The Longest Five Years (Completed)

Reagan, cont.

A/N: Hi, guys! Just a quick note that these next few chapters have a little heavier language/content! 

Present Day

He's here. Staring at me. He's smiling too much.

"You're gorgeous," he says on an exhale, sitting down beside me. "The pink in your cheeks..." the backs of his fingers glide along my cheek. I stay still. "You look...rested...well fucked, if I could guess.." he arches an eyebrow. It sickens me. I'm not in the mood.

"Jesus, Benson," I snap, standing up and he follows immediately. He's so tall I have to look up to meet his eyes, and in them, I see a storm. Sadness. Anger. Jealousy. "How the hell did you even get in here?"

It's too dark in here. Eerie.

"See that window over there?" his thumb points over his shoulder. "Did'ya know that if you wiggle it enough, it just slides right open?" His breath is hot and sour; he's been drinking again. "The one in the room you're staying in, too."

A shiver runs through me, but I do my best to hide it. I keep my poker face. I have to with him.

Benson steps closer, reaching up to stroke my cheek again with the back of his hand. He's always loved doing this. His rings are cold as they brush across my skin. I do my best not to jump, closing my eyes so I don't have to see his.

My phone buzzes in my coat pocket and I pray he doesn't hear it. I want to pull it out. Read it. I want it to be Erin or Luke. I want to be anywhere but here.

"You should probably get that looked at, you know? Strangers can just wander in here at all hours of the night..." He lifts the ends of my hair between his fingers. "And I'd hate to see something happen to you."

I stay still. He breathes on me. It never used to be like this. It didn't get like this til last year.

"You can't do stuff like this, okay?" I move my hair away from his hand and toss it over my other shoulder. "You can't break into my sister's apartment and wait for me. It's creepy. I said I needed time and space. This isn't space, Benson. Ireland is space. An ocean is space," I snap.

"Not enough space when it comes to Luke, apparently. An ocean did nothing but give us lyrics for a hit song. Years away from him did nothing...did they, Reagan?" he asks bluntly and I blink turn away. "And us...our music...our life...it wasn't enough, was it? Can't compare to him? To your husband?"

"Stop. I won't do this right now," I warn him. "You're drunk."

"I'm always drunk. Isn't that one of the reasons you left me?" He tips his head and I shake mine.

"I'll call you a cab and we can talk about this tomorrow," I say, sitting down on the couch.

"But we won't," he shakes his head. "I've been calling you for weeks, and you've just been avoiding. Like you always do. When something turns the wrong way, you run fast and hard in the completely opposite direction," he shouts.

"So I come out here. And I find you. And you promise me we'll talk, but then we never do. So I call Erin and she tells me she won't be home for a few days. And because I don't know what else to do, Reagan," he says my name so slowly it's scary. "I wait. Right here," he points to the ground. "And there," he points to the wall where picture frames have been ripped away and lay shattered on the ground.

He's been waiting here for days. I'm sick.

I look around. How didn't I see it when I came him? A bottle of gin, empty on the ground. A new bottle of Jack, open on the counter...

"I looked out the window, but you never come home. But then tonight, I'm out for a smoke and I see you in his goddamn arms. And the look on your face on the way back to the apartment – that smile, those tears you tried to hide even from yourself – you can never hide them from me. I see right through you. He's like an incurable disease Reagan – you can't shake him. You don't want to..." he cringes.