The Things He Can't Be
He stood, staring out into the pitch black night. His mind was somewhere else, as was often the case anymore. His thoughts stretched out into the night, rolling from one thing to the next as if free from the constraints of logic and time. These were the moments he felt most at peace. When he let go and nothing mattered.
He felt more than heard her come in. The air shifted with the addition of her. He knew the feel of her presence well; it had been the only thing that had mattered to him for four years. In the early days he had memorized it, knowing the shift in the air, the smell of her perfume sifting through the stale, stagnant air, the sound of her footsteps on the hard cement, the sight of her dark, shiny hair framing her pale face. Her presence brought hope then.
He heard the click-clack of her heels on the hardwood floor. Still he gazed, longing to be left at peace for a few more beautiful moments before being brought back down to earth again.
He felt her hand gently rest on his shoulder. She knew how to bring him back. She was the only one who understood of the effects of disrupting his peace with a jolt back to reality. Only she knew the pure unbridled rage that lay in wait underneath the surface of his focused exterior. He took solace in her gentle understanding.
His eyes closed as he refocused his mind on the present moment. He turned to face her, expecting her stern, yet comforting demeanor to wash over him as it always did.
Instead, he was met with the heavy smell of alcohol and a bright, flirtatious smile. Her eyes glistened with laughter, but he detected a glint of pain not far beneath the surface.
“Constance, have you been drinking?” He began, quirking a smile of his own, attempting to match her demeanor. He was still re-learning the art of social interaction, but he had learned that matching the affect of the other person was the most successful way to begin.
“Well hello to you too,” she said sarcastically, steadying herself by using his shoulder while shifting her weight to remove her heels. She stumbled a little and he reached out a hand to steady her elbow. “If you must know yes, and I took a cab so you don’t have to arrest me for driving while intoxicated.” She giggled slightly at this last bit. Charlie’s smile grew. In the four years he had known her, he had never seen her drunk.
“I came because I have something exciting to show you,” she said stumbling over to where she had dropped her bag by the door. Charlie watched her amused, though somewhat wary of her presence.
The other thing about her presence was the danger that accompanied it. In the past four years, she had been the one and only in his life. The only thing that mattered. She was the one who had saved him. She hadn’t just saved him from prison; she had saved him from himself. She had seen parts of him that he had never revealed to anyone. She saw the despair and what it had done to him; how it had ripped him apart. Slowly, she had put him back together, helping him face the pain he tried even now to hide behind his charm and wit.
But through all of this, he had consumed her life too. She took him home at the end of day, couldn’t separate herself from him. It was as if they were one, journeying through hell and back to achieve the peace and freedom he deserved. Even when he had turned his back on her, she was there, pushing him, forcing him on. When she lost hope, he comforted her praising her strength and her perseverance. Through it all, she had come to love him unlike anyone ever had, or ever would love him. She had seen the deepest darkest parts of him, and had stayed by his side. He had seen her at her worst moments of self-loathing and had carried her through with compassion he didn’t even know existed in his own soul. Together they had made each other the best version of themselves. Now that he was free, there was inexorable danger in their utopian ideals of each other and themselves.
Her presence brought with it an almost unendurable temptation to throw himself into being completely hers. To focusing all his energy on her life. But he was not strong enough for that; neither was she. The intensity would destroy them. But it was that intensity which brought them together, each time making it harder and harder to resist.
He refocused his thoughts on the present moment, turning to face her as she pulled a large envelope out of her bag. Charlie recognized that envelope. Not that envelope specifically, but that kind of envelope. It was the kind of envelope that held legal documents. He hated those envelopes. Even the one that bore his declaration of freedom he hated, though he could never quite name why.
She pulled out the contents and meandered back over to where he stood silently.
“See, I got these in the mail today,” she held up the large, legal sized pages. After a moments glance Charlie knew exactly what they were. They were divorce papers. His eyes darted to her face, swiftly reading the masked pain of failure hiding behind her smile.
“I got them this afternoon, and I wanted to celebrate!” she said throwing her arms in the air and teetering slightly. He again reached out an arm to steady her as another fit of giggles overcame her. He was pretty sure that celebrating was not where this night had begun.
“Charlie, don’t you get it?” she asked, as he frowned slightly, “My husband wants a divorce, which means I’m free,” she finished with a whisper. She smiled and winked at him. He didn’t return her smile. He knew the pain of rejection and failure that accompanied receiving unexpected divorce papers. She was hiding behind the thin veil of alcohol and feigned joy, but he knew her anguish better than she did.
Instead of speaking, he placed a hand on her upper arm comfortingly. Her eyes met his deep penetrating gaze, and she blushed slightly as she often did when he looked at her so intently. When she placed a hand on his chest it was as if a bolt of electricity shot through him. This was the danger, the pure, unbridled danger. He tried to stay in the moment, to focus on her despair, on the reason for her visit, but her presence was intoxicating.
As she leaned in he felt himself suddenly powerless to stop her. Her hand snaked up around his neck and he felt his eyes close without his bidding. His senses were heightened, taking control over his mind, his logic. Her lips met his lightly and the pure intensity overcame him. It was like an explosion of light and electricity pulsing through his body. She deepened the kiss, clearly sensing the control she had over him. Her mouth was soft, gentle, just like she was. She tasted like wine and chocolate, two of her favorite things. He wanted, needed to know more about this woman who he loved with more ferocity and passion than he ever thought possible.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, his logic regained its foothold. This wasn’t right. They would both come to regret this if it went any further. She was drunk and helpless and taking advantage of her hold over him. Though so often in their relationship, she had been the logical one, he knew in this moment that job fell to him. Soon he regained control of his body and pulled away from her gently, though firmly.
Her eyes fluttered open, somewhat taken off guard by the abruptness of his pulling away from her. He saw so much swimming in her eyes it was almost overwhelming. He was sure his eyes reflected the same. He rested his head gently on her forehead, closing his eyes, breathing deeply. Her scent surrounded him, threatened to drag him under the raging, uncontrolled waters of his passion, but he focused his mind, his will.
He searched for the words to tell her what he felt, how dangerous it all was. But the only words that came to him were the ones he had uttered to her many times before.
“You know I can’t do this,” he whispered, filling the space between them.
But the reason behind his words had changed. Before when she had pushed him, he had used her husband as a shield. He had convinced himself that he could never, would never, be the man that destroyed her marriage. He wouldn’t be the man who caused another man pain and despair, as had been done to him. He would be better than that, even if it meant sacrificing what he, what they, wanted.
But now, the real reason for his hesitancy was unabashedly splayed out for all to see. He couldn’t do this. He, Charlie Crews, couldn’t survive it. And he knew it. There was too much that he carried with him that he had to face alone. She had carried him this far, but now he journeyed alone to find peace. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t drag her through the mud of his self-loathing and pity, through the murky waters of desperation to know what happened twelve years ago. She would hate him for it. And he would hate himself.
He couldn’t do this. Not now. Maybe not ever. He hoped she would someday understand.
He expected a fight; words of anger and frustration uttered into this increasingly hapless night. Instead she just sighed resignedly. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “I shouldn’t have…” she broke off, looking down at the papers still clutched in her hand between them, “I just needed…” she trailed off again. When she raised her eyes to his again, he could see tears threatening to crash down over the threshold of her eyelids and canvass their way down her pale cheeks. She shook her head and laughed mirthlessly, attempting to contain her tears.
Instinctively, he pulled her into his arms and whispered into her ear “It’s gonna be okay.” One hand traced soft, soothing circles on her back, the other cradled her head gently, stroking her long dark hair.
He felt the tension slip from her body; she became almost limp in his arms. He held her tight, holding her up as she clung to the front of his shirt, the tears beginning now.
END
He felt more than heard her come in. The air shifted with the addition of her. He knew the feel of her presence well; it had been the only thing that had mattered to him for four years. In the early days he had memorized it, knowing the shift in the air, the smell of her perfume sifting through the stale, stagnant air, the sound of her footsteps on the hard cement, the sight of her dark, shiny hair framing her pale face. Her presence brought hope then.
He heard the click-clack of her heels on the hardwood floor. Still he gazed, longing to be left at peace for a few more beautiful moments before being brought back down to earth again.
He felt her hand gently rest on his shoulder. She knew how to bring him back. She was the only one who understood of the effects of disrupting his peace with a jolt back to reality. Only she knew the pure unbridled rage that lay in wait underneath the surface of his focused exterior. He took solace in her gentle understanding.
His eyes closed as he refocused his mind on the present moment. He turned to face her, expecting her stern, yet comforting demeanor to wash over him as it always did.
Instead, he was met with the heavy smell of alcohol and a bright, flirtatious smile. Her eyes glistened with laughter, but he detected a glint of pain not far beneath the surface.
“Constance, have you been drinking?” He began, quirking a smile of his own, attempting to match her demeanor. He was still re-learning the art of social interaction, but he had learned that matching the affect of the other person was the most successful way to begin.
“Well hello to you too,” she said sarcastically, steadying herself by using his shoulder while shifting her weight to remove her heels. She stumbled a little and he reached out a hand to steady her elbow. “If you must know yes, and I took a cab so you don’t have to arrest me for driving while intoxicated.” She giggled slightly at this last bit. Charlie’s smile grew. In the four years he had known her, he had never seen her drunk.
“I came because I have something exciting to show you,” she said stumbling over to where she had dropped her bag by the door. Charlie watched her amused, though somewhat wary of her presence.
The other thing about her presence was the danger that accompanied it. In the past four years, she had been the one and only in his life. The only thing that mattered. She was the one who had saved him. She hadn’t just saved him from prison; she had saved him from himself. She had seen parts of him that he had never revealed to anyone. She saw the despair and what it had done to him; how it had ripped him apart. Slowly, she had put him back together, helping him face the pain he tried even now to hide behind his charm and wit.
But through all of this, he had consumed her life too. She took him home at the end of day, couldn’t separate herself from him. It was as if they were one, journeying through hell and back to achieve the peace and freedom he deserved. Even when he had turned his back on her, she was there, pushing him, forcing him on. When she lost hope, he comforted her praising her strength and her perseverance. Through it all, she had come to love him unlike anyone ever had, or ever would love him. She had seen the deepest darkest parts of him, and had stayed by his side. He had seen her at her worst moments of self-loathing and had carried her through with compassion he didn’t even know existed in his own soul. Together they had made each other the best version of themselves. Now that he was free, there was inexorable danger in their utopian ideals of each other and themselves.
Her presence brought with it an almost unendurable temptation to throw himself into being completely hers. To focusing all his energy on her life. But he was not strong enough for that; neither was she. The intensity would destroy them. But it was that intensity which brought them together, each time making it harder and harder to resist.
He refocused his thoughts on the present moment, turning to face her as she pulled a large envelope out of her bag. Charlie recognized that envelope. Not that envelope specifically, but that kind of envelope. It was the kind of envelope that held legal documents. He hated those envelopes. Even the one that bore his declaration of freedom he hated, though he could never quite name why.
She pulled out the contents and meandered back over to where he stood silently.
“See, I got these in the mail today,” she held up the large, legal sized pages. After a moments glance Charlie knew exactly what they were. They were divorce papers. His eyes darted to her face, swiftly reading the masked pain of failure hiding behind her smile.
“I got them this afternoon, and I wanted to celebrate!” she said throwing her arms in the air and teetering slightly. He again reached out an arm to steady her as another fit of giggles overcame her. He was pretty sure that celebrating was not where this night had begun.
“Charlie, don’t you get it?” she asked, as he frowned slightly, “My husband wants a divorce, which means I’m free,” she finished with a whisper. She smiled and winked at him. He didn’t return her smile. He knew the pain of rejection and failure that accompanied receiving unexpected divorce papers. She was hiding behind the thin veil of alcohol and feigned joy, but he knew her anguish better than she did.
Instead of speaking, he placed a hand on her upper arm comfortingly. Her eyes met his deep penetrating gaze, and she blushed slightly as she often did when he looked at her so intently. When she placed a hand on his chest it was as if a bolt of electricity shot through him. This was the danger, the pure, unbridled danger. He tried to stay in the moment, to focus on her despair, on the reason for her visit, but her presence was intoxicating.
As she leaned in he felt himself suddenly powerless to stop her. Her hand snaked up around his neck and he felt his eyes close without his bidding. His senses were heightened, taking control over his mind, his logic. Her lips met his lightly and the pure intensity overcame him. It was like an explosion of light and electricity pulsing through his body. She deepened the kiss, clearly sensing the control she had over him. Her mouth was soft, gentle, just like she was. She tasted like wine and chocolate, two of her favorite things. He wanted, needed to know more about this woman who he loved with more ferocity and passion than he ever thought possible.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, his logic regained its foothold. This wasn’t right. They would both come to regret this if it went any further. She was drunk and helpless and taking advantage of her hold over him. Though so often in their relationship, she had been the logical one, he knew in this moment that job fell to him. Soon he regained control of his body and pulled away from her gently, though firmly.
Her eyes fluttered open, somewhat taken off guard by the abruptness of his pulling away from her. He saw so much swimming in her eyes it was almost overwhelming. He was sure his eyes reflected the same. He rested his head gently on her forehead, closing his eyes, breathing deeply. Her scent surrounded him, threatened to drag him under the raging, uncontrolled waters of his passion, but he focused his mind, his will.
He searched for the words to tell her what he felt, how dangerous it all was. But the only words that came to him were the ones he had uttered to her many times before.
“You know I can’t do this,” he whispered, filling the space between them.
But the reason behind his words had changed. Before when she had pushed him, he had used her husband as a shield. He had convinced himself that he could never, would never, be the man that destroyed her marriage. He wouldn’t be the man who caused another man pain and despair, as had been done to him. He would be better than that, even if it meant sacrificing what he, what they, wanted.
But now, the real reason for his hesitancy was unabashedly splayed out for all to see. He couldn’t do this. He, Charlie Crews, couldn’t survive it. And he knew it. There was too much that he carried with him that he had to face alone. She had carried him this far, but now he journeyed alone to find peace. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t drag her through the mud of his self-loathing and pity, through the murky waters of desperation to know what happened twelve years ago. She would hate him for it. And he would hate himself.
He couldn’t do this. Not now. Maybe not ever. He hoped she would someday understand.
He expected a fight; words of anger and frustration uttered into this increasingly hapless night. Instead she just sighed resignedly. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “I shouldn’t have…” she broke off, looking down at the papers still clutched in her hand between them, “I just needed…” she trailed off again. When she raised her eyes to his again, he could see tears threatening to crash down over the threshold of her eyelids and canvass their way down her pale cheeks. She shook her head and laughed mirthlessly, attempting to contain her tears.
Instinctively, he pulled her into his arms and whispered into her ear “It’s gonna be okay.” One hand traced soft, soothing circles on her back, the other cradled her head gently, stroking her long dark hair.
He felt the tension slip from her body; she became almost limp in his arms. He held her tight, holding her up as she clung to the front of his shirt, the tears beginning now.
END