The Fear of Falling

Chapter Forty Five

Silence rang in my ears. The dark and seemingly empty apartment left me with little distraction from my racing thoughts. Headlights from cars passing outside my window served as my only light, reducing the chances of my stress headache returning full force.

Who would've known that falling in love with your roommate would leave you completely and utterly heartbroken in six months or less?

Oh, wait.

Just about anyone, ever.

I sighed, sick and tired of mulling over my romantic shortcomings while staring at the ceiling fan. It had been hours since I crept in and hours since I realized Gavin had no intention of leaving the sanctity of his bedroom.

Why would he?

All the film under his door proved was that I was negligent in caring for his tasteful nudes in the first place. I'd racked my memory, tearing apart the little moments that made up the day I developed the film.

Did they fall out of my bag?

I saw them on my desk.

How did Mac-

I groaned, unable to fall down the rabbit hole again.

So, at three a.m. I snuck out of my room and shuffled into the kitchen for a midnight snack. Unfortunately, Honey Nut Cheerios could only do so much for a shattered mental state.

While my stomach was pleased, I was not.

I was hunched over a bowl, trying not to dwell on my misgivings, when Gavin's door creaked open. I kept my head down, pretending, for some stupid reason, that I didn't want to talk to him.

He leaned on the kitchen doorframe, watching me act like my cereal was more interesting than he was.

Eventually, I caved. "How was the meeting?" I asked, desperate for good news. But the question came out softer than I intended, weaker.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

"They promoted me," he said with a shy smile.

I nodded, still stirring around the floating o's. "I'm proud of you."

"Yeah," was all he could muster out in response.

We had come so far from the days he'd eat me out on the counter while our pancakes sizzled on the stove. I blinked away the liquid memories forming in my eyes and set my bowl in the empty sink.

Three seconds into the conversation I had been yearning for all night, and I fled. I was halfway across the living room when Gavin grabbed my arm.

"Megs," he said, loosening his grip, "Can we talk?"

His touch reminded me of everything we almost had, everything I wanted. If I hadn't lost the film, would we be planning Spring Break vacations and Star Wars movie marathons?

I swallowed the sob forming in my throat. "Let go," I said, my voice tired, and broken, "I just need you to let me go."

His thumb wandered over my skin, "Don't make me."

"We don't have a choice." We never did, right?

All the fantasizing in the world couldn't rewrite the fact that our relationship never stood a snowball's chance in hell of surviving the hostile environment that was our shared stubbornness.

Crawling in bed, burying myself in the covers, and crying until my lungs gave out was the only rational option, but Gavin wouldn't let me leave with my dignity intact.