Then You Saw Me by Carrie Aarons
35
Austin
There is an atomic bomb-sized mushroom cloud of gloom shrouding the house.
Callum is currently on the second floor, packing up his room to move out. Taya and I may be unofficially avoiding each other, but I’ve overheard from conversations and pretty much everyone else that he broke up with Bevan. Apparently, this happens a lot, but him moving out is a fresh hell.
You can feel the sadness looming over every plank and board of this home, and even though I’m in love purgatory, I feel for them. They seemed like they were end game for each other, and now it feels like they’re truly over. I can’t imagine the kind of toll that takes on a person. I can barely eat and sleep with how upset I am that Taya and I are probably done, and we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months. Callum and Bevan have spent a damn near lifetime together compared to us.
A knock comes on the attic door, and I call for whoever it is to come in. I’ve been up here for hours, finalizing the last paper I will ever turn in as a college student. It seems surreal that this part of my life is just about over, and I’ll be moving on to the real world. When you first enter college, you think of this chapter as being so far away. Suddenly, it’s here, and I’m both excited and terrified.
At first, I’m expecting the guest to be Callum, possibly saying goodbye, but instead, Taya opens the door.
She ducks inside, shuffling her feet and looking nervous. It’s been a couple days since we’ve truly talked to each other, and there is some unspoken agreement that we’d stop sleeping in each other’s bed. It’s as if we’re dismantling our relationship piece by piece so it hurts less, but it still feels like someone is stabbing me in the heart every other second.
She’s as beautiful as always, and I remember the first time I ever saw her in the house. The same shy smile parts her lips, as if there is a secret language she speaks that only I might know; we just haven’t shared it yet. Her velvet smooth skin is on display in a white sweatshirt material romper, her arms bare, and the top of her breasts just peeking out of the top. Those long, luscious legs go on for miles, and I wish like hell I could just walk over to her and wrap them around my waist. All of her mocha curls are tied up in some white ribbon at the nape of her neck, and she looks both like the girl-next-door and some kind of porn fantasy come to life.
On the outside, she’s relaxed and in home-mode. But anyone who knows her can read the anxiety and tension vibrating through her gorgeous body.
“Hey.” She finally sighs, and just hearing her voice directed at me for the first time in days soothes me a bit.
“Hey. Come, sit.” I pat the bed from where I sit in my desk chair.
Taya hesitates for a second, unsure, but then goes to rest on the very edge, as if she’s scared to sit any farther onto my bed.
There is a beat, and she assesses me with those beautiful hazel eyes, then speaks. “I could come up here and make small talk. We could keep avoiding this. But with what’s happening in the house today, I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t keep acting like this isn’t going on. So … what, um … what is going to happen with us?”
Ah, so she’s finally addressing it. I guess we’re doing this, not skirting around it anymore. Part of me wanted Taya to be the one to bring this up, to show herself and me that if she wants something, she’s going to get it.
I sound like an asshole saying that, but for someone who just told off his entire family to pursue what makes him happy, I need to see that she is also ready to live her life for herself. I only want her to be the best version of herself she can be, and I know she has so much untapped in there that is just waiting to be released.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head because I truly don’t. “I’ve never felt for someone else the things I feel for you. You have to know that. But this move is going to consume me, this job is going to be all-hours, I’m going to push myself so hard …”
“Do I always have to be the one to put myself out there?” She looks up at my ceiling, and I know she’s talking to herself more than I am. “I know it won’t be easy but …”
Is that what she thinks? I could see how the letter makes her feel that way, but my God, I’m the one who went after her. Who had to win her back after I invaded her privacy, after I said dumb shit. In her head, I think Taya still thinks she’s that freshman girl gawking at me instead of the confident, beautiful woman I’ve come to love.
Maybe that’s my fault that she still thinks that. But it would only make this harder if I set the record straight. I need her to hold a little anger toward me, to know that she’s better than what I could give her in these next two years. If that means cutting the chords to my own heart, suffocating my feelings, it’s what I have to do.
“I never want you to settle for less. You deserve all of the attention and … love.” It feels strange to say that word to her when it’s not connected to the other two I feel.
But if I give her those three big words, I’ll want to keep her. Make her mine forever. If we admit we’re in love, the pressure that puts on this, on staying together, on succeeding? We’ll crash and burn so much more epically if it fails.
When she finally connects with my gaze, our eyes locking, I see anger simmering there.
“If I settle for less, because that’s what you’re saying I do in my life … then you know what you do? You’re so fucking scared, checking around every corner, following every rule that a Van Hewitt is supposed to, that you don’t live your life for yourself. It took us weeks of back and forth and miscommunication after you opened that letter, that was private, to actually get our act together because you were so freaked out about being Webton royalty. And now you’ve finally stood up to them and suddenly you’re the poster child for reaching for the stars? Don’t shame me, Austin. I may have a fucked-up family, but at least I put my own needs and wants ahead of theirs, and I always have. Just because I’m not screaming and raging at them doesn’t mean I’m not standing up for myself. I’m here, I’m thriving on my own, and I haven’t forgiven them for what they’ve done. You act like I’m some doormat, when in truth I walk quietly and carry a big stick.”
She’s right, about all of it. My stomach and heart are in my throat, I feel nauseous and broken at the same time. She has every right to call me out, to rage at me. I’ve been distant and complicated for a while now. I just don’t know how to see past it, especially in the state I’m in now with my family.
“You’re absolutely right, you’re not a doormat at all. You’re the strongest, most inquisitive, special woman I’ve ever met.”
“Just not one you think is worth keeping around,” she counters, and I can practically feel the anger buzzing off of her.
“Of course, I want that, of course. It’s just—”
“There is always a ‘just’ with you, isn’t there? And this summer? When we’re both in New York?” She’s furious with me but still wants to make this work.
She’s still willing to put herself on the line, and how the hell could I ever call her meek? How the hell could I think she doesn’t stand up for herself?
She’s a controlled burn, the kind of fire that knows exactly what it wants to accomplish and holds back until it can strike. Only this time, I’m one move ahead of her and won’t let her extinguish herself.
Part of me wants to stop this right now. To punch myself in the fucking face and see what I’m doing to this woman. I already know how fucking dumb I am to let her go, but I can’t hold her back. She deserves the most epic kind of love, and I’m not sure I can give that to her, knowing what pressures are about to be loaded onto my shoulders. I just got free of my family, it’s selfish, but I don’t know if I can take on a relationship while trying to keep myself afloat in New York with no safety net. It’s not fair to her.
You know that saying? If you love someone, set them free. It’s the hill I’m dying on right now.
“Taya, I just …”
“You can’t even say it, can you? You’re going to make me do it? Coward. We should end this. It’s done.” Taya nods, like she’s trying to convince herself and then stands.
It’s not when she firmly shuts my door without another word that I know I made a mistake. I knew that a week ago, when the distance started. I know I’ll regret this for a long time. Maybe forever.
I love her. We’re in love, though neither of us has said it. And we can’t do a damn thing about it. There isn’t a name to what’s keeping us apart or some tangible reason. It just … is. And sometimes, that’s the only way to explain things.
But if it means she gets to move on, to fall in love with someone who isn’t as fucked up as I am and doesn’t need to work through shit, then I can take it.
Even if my heart is a bloody, mangled mess.