𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 ME|| 𝐓IMOTHÉE 𝐂HALAMET

19 || you're here for me

A couple of days later and there I was running down my apartment stairs into such a wonderful mans arms. He smothered me in kisses and his hands all over my body. 

I giggled into his mouth and tipped my head to the side. "What was that for?" I asked.

"Because I've miss you and because you're mine." I began to skip ahead a little and laughed.

"No I'm not Timothée." I sung out. Teasing.

He turned me to him abruptly. His eyes searching for answers in mine. Both of his hands held my face, cradling my neck. 

He said nothing and began to walk away.

I called after him but he didn't turn around until I called one last time. "Timothée what the fuck just happened? What's going on?" 

I chased after him and then he whipped himself around. His face hard and cold. A rogue curl had fell forward and I tried to brush it away but Timothée swiped my hand away. 

The rejection stung.

"I could ask you the same thing Cara." 

His voice was vicious. It cut me in half.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked pleading with him.

"It means I saw that you've been texting that fucking Italian guy." 

Jealousy tore his face apart into a twisted version of himself. He looked unrecognisable.

"Cam?"

"Yeah whatever the fuck his name is!" He yelled out, people were turning to watch us. 

I could see recognition slowly seeping into some strangers faces.

"I'm not having this conversation here." I hissed gesturing to people watching us.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me back to my apartment entrance. His eyes had no hope left in them. His hair was a mess. 

He was raking his hands through it like a maniac.

"So why Cara, are you here, in my hometown with me, texting the guy you were fucking before me when you're supposed to be meeting my mum tomorrow? You are here for me, Cara. This is meant to be for ..." 

He drifted off and huffed. Frustration seeped out of his body language.

"What the fuck are you doing man?" He pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a headache.

The conversation was escalating so quickly I felt dizzy and my stomach was in knots. 

Already an impending feeling of inevitability about the result of this conversation was settling in the pit of my stomach, the anticipation breaking my heart slowly. 

Torturing me.

"Everything was fine a second ago. I'm so confused. Why didn't you talk to me about this earlier?" Tears were beginning to well in my eyes.

"No, you answer my question what are you doing Cara?" His voice was so hateful and bitter, I never thought he would have been able to talk in such a way, especially not with me. 

I never thought he would have done that.

I tried to blink my eyes and keep the tears in. I didn't want to look weak. 

"He messaged me asking to talk and I called him, because I have the fucking decency to end things when they're done, and told him I was interested in somebody else. Because I'm not a coward." My anger was boiling back at him.

"What are you on about?" He asked a little dumbfounded that I was rising to his rage.

Confusion can very easily digress into anger.

"What are you doing Timothée? Why are you so angry at me, when we both know ..." 

I was not going to say what had just come to mind, "no, that doesn't matter. Why are you so angry?"

"Because why are you telling our close friends we're not together, like you just said that to my face - like we're - we're nothing." He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Well it's kind of hard to give them an answer when I don't have one myself." Tears of rage were pouring out of me. I was beyond humiliated at my inability to hide my emotions.

"What?"

"You've never asked me! You never asked me to be with you, ever, you avoid being seen with me. I feel like your secret." I gestured wildly.

"That was for you! I did that for you!" He gestured back at me aggressively. I flinched and took a step up the stairs. 

"I didn't want you to have a fucking panic attack again, I wanted to protect you." 

His voice sounded like such a strange mix of anger and pain.

"I don't need you to protect me! What I need is for you to make me feel ..." Loved, I thought. Instead I said, "appreciated. But that's stupid anyway."

"You're the one who never messages me!"

I took a breathe trying to understand what was happening.

"Yeah, because you're achieving so much Timothée, I didn't want to hold you back. I didn't want to suffocate you." I met his eyes. "We live half way across the world from one another Timothée..."

"You said that wouldn't stop this."

"You haven't tried to not stop this from ending, so far you're the one who's put me in this position." 

I tried to control my voice but it didn't come up with much more than a whisper. I took another step away from him.

"What do you mean? Don't you want to be here with me?"

He stepped towards me. I ran my hands over my face, exhausted.

"Of course I do but I want to ..." I paused. " But I need to know why you would want me to stay."

I began up the stairs ready to leave the conversation. 

I could feel sobs being trapped in my chest which I was certain would be released in a few minutes on my bathroom floor.

"So what? You want to be my girlfriend? Is that what this is about?" He asked my back still turned to him.

I turned back to see the man I was so sure that I loved. The man that I hoped might be able to love me too. 

I saw his eyes which once were filled with so much hope they made me feel like I was drinking sherbet just looking at them, I opened my mouth and thought for a second about what might happen if I confessed my feelings to him.

I saw that either way, we couldn't get out of this position. He missed New York, I knew that. I knew he needed to be single. 

I knew I couldn't be his.

I bit my lip and shook my head at myself. 

No, there was no point telling T, he already knew. We both knew that I loved him. 

My pride would take a blow too great if I were to admit and inevitably be rejected. That's what I thought.

That's when I realised ...