Oh Weston

chapter two.

I close the door behind myself and take three deep breaths with my eyes closed as Mark makes his way to the driver's side of the car. He sits down and puts his head against the steering wheel. I stare at him, soaking up the silence between us. I don't feel like I have any responsibility to apologize, but maybe that could relieve some of the tension hanging in the air.

"Listen, Mark, I-," he shushes me and puts the key into the ignition without turning the car on.

"You love me, right?" He finally asks, turning to me. I tilt my head at him, thinking the answer was obviously yes but also knowing in the year we'd been dating I'd strategically avoided saying those words to him.

"It was just a beer; I don't-," I start, but he shushes me again. The shush isn't even patronizing, it's moreso putting me out of my misery.

"Just tell me if you love me or not," he takes his hand off of the key and turns his whole body to me.

I feel the tears returning to my eyes and a pit forming in my stomach, my breath catching in my throat while I clench my hands in tight fists. Not now. Please not now. I try to remember all the times I've desperately wanted to say "I love you" to Mark. My birthday five months into us dating. The time we snuck into a zoo after it was closed. When he held me in his arms all night long after my grandma died. All that and here he is begging me to tell him and I can't do it. Words couldn't even come out of my mouth if I wanted them to.

"C'mon, y/n. It's been a year," his voice is shaky and I know he's just as close to crying as I am. I reach my hand out to his shoulder but keep my eyes focused on the moon reflecting on the damp asphalt surrounding his car.

"[preferred nickname], it's okay. I know," he caresses my hand and pins it in between his head and shoulder. I feel each teardrop hit my hand as they fall from his eyes. "I know you love me," I close my eyes and lower my head, letting myself sob. My panic attack continues as he places my hand on the console, clicks his seatbelt into place, and finally turns the car on.

We drive home in silence and I can't help but wonder what that stranger's doing now. Is he sitting on the hood of the car alone? Did he head back inside, down two more shots and forget about me? Is he dancing with someone else? I also wonder about his name. Maybe Jack. Or Trevor. Or Zach. None of them fit. I imagine what it would feel like to hold his hand in mine.

"What are you thinking about?" Mark asks, prompting me to snap out of my fantasizing. I feel shame wash over me.

"Oh, nothing. Just something about the club," I stop and look to the window, then turn back, "Do you like AJR?"

"AJR? Who's that?"

"You know, Adam, Jack, Ryan. They sing 'Drama' and 'Bang!'. Do you like them?"

"Oh, um, not really," he laughs and I return it half-heartedly, then turn back to the window, watching the trees fly past in a blur. Our relationship has always been a little weird to me. I mean, I'm [insert age] and he's 31, for starters. But, also, it's always felt temporary. Maybe that's why I don't want to say those three words, because I'm waiting for someone else. Someone fun. Someone who makes me excited. Someone who's there to help me when I'm down.

We walk into his house and Chica comes running up to me, Henry trailing behind her. I wonder if the guy from the bar has a dog. Or two. Or a goldfish. Or a horse. He definitely doesn't have a horse.

I make my way up to the bedroom and hope that Mark is too drunk to try anything romantic for our anniversary. At least there are no candles on the nightstand or roses on the bed, that's a good sign. Mark flops down on the bed and I sit beside him, rubbing his back, trying not to think about he-who-shall-not-be-named (I couldn't name him if I wanted to) anymore. He's already snoring. I have a feeling I won't be able to sleep for hours.

One week later.

That night still haunts me and yet the details are fading. I can remember his hair but not the way it moved when he danced. I can remember his smile but not the laugh that came with it. I can remember his voice but not the words he said. It's all so distant. And Mark stands in front of me, charming as ever, and I just want to pop his head like a balloon. Does he ever shut up?
"Schnookums, is everything alright?" he places his hand on my shoulder, giving me flashbacks which I fight against pointlessly.
"Yeah," I chirp and fake a grin, which is probably pretty convincing if you believe there's no reason for me not to be alright.
"I'm just filming a collab. I think they're fans of mine and we're gonna do trivia or something," he kisses the top of my head as the doorbell rings. "Weston, Kalynn, coming!" he shouts, running to greet them. I slink behind him, not wanting to have to pretend to be charismatic for however long these fans were going to be in our house. I reach the door and smile sheepishly behind Mark, waiting for him to open it. The door swings open and I glance aloofly at who waits on the other side, only to have my indifference replaced with shock.
It's Him.