Page 29 of Succour

Chapter 28

Ben, May 22

“This is wrong.” Liz’s beautiful face is scrunched into my shoulder so I’m not sure I hear her correctly. I pull back a little, reluctantly.

“What?”

“This is wrong.”

Yeah, that’s what I thought she said.

She pulls away, frantically wiping at her tear-stained face. “I have a boyfriend.” She shoots me an accusatory glance. “Remember?”

No. I don’t remember. I don’t know if you called him. How the hell could I know that?

Then it lands. The word I didn’t hear before, didn’t want to hear, doesn’t forgive me now. “Boyfriend.”

The one I practically shoved her into calling. The one I told myself would be better for her. The one I pretended to want for her — until I saw her tonight.

“I can’t be here with you,” she continues.

For a second, I just stare at her, my chest aching. I hadn’t come here to steal her away. I hadn’t come here to ruin anything. I’d only come because seeing her cry gutted me. Because I still love her and couldn’t let her sit in the dark, broken. And now, somehow, that’s not enough.

“Okay.” The word scrapes out of me quieter than I mean it to, ragged. My hands go up in front of me, surrender. But inside, everything is splintering.

“Can you please shut the door so I can go home?” She points to the driver’s side, the one I’m kneeling in front of.

For a moment, I can’t even move. My knees feel rooted to the asphalt, like the ground itself is holding me there in humiliation. I force myself to stand, because what else can I do?

“Yes,” I manage, though my throat burns with the effort.

She backs out of the spot. Stupidly, I almost wave. I actually have to clench my fist against my side to stop myself, because waving feels pathetic, desperate, and that’s the last thing I want her to see. Still, as her taillights disappear into the night, I feel like I’ve just lost her all over again.

Chapter 29

Liz, May 22

At home, I throw my keys across my living room as soon as I’ve crossed the threshold. I am so utterly confused I don’t even know where to begin. This is why I have always avoided feelings and relationships. What a mess.

My eyes catch on a yellow legal pad sitting atop my coffee table. I drop to the floor and grab a nearby pen. I quickly scratch out “Matt” and “Ben” across the header and split the page in two columns. I try not to notice the symbolism of splitting that paper, though it stings.

Now, focus. I need to think honestly about these two gentlemen. What are the reasons why I should be with Matt? “Lives close,” I write as I say it aloud. “Cares about me, plays hockey, is fun, makes good money.” I stop. Am I really that materialistic? I cross out the last one.

Alright, Ben. “Caring,” I begin writing. “Funny, sexy, listens.” As I keep writing, my brain is flying. I’m remembering all our great conversations and how much I adored talking to him. “Easy to talk to” makes the list. The list is easier for Ben; I feel like I could write all day. But I stop, pen hovering, and sigh.

I notice the echo: I’m doing exactly what Ben did. He walked away for me, thinking it was best. And now I’m forcing myself to be practical, to protect my own heart — even though every fiber of me wants him. I circle “lives close” and add “is already mine” to Matt’s list. My chest tightens. I can feel the ache in my stomach, but I convince myself it’s the right choice.

Sadness washes over me. I feel like such a bitch. Here I am, unbeknownst to the two men I am writing about, still torn between them. I am shocked by how unfeeling I am at this moment. Matt is here, pouring out his heart to me daily and spending time with me. Ben is home, in London, being irrationally selfish in a way that makes my chest ache.

This is not a contest. I suddenly can’t believe I ever thought it was.

I pause, staring at the list, letting the truth settle. I can’t see it being worth the fight with Ben. I can’t risk the heartbreak it would bring, even though I know it would be electric, alive, real. I have to step back because I can’t see the outcome being worth the pain.

Grabbing the pen again, I circle “lives close” and reinforce “is already mine” for Matt. Then, confident, or at least resigned, that I have finally realized what is right in front of me, I head to bed. For the first time in a few months, I think I’ll sleep. But the ache in my chest reminds me that some choices are never easy, even when they’re practical.

Chapter 30

Ben, May 23