I want to get be mad at him and say he’s being dramatic. But really I know that he must really have meant it when he said he loved me, because only people you care for deeply can hurt you that badly.
The more you love someone, the deeper the wound. I don’t like making anyone feel bad about anything. Knowing I said things that hurt Ben’s heart kills me and makes me feel no better than Mindy fucking Abraham.
I get into my car and put my head in my hands. It’s hot in here, and I can hardly breathe. I need to turn the air on, open the windows … something. But I’m a glutton for punishment right now, punishment I deserve.
My phone rings and you’d think I had three seconds left to cut the wire on a bomb for how fast I dig that sucker out of my purse. It’s not Ben. It’s Erin, and I don’t want to answer. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her, but I don’t want to tell her about Ben and start crying again. Because I know I will.
I feel guilty as I ignore the call. I start the car and tell myself I’ll call her when I get home, where I can ugly cry my heart out in the privacy of my own home. I keep my phone on my lap in case Ben decides to get a hold of me.
He doesn’t.
Not on the way home, not throughout dinner, not even during the four hours I marathon watched Doctor Who, eating ice cream and feeling sorry for myself. I’m holding onto hope, but that hope is slipping away.
By the time I should get ready for bed, I call Erin.
“Hey, lady,” she says, upbeat as usual. “Just wanted to make sure you got home and everything okay. You didn’t log on to any of your accounts last night.”
I close my eyes. “I know. I did make it home.”
“Uh, but everything isn’t okay?”
“No, it’s not.” Then I start crying, and tell her about the stupid fight and how I said things I shouldn’t have because I have no filter and don’t know how to stop myself when I get started. “I ruined everything,” I sob, wiping my eyes. I tuck my legs underneath myself and lean back on the couch. Ser Pouch sits next to me, offering me what little comfort his asshole self can.
“No, you didn’t,” Erin assures me. “You got in a fight. It happens. Do you know how many time Dave and I got into fights? If you do, tell me, because I lost track a long time ago. People fight, Lissy, it happens. What happens next determines your fate. Tell him you’re sorry and explain that the word vomit is a result of being insecure. I think he’ll understand.”
My eyes are puffy from crying. I blink a few times and take a shaky breath. “I don’t think Ben knows how insecure I am, and I think once he does he won’t feel the same, well the same like he did before the fight. I will apologize the first chance I get but I have a feeling explaining why I said what I did won’t help.”
“I disagree. He said he loved you. I’m sure he still does. You don’t just stop loving someone. Falling out of love isn’t really a decision. It just happens, and it usually happens gradually. Call him. Go to him, just talk to him.”
“I’ll call,” I say and feel nervous about it already. “I just want things to go back to how they are.”
“People fight. People make up. Then they come out stronger in the end.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not easy, hun,” she tells me. “Nothing about relationships are easy, really. They take work. Hang up and call him.”
“Okay. I will.”
“Good. Love you, Lissy. Call me if you need me, anytime.”
“I know. And thanks, Erin.” We hang up and I decide I need to clear my head and mentally go over what I’m going to say to Ben. I get in the shower, make my lunch for tomorrow, and settle into bed. I have 2% left on my phone. Heaving a sigh, I get out of bed to retrieve my charger, then plug in my phone before laying back down, intending on getting up in a half hour or so to call him.
I end up dozing off, my thoughts on the good times I had with Ben over the weekend. I don’t want to wake up and step out of my dreamy mind. When I wake up, it’s one AM an too late to call. I’m relieved, actually. It’s one more day that I can hold onto the false hope.
*
I’m calling Ben after work today. I have to. I didn’t yesterday, and there is no more putting it off. Tuesday actually goes by fast, as the dread of being hung up on or told to get lost haunts me. I run through everything and decide the best is him saying it’s okay, he forgives my stupid mouth, and wants to see me tonight. We have mind-blowing sex and things are fine.
The worst. Well, I can’t really decide. The worst involves him telling me he never wants to see me again in some sense. The words that surround it will determine how much wine I need to buy on the way home.
I feel bad but avoid Cameron. He has to know something is up because I’ve been quiet, and didn’t sneak any extra donuts throughout the day. I pretend like I leave for lunch but really take my egg salad sandwich and apple slices into my car and eat while listening to upbeat music to keep my mood in check.
I get back to my desk and go over an email sent to me from the owners of the wedding dress shop. They want customer photos included, and I glower at the happy faces and kissing couples.
Ah, fuck. I need to tell my brother I don’t have a date to the wedding, though by now they’ve turned in the number to the caterer. Erin is already invited and RSVP’d for herself and David, so I can’t take her as my plus one. Danielle is so anal about everything I’m sure I’ll get an earful about the wasted plate later. Hell, if it’s that big of a deal, I’ll eat two meals.
I take my time finishing up for the day, giving time for the parking lot to mostly clear. I parked in the back, facing the street so if I break down, it’s possible no one will see me before I make my getaway.
My heart is racing as I walk out. Clouds rolled over the bright sun and the air is humid. I drop my keys I’m shaking so badly. I pick them up, close my eyes, and take a breath. I can do this. I can do it for Ben. For us.
I toss my purse into the back and sit in the driver’s seat. I crank the AC, turn the radio off, and get out my phone. My fingers tremble as I pull up Ben’s number. Without giving myself a second to hesitate, I press on his name.
I put the phone to my ear and swallow the lump in my throat. The phone rings and rings. He’s not going to answer. I get his voicemail, and hearing his voice, even though it’s recorded, hits me in the face and I miss him so much.
“Ben,” I say. “It’s me, Felicity. Ben I’m … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m not the girl who’s used to having someone amazing like you like me, and I panicked. I convinced myself you were going to leave me, that you really didn’t like me to protect myself and I’m such an idiot. Ben, please know I’m so so sorry. It might not make sense, I know, but I pushed you away to keep myself safe and in the end I hurt us both.”
I’m rambling and repeating myself and need to stop before I dig a second grave. I take a second to breathe. “Ben, I don’t just think I love you. I know I do.”
I close my eyes and tears stream down my face. I end the call and let the phone fall to my lap. I put both hands on the steering wheel and pitch forward, allowing myself to cry for a moment before starting the engine and driving home. I finish my one bottle of wine that I had left before dinner and regret not going to the store to get more on my way home from work.
Oh well. I’ll get it tomorrow. I keep my phone on me, ringer up as loud as it can, and work on my Comic Con costume until 1 AM.
Ben never calls.
After saying what I said on the message, I don’t know what else to do, how else to prove to him I’m sorry and that I want to be with him. I’m exhausted when I get out of the shower and get under the covers. I lie away for an hour, a sick feeling of regret replacing any and all hope that I had left in me.