Page 63 of Beautiful Deceit
I feel a warm palm on my back, and I flinch away from it. I curl into myself. I realize I'm sitting on the sofa I was just leaning over. I don’t know how I got here.
Beau’s deep, low voice counts backwards. The first number I register is one hundred and twenty-four. His tone is even. I take my first deep breath when he says seventy-nine. By the time he's at fifty, I start to sit up. He stops at thirty-three but continues to rub my back in slow steady circles.
Embarrassment hits me. I clear my throat, not sure if I should thank him or how to react in general.
His voice breaks the silence, "How long have you had panic attacks?"
"I don't get them often."
"That's not what I asked Samantha," He says gently.
I hang my head. "About five or six years." I don’t even know why they started. "So, sorry about that." I wave my hand around.
“It’s okay, Samantha. I’ve been there.”
My head tilts, and I look over to him, “You’ve been there, like you’ve had them before?”
His lip lifts at the corner, and his eye scrunches up, “Not something I like to admit, but I’ve had my fair share of anxiety. I don’t like crowds, but it wasn’t always that way. Lauren isn’t the only reason I left California.”
I'm completely unprepared for his response. I’d never have imagined he would have anxiety.
"Beau,I don't have much experience with all this shit, but I'm pretty sure this isn't how it works." He takes a deep breath, preparing to speak. I stop him by holding up my hand. No matter what he's about to say, I don't want to hear it. "I don't think what I want and what you're willing to offer will work, and I don’t think this is good for either of us,” I fidget with the hem of my shirt, looking down at my lap. “I don't think our definitions of what more is are even close to being the same thing, and this whole thing proves I'm not ready to deal with...with...I don't know, people in general. Simple seems to be what works best for me.” My eyes remain fixed on my knees as I finish with, “Beau, this has been anything but simple."
"Can you at least look at me when you tell me to shove off?" he asks sounding a little hurt. I turn my face. As soon as I make eye contact, he places his hand on my cheek. "I'm not willing to give up Samantha. We need to talk about this and figure it out. I'm not walking away because of misunderstandings."
When I open my mouth to respond, he's the one to stop me this time with his finger over my lips.
He breathes, then says, "Let me explain like I should have when you first let me in.” He pulls his hand back but remains looking into my eyes. “I had no idea Tasha would be there. I haven't seen her once since I came here. That’s the truth.” His palm covers his chest as he admits, “She has called me a few times." He looks away from me, the muscle in his jaw flexes, "I talked to her yesterday, and she knew something was up. She kept asking questions, trying to get me to invite her to come out here to be with me. When I blew her off she must have decided to come out anyway."
He's quiet for a few moments, "I knew as soon as I heard her voice I wanted to get you out of there. When she walked out I was shocked. I just stood there." He says like he can't believe his own actions, "I mean, I just stood there?" He shakes his head disbelievingly.
"I don't really need the reminder. I was there," I whisper.
He doesn't say anything else, just continues to stare at me. He hasn't given me any explanation of his actions, and the shit with him and Tasha is just wrong. I know what expectations I should have when it comes to us, but this is all so new to me. I do know I don't like the fact that he was still talking to her while pursuing me.
Knowing he didn't say anything when she called me names hurts, and it’s not even the first time that she questioned him even being attracted to me. The fact that he didn’t respond, hurts more. I don't understand how he can be so assertive one minute and then completely clam up the next.
Tasha was crude with her delivery, but almost all of it was true, and it's not like I don't know I'm on the heavy side. Maybe he didn't say anything to Tasha because there was nothing to say.
"It's late," I finally utter when it doesn't look like he's going to address any of the rest of the garbage that happened. I don't think I'm going to get any of the answers that would have any of this make sense.
I turn my head, stand up, and walk to the door. I turn the handle and pull it open letting him out for the second time tonight, but now I expect him to go. I'm tired of forgiving him and accepting his excuses. He'll continue to treat me how I allow him to, and it stops here.
When he doesn't move I say firmly, "You need to go, please." He finally stands and walks over to the door. I can tell he's reluctant to go. He kisses my temple when he passes. I close and lock the door the moment his feet pass the threshold.
I lean my forehead on the cool surface of the closed door. I blow out a breath, already second guessing my decision to make him leave. Did I want him to fight me to stay? My heart is heavier with him gone. I can’t decipher my own actions and reactions.
Knowing there's little hope of sleeping, I walk to the kitchen and toss my cold coffee down the drain. I head to the bathroom, turning on my radio as I grab a towel. I start the shower, letting the water heat to a scalding temperature.
I brush out my long hair and drop the jeans and shirt I slept in on the floor. My underclothes fall. I stay under the shower head until the water turns my skin pink from the heat. I finally exit the shower with steam surrounding me.
I towel dry my hair and seek out my new fuzzy robe.
I pull it from the dryer that is full of new panties. At least that makes me a little happy.
I moisturize my skin thoroughly and clean my old nail polish off. This familiar routine grounds me.
I step out of the bathroom, intent on making a real cup of coffee. I turn on my larger speakers and plug in my phone. I am about to select a playlist when I hear a gentle tapping near the front door. I look at the clock, seeing over an hour has passed since I kicked him out. There is no other explanation of who else it would be.
