In Case You Didn't Know

Chapter 12

Another day in the office. Another day attending meetings, picking up calls, sending e-mails, writing, translating –all things that I'm supposed to love dearly. Except that for the last couple of days I haven't been able to focus and therefore enjoy any of it.

Everything that has reigned over my every thought is the burden that I willingly brought upon myself, the weight that I chose to carry when I leaned into Nathaniel's lips.

A foolish, reckless mistake. Was it a mistake, though? Of course. 

After he left, it was like a thick layer of fog evaporating, or a vase colliding against hard, unforgiving surface. The mortification shown on Nathaniel's countenance was quickly replayed in mine. The boldness of such inconsiderate tiny actions, masked as deep affection and need, then only regarded as a weakness. A mindless, stupid weakness. 

And, of course, there was a layer of hurt. He did, after all, turn me down.

I didn't feel like myself at all. It was one of those occasions which, afterwards, had a dreamlike quality. That's not to say it makes it any more forgivable, for the contrary, it just made me feel even more at fault. I felt a desperate need to run after him; I didn't want to look at him, at those saddened eyes, but I needed to apologize. I needed to explain.

As if listening to my pondering, the door to my office opens. 

There he is, dapper Professor Rowlins in dark blue trousers and crisp white shirt. Except that this time there's no loud bang of the door against the wall, no confused expression contorting his face. 

No, this time it takes him less than three seconds to erase the distance to my desk and take a seat in front of me. However, his eyes don't meet mine.

Perhaps four days ago after he walked out of my apartment, the only things that I was going to be able to say if I had run after him, were not going to be any more than disjointed versions of "I'm sorry", "I missed you", "I think I still love you", "Forgive me", which in retrospective were just going to add up to the wrongness and embarrassing quality of the situation. 

At least that was the conclusion I reached two hours later while I lied in bed after drenching myself in painkillers. But now, I've crafted a very good list of things that I want to say. Smart, coherent things.

"How's your foot?" Nathaniel lets me with the words caught in my throat as I was just about to start my very unfortunate row of apologies and whatnot.

"It wasn't broken." It did hurt like a nightmare the first 12 hours, but it became manageable quickly after that. "It's barely swollen now."

Since he's yet to meet my eyes, my resolve falters and I don't know how straight-forward I should be. His lack of response to my previous comment is enough. When I look at him, I realize that he's frowning, his head dipped, and the corner of his lip trapped between his teeth. The shadows of a smile play on my lips at the scene, but I think better of it. Rip off the Band-Aid and get it over and done with.

"I was out of line, I th— "

"I'm seeing someone." My gaze rises at the abruptness of his words, if only to be met by that same sadness and guilt etched on his eyes. "I mean, that I have a girlfriend. Lauren." Although his voice is barely audible, there's also a coating of severity in his tone. My mouth is dry as dust and a feeling of numbness has expanded to my limbs. He has a girlfriend? But he kissed me back, he did.

"You let me kiss someone else's boyfriend?"

"I stopped you. I stopped us." I swallow through the lump in my throat, instinctively taking a hand over to my neck as I try to get my bearings, to get oxygen to my lungs, anything to not run away as fast and far as my legs will allow.