Of All the Things that I Don't Know (Spot Conlon + OC)

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

A silent misery settled in the wake of Spot Conlon's decisive door slam, like a thick, sticky film that no amount of scrubbing would ever be able to remove. And, as the minutes began to pass by, I stood there completely immobilized by the overwhelming emotional exchange that had just taken place between us, barely registering the raised voices outside of my door or Spot's subsequent enraged exit from the lodging house that I had hazily watched through my window afterwards. Yet, in the hours following his absence, I found my body begin to thaw slightly for I could not stop an all too familiar fear from permeating steadily and harshly throughout it, a whisper that I had made an immense, and most likely, irreparable mistake by pushing him away. That I, fueled by my own pride and uncertainties, had needlessly damaged our relationship and any potential future we might have had together. But, truly, once the cruel sentiments had started to spill forth from me, it had been utterly impossible to stop myself from hurling them in his direction.

Spot Conlon had always been a terrifying enigma, but the few things I did know to be true in regards to his reputation had swiftly come crashing down upon me the very moment I had considered sleeping with him. And as I had aggressively stopped the disastrous scene from continuing, I had realized how careless I had been throughout my time in Brooklyn, but especially in the last three weeks of my stay. His arms around my body at night, as well as his even breathing and intoxicating smell had progressed into essential requisites for my peaceful slumber. I found myself unable to contain my awe at his bright eyes and the mesmerizing way his hair glinted gold in the sunlight. But most concerning of all, was the easy way my thoughts quickly extrapolated our future together, like some preposterous fairy tale, with me charading awkwardly around as a mutated princess, while Spot Conlon entered the scene as the misfit, albeit handsome, prince. And, I had allowed this break from reality to persist, even in the face of Spot Conlon's casual history with women, finding myself craving his presence and reveling in his company. But, deep down, I knew as well as any other girl in my situation, that Spot Conlon was a fire I had no skill at containing, therefore only ensuring that I was in constant danger of being burned.

And, really, all of these symptoms culminated into one main theme- I had grown to need Spot Conlon more than I had ever needed anyone before. It had progressed far beyond my original ill-fated interest in him, and I had almost allowed myself to fall into this trap of my own making. For, the only truly dependable trait he had ever been able to ensure for any woman in his life was that he was anything but monogamously devoted. I had again mistaken his kindness and his loyalty as some type of romantic fidelity to me when he had made no such indications himself. And after pushing and throwing everything I had at him several hours prior, I had finally reminded myself of the true nature of our relationship. So as I began to manically pace to and fro in the space that had come to feel like mine, with bitter tears pouring from my swollen eyes, and a madness permeating throughout my movements, I could not bring myself to blame him. I was crumbling into unmanageably small, irreversible pieces, but truly, I alone was culpable.

I thought on to the next day that was quickly approaching, hopeful that I could bring my deliberations away from Spot Conlon, but all I found was more bleakness. Returning to my parents' home had never been an option for a multitude of concerning reasons, especially now that the full memory of my absence had finally resurfaced, but I could think of nowhere else to find refuge. I felt another wave of tearful fear wash over me as I realized the far-reaching consequences my quarrel with Spot would set into motion, but also, I found a small sense of purpose fill me, pushing me to find a solution without his help. Because, truly, this had always been my fate in Brooklyn, so a contingency plan was a necessity regardless of tonight's disaster.

But, in the midst of my frantic planning, I suddenly found myself tripping clumsily over a blanket that had spilled onto the floor, most likely in the midst of my fight with Spot, and I fell hard onto my left shin, feeling a sharp pain searing from an old scar just below my knee. I gingerly settled onto my bottom, cringing at the bruise that would surely breakthrough in the morning, and rubbed the red mark gently into a less painful ache. But, more tears filled my eyes as the origin of the scar on my leg rushed back through me, an unwanted memory from long ago resurfacing with surprising force.