of all the other shit you’ve landed on me since I’ve met you,” she goes on, breathless. “I didn’t consider how fucked up this really is. This is really fucked up, Jesse, and you’ve got no redeeming reason. Wanting to keep me isn’t good enough. That’s not a decision you get to make on your own. What about me?” She gets up in my face, making me retreat. “What about what I want?”
“But I love you,” I say quietly, pathetically. I never thought about what Ava wants. I only thought about what could save me. Her. A baby. A family.
A wife, happiness, forgiveness, mercy.
If anything, I saw all the signs that she didn’t want kids. And I ignored them. I convinced myself she’d accept this because she loves me.
What have I done?
Ava rubs at her eyes, pushes her hair off her face, sniffs, and storms away.
“Ava?” I call, going after her, getting a flurry of flashbacks invading my mind. The last time I chased her through the penthouse. Or tried to. I could hardly walk, the vodka fucking me over. I can’t go back to those places. No. “Ava, stay, please, I’ll do anything.” I race down the stairs, two at a time, forced to hold my limp dick against my thigh as I go. I look up as I reach the bottom, seeing her hand on the doorknob ready to open it. I pick up my pace, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do when I get to her. Force her back upstairs? Manhandle her? Yes, I’ve done it before, but this is different. There is absolutely no element of fun here, which has always seen me through those moments of conflict. This is serious. More than serious. She’s leaving me.