This Is Me (Cover Girlfriend, Book Three)

Episode Twenty-Three

Terri

I know it’s Lincoln that chases me long before I see him.  Mostly because I doubt Mr. Rickerts is allowed upstairs; partially because I don’t believe he cares if I’m here, so long as he gets to spend time with my ex.

Everywhere I look is filled with memories, though I’m grateful to see the upstairs (our home) free of the dust that coated it like layers of my own abandonment the last time I was here.
 
“Cleaned it up for you.  Like I said,” behind me when I reach the far end.  I ignore him to enter the bedroom we’d once shared night after night; month after year.

I just can’t with him.  Them.

Too hurt - gut deep and visceral - to care about the words that fall from my lips, “Go fuck yourself.  Or your boyfriend.  We both know I’m just a third fucking wheel on a bicycle built for two.”

I don’t even try to stop the tears from falling as I sit myself on the bed; glare at him so he can witness my anger; my pain.

He glances away with guilt; his posture changes from relaxed to almost submissive.

“Terri-”

“No.”  Because I’m not about to let him go on in that tone.  “You don’t get to do this.  I’m allowed my fucking pain.  Just.”

In this moment I hate him as much as I love him.

“Just go and be with your man.”  Completely defeated.

Except.

He walks over to me, sits beside me, and takes me in his arms.

Then the bastard whispers into my ear, “You’ll always be my man.  Even if you’re some kind of bitch now.”

And I can’t take it.  I grasp him; cling and fall apart in the arms of the only person I’ve ever truly loved.  Contemplated giving up my dreams of womanhood for.

God love him, he holds me.  Allows me to weep against his shoulder; wraps his arms around me and whispers words neither of us really hear, but both understand.

When I finally raise my head to look into his eyes, I feel a fool drowning in the darkness that still consumes me.  Though this time they aren’t filled with the familiar longing and caution I’m used to.  No, they gaze at me with a compassionate understanding that almost leads me back to tears.

“I’m sorry,” forces itself past my lips.

“Shh,” whispers back; arms tightening just a bit.  “I forgave you months ago, Darling.”

He continues quietly before I can respond.

“For a long time, I didn’t.  I just hated you; what you did.  You gave me no reason, and I didn’t understand.”  He pauses before admitting, “I thought I’d done something wrong.  That it was my fault-”

I cut him off, because I can’t listen anymore, “Stop.  It was never you.”

He drops his arms; leaves a chill behind as his hands fold over his knees.  “I know that, now.  Figured it out myself when I saw you in Italy.”  He stares into my eyes, “But that doesn’t erase the fact that for years, I had no clue.  You gave me nothing but a goodbye, and Zippers.”

Pain richochette’s like a bullet, and my insides crumble.

“You have to understand,” I attempt to defend myself, soft and low as I gaze at my own hands, twisted in my lap.  “I had to be who I am.  And.”  I force myself to keep going.  “I knew we’d end up hating each other if I didn’t leave to be me.  I just couldn’t tell you.  Fuck, I thought you understood.”