Out of Style [inspired by "Style" from 1989]

Part 4: Watch Us Go Round and Round Each Time

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

I've been getting a few requests recently from people who'd like to translate my story.  While this is definitely a ridiculously awesome compliment, I honestly don't know enough about Canadian Intellectual Property Rights laws to say "yes" to anyone.  I have to do more research on it but, in the meantime, I'm going to have to say that I'm not comfortable with it until I figure out exactly what the law says in regard to writing and authorship.  I know this might seem a bit ridiculous to some people, but ever since I read about L.J. Smith's trouble with Alloy over her The Vampire Diaries series, I've been increasingly wary about what I write and where/how it gets posted.  Again, thank you so much for the incredible compliments, but I'm just not prepared to accept the offers at this time.  I'm sorry if this makes me seem like a bitch, truly.  I'm just paranoid about this stuff.  It's one of my various personality quirks.  Like being more excited by new books and tv than real life on some days.

All that said, I really hope you guys enjoy this update!  

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 Recap:

     "Being with you scared the hell out of me.  You made me feel weak.  I didn't know how to deal with that."  He tilts his head down, meeting my eyes full-on.  "I was a fucking idiot to leave."

       I feel my heart racing before I even realize why.  How many times had I wanted to hear him say this?  How many times had I lay in bed, picturing this scenario?  My imagination doesn't compare with the reality, but the reality is much more frightening.  I don't know what to say to any of it.  I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

     He just stares at me.  We don't move.  I know the ball's in my court, for the first time in a long time, but I have no idea what to do with it.

     "I guess you're an idiot, then."  It's a weak attempt at a joke, and he doesn't laugh.  I frown, steeling myself to become serious.  "You left me.  You can be as sorry as you want to be, or as sorry as you claim to be, but that doesn't change what happened.  I trusted you, and you left.  And I don't think I can forgive you for that.  Now let go of me, please."

      He deliberates for a moment.  I can see the emotions passing across his face.  After about thirty seconds, though, he releases his grip on my wrist.  I pull my hand back, and he takes a step away.  He's still staring at me, though.  

      I wait.  It doesn't take long before he responds.

     "You could've come after me."

      I couldn't be more surprised if he slapped me, or even if he started doing the chicken dance or something equally as absurd.  "Excuse me?"

      He's angry.  He runs his fingers through his hair again, and this time the bandana floats to the floor.  I watch its progress, thinking hard.  I realize what he's saying.

       "You left because you wanted me to chase you."  My voice is monotone.  I'd thought he loved me, but apparently our whole relationship was a game to him.

     "Fuck.  No.  That's not what I--fuck."  He moves, like he's about to take a step forward, but I tense up and he stops.  He looks down, shakes his head, and then stares straight into my eyes.  "I didn't think you cared."

       I'm furious.  I can't decide whether I want to throw something at him or slap him.  I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger and count to ten.  Then twenty, when that doesn't work.  When I think I'm calm enough to speak, I do.

     "I loved you.  You left.  You're the one who doesn't care."

     "I left because I didn't think you'd care if I did!  You just stood there!"

     "So it was a test?  Did I fail your relationship test?  You're acting like a child!"  My voice is shrill, but I can't help that.

     "So what!"  He throws his arms up, and I tense again.  He doesn't seem to notice.  His green eyes burn into mine.  "So what," he repeats, voice quieter this time.  "Maybe I acted like a child.  Maybe I acted like a bloody chipmunk.  Who gives a damn.  The past is where it belongs, and I can't fucking change that.  I'm here because you're all I think about.  I miss you like fucking mad.  I miss waking up next to you.  It literally hurts, waking up and not seeing you there."

     I'm frozen in place.  There's no other way to describe it.  My face hurts, and I realize I'm holding back tears of anger and frustration.  I refuse to let them fall.

     He steps closer, hesitantly.  When I don't move, he gently takes both of my hands in his.  "I fuck up.  At lot.  I'm human, love.  I can't fix what I've done, but I can try to make it up to you.  I need to try.  Continuing the way we are, I'm miserable.  And, as selfish as this sounds, I hope you are too because I don't know what I'm going to do if you tell me you don't love me anymore."

     I can't keep looking at him.  I direct my gaze to the abandoned glass of water on the end table.  It's not on a coaster, and it'll probably leave a mark.  I watch the beads of water dripping down the side that's facing me.  It's a weird thing to think about, I know, but my mind is spinning.  Trying to work all of this out is giving me a headache.  I pull my hands back from his and sit down heavily in the chair behind me, dropping my face into my hands.

     I don't know what to do.  I tell my friends not to get back together with immature guys who hurt them, so what kind of hypocrite would I be if I said yes?  If I took him back?  What would people think?  After about a minute of those kinds of thoughts, I give myself a mental smack on the head.  What does it matter, what anyone else thinks?  What should matter is that I'm happy.  That we'd made each other happy.

      Could we?  Is that even possible?

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I know that my updates are only about two pages each, but there is a reason for it!  I originally intended for this to be a short story, which would make it about five- to ten-thousand words.  After this update, I'll have posted over four thousand.  If I posted five or six page updates, which I've done with some of my other stories, this thing would be done in about one or two more.  If I keep them down to two pages each (which is about one thousand words), then there will definitely be a lot more of them.  What do you guys think?  I still plan for a short story plot, which means most of the narrative would take place in the female character's condo, but would you guys prefer lots of shorter updates or a few longer ones?

Also, thank you guys for all of the comments on the last three chapters!  I try to respond to as many as I can, but I want you guys to know that I both read and appreciate them all!  About 99% of them have been really nice/great/sweet, so thank you for that!  Wishing you all happy holidays, whatever you celebrate!