36

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

══════════════════

For our second date, Tyler and I went to the beach across the other side of the city bridge. I remember how we checked the weather and it said it was meant to be unusually warm for October. Like idiots, we didn't take coats or an umbrella. I remember the first ten minutes of walking on the beach with him arm in arm was a romantic, relaxed atmosphere.

Until it started raining, of course. Like our typical English selves, we stopped walking and laughed at ourselves as the rain got harder and we only got more soaked. I remember Tyler laughing and telling me how he wanted to kiss me in the rain like we were in a romantic comedy film. I remember feeling chilled to the bone with the cold rain hitting my skin, yet when I told him to kiss me, my whole body warmed with his touch.

As we ran back to the car, the rain got harder and harder, and we dripped rainwater all through the university flat when we got home. He invited me back into his room to dry off, but it was then that we ended up peeling the sopping clothes off each other and kissing under the heavy storm of the university shower. That was the moment I thought I'd finally gotten rid of Gray's mark from inside as well out.

Life has a way of making you think one thing but then coming back years later to prove just how wrong you can be. That was the day I thought Tyler made me forget everything about Gray and made me think I was over him for good. How I didn't realise I had a Gray shaped ghost following me for the rest of those years, I don't know.

The tears that flow from my eyes are just like the rain of that day. Cold, unexpected, and ruining everything.

Tyler laughs a cold, hard and bitter chuckle. "There we go. Faced with something she doesn't like so she starts crying. It's not going to work with me, Tabitha. I know you. I bet if you get on the phone to precious fucking Gray, he'd fall to your feet."

"For fuck's sake, Tyler, I married you."

"That's the thing, isn't it? Yeah, you married me, but you only did it because he left you! If he'd stayed like the good boy you thought he was, you wouldn't have given me a second glance. This whole time: while you were pregnant, when you lost the baby, with your illness, it struck me harder each day. I have always been a replacement. A stand-in. Second best. If Gray came back before we got married, you'd have thrown me away like a fucking cigarette butt, right? If he'd stayed in contact with you from London, if he'd gone to uni here, you'd both be married with three kids and a house by now. Face it."

"Yet here I am, Tyler. Gray's back, he's told me enough times how much he still loves me, he's admitted it to your face multiple times. If you were second best, I'd have asked you to draft up divorce papers and I'd be with him right now. But I'm not. Instead, I'm here with you, fighting over him."

"Do you even know what you do, Tabitha? Really? You say all the right things, but do you actually watch yourself?"

I scoff. "Tyler, are you listening to yourself? I lost our child, I have a fucking obsessive disorder and instead of rallying with me like my husband, you're sitting there getting fucking drunk at nine in the morning and crying over Gray. You haven't been there to pick me up, support me or even speak to me. In fact, instead of helping you raped me—"

"Don't you dare say that word. You know the implications—"

"You're a lawyer, yeah, I know. Yet you did it anyway."

"How fucking dare you."

"No, Tyler. How dare you. I said no, I asked you to stop—"

"No, you didn't. You opened your legs—"

"There's no point. I know why you did it, I just need you to say sorry."

"Say sorry for what, Tabitha? Having sex with my wife?"

"Admit it, Tyler."

"I will not admit to being something I'm not."

I scoff. There is no point. "You know what, Tyler, you go on and on about how you hate Gray, yet you've left him to pick up the pieces. You left him to pick up the pieces when I lost the baby, and you let him pick up the pieces now," I point out. "He's been the only support network I've had these past few weeks because you've shut off completely. You've completely disregarded me and left him to pick up the pieces of our mess. Before you even yell at me, it could be Freya in his place, my point would remain the same."

He glares at me, folds his arms across his chest and stays quiet.

Am I getting through to him? I can't even tell.

"I just... when I look at you, right now, all I see is this... all I see is everything you've done, Tabitha, and I hate it. You robbed me of the one thing I wanted all because you couldn't move the fuck on from a man who discarded you without a second thought," Tyler snarls.

I want to ask him for the third or fourth time if he really does blame me, but I know the answer. I want to ask him if he looks at me and sees the woman he fell in love with. But I know the answer. Even if he does love me, if he blames me then he'll resent me, and I don't know if he can get over that.

That's why I storm into the bedroom without a word. I try not to look at my reflection as I choke on the sobs. I open the cupboard door and grab my suitcase. I don't even know what clothes I'm bundling in, and as I storm into the bathroom, I hear Tyler sobbing.

When I throw everything in the case, I start wheeling it out into the hallway. He turns around from the window and stares at me. For a full minute, it's just Tyler and me, staring into each other's eyes, and I know this is a turning point. It could go either way.

The cream of the wall behind him makes his olive skin shine. I look at the unopened can of beer in his hand and all I can see is his drunken, taunting figure of the past three weeks. He breaks our contact and spots the case beside me. When he looks back at me, we both know the truth; what is happening, where I'm going, who I'm going to run to.

He takes one step toward me, and my heart thumps in the hope that he's going to approach me and make me think twice. Even if he tells me he'll try, or if he tells me that he loves me and wants to stop drinking and help me, I'll wheel the suitcase back into the bedroom and unpack.

If he can tell me that his desire for a family and his hatred of Gray isn't as important as our marriage, I won't go anywhere.

I can tell even as he opens the can that he knows what I want. Him. I want the old him; him before the miscarriage.

The first time Tyler and I argued, I overreacted and threw a hissy fit. I ran out of his bedroom and started to pack a bag to go to my parent's for the weekend. It took him a moment, but he must have thought about what I was going to do, and he appeared in my little room in the university flat, grabbed my bag and unpacked it for me. He put all my clothes back, folded, where they belonged. He then told me that he was sorry and kissed me.

Just when I think he'll do the same now, even though this is much bigger than that, his eyes turn to ice, and he turns around to face the window.

I stop at the front door when I grab my keys in the dark hallway, wishing the grey walls would just close in on me and call out to him.

I wait for exactly one minute and thirty seconds, giving him one last chance. I stare into the hallway, willing Tyler to just walk down and give me something. If he walks out here now and gives me just one sentence telling me that he's sorry, or he knows that the miscarriage and my illness aren't my fault, I will wheel the case back in the bedroom and try yet again to work it out. I will not give up after three hard weeks of trying and trying to talk to him if he just shows me one ounce of remorse.

But after exactly two minutes and ten seconds, I can hear him opening the balcony door and I know he's not going to show me anything.

For the first time in my life, I wonder if this was how Gray felt the day he decided to flee to London: hopeless and scared.



══════════════════



I hesitate before pressing the doorbell. The funny thing is, all my life, there is only ever one person I would run to: Gray. He's always been the one to look out for me, fix things when they – or I – break. When he left, the first thing I'd do if I had something to be sad or excited about was either put pen to paper and write an unsent letter to him, or I would send an email to his old account we made as kids.

I remember that day: we were so excited about Gray's dad getting the family computer that Gray and I made separate email addresses that when we were at home, we'd send stupid emails to each other. Then we'd discuss them the next day, and rinse and repeat. I don't know if ever received my emails when he was away; if he did, he hasn't mentioned them.

But right now, Tyler must know where I've gone, and I know it will enrage him even more – running from him because of Gray, yet I'm running to him. I could run to Freya or a hotel room on my own. But I'm broken, my life is broken and he's my best friend. He's the only one I want to glue me back together because he's the only one who can.

He answers the doorbell after a minute.

"Tabs?" His eyes fall to see the suitcase, and without a word, he moves aside and lets me in his house.

It's the first time I've seen anywhere Gray has lived that hasn't been Sandra and Graham's house when he was growing up. It's exactly how I would imagine it: plain. Cream walls that I can guess he hasn't painted since moving in. Dark blue carpets, because only Gray would co-ordinate dark carpets with a cream wall, so he doesn't have to clean them as much. I can tell poor Sandra has had no input into the hallway because everything would be brighter, and she'd have light carpets or hard flooring.

I can hear her whining voice in my head as I pull the suitcase in: 'Goodness' sake, Gray, sort this place out or I'll get your father to get a decorator in. Silly boy!'

When he leads me into the lounge, I grin. This is more like the Gray I know. One deep red wall where the fireplace sits, cream walls and a TV that is probably bigger than I could ever imagine buying. The other wall houses a massive PC and a dark leather chair, and I notice he's paused some game. I put my suitcase by the sofa and glance at the photos on the mantelpiece. A photo of him grinning with his degree in a graduation hat and his parents, some artsy-looking painting, and I notice a tiny frame that holds the scan picture from a few weeks ago.

I approach it and see the top of the scan has my name on it, confirming my suspicion that it's the scan photo.

"I got them to print out another copy for me before we left. I assumed you wouldn't mind," Gray says.

"Not at all, I would've given you one if you'd asked anyway," I say. "Before...Tyler took them."

"Did he even give you one to keep?"

When I shake my head in response, he pulls his wallet out from his pocket. He sighs and brings out the other three photos the woman took that day. He passes me all of them and I hesitate.

"You need them more than I do," he says.

I take them as if he just gave me permission. I don't have the energy to look at them and bring back the godawful memory, so I put them in my purse without saying anything.

I can feel the tension between us: the unspoken knowledge that he's mourning just like Tyler and I have been. Despite everything, this messed-up situation left its mark on him when it shouldn't have. Tyler's words earlier proved how all he wanted to do was get himself a family and he didn't actually care in his desire for both that and to exact some kind of sick revenge on Gray for coming back, that it may have had more pain than he planned.

I perch on the edge of the sofa and sigh.

"What happened?" Gray asks.

"He was drunk out of his mind. He started the moment I got home. He... blames me for everything. The illness, the miscarriage, his pain. He said the whole time... since you came back, he's been testing me. Apparently, he's always been second best and he was sick of it. He knew we'd sleep together, and he used the fact I got pregnant to try and get the one thing he wanted," I explain. "I... he said he looks at me and sees everything I've done wrong, and he hates it."

My nails start their attack.

"Tabs, come on," Gray says. He crouches in front of me and holds my hand. It takes him a hard pull before he frees my hand from my skin, but he holds it so I can't hurt myself.

"I thought... he might come after me and try to work it out, but he didn't. He's so angry, and he's right... ultimately, it's my fault. I've spent my whole life broken and refusing to move on that I... I caused this. I don't know what to do, Gray. After so long, I let him down, and I don't know if we can come back from this—"

"You haven't done anything—"

"I cheated on him. For six years I cheated on him subconsciously by not moving on from you, and then I physically cheated on him. If I was ever going to do it, I did it in the worst way possible: with you."

He doesn't answer.

"He won't admit to what he did to me, even when I confronted it. He just brushed it off, turned it all around on me."

Gray sighs. "Tabs."

To avoid talking about it anymore, I look down at the brown leather sofa. Maybe Sandra did have her hand in this after all.

"Did your mum choose this?" I ask.

He chuckles. "She fucking wanted to hire—"

"Dad's decorator." We say it at the same time, and all I can imagine is her standing here, looking dismayed and stressed.

"She bought the sofa and helped decorate the room, and left the rest of the house alone," Gray says.

"Well, the hallway does look plain and boring. This just reminds me of your mum's house growing up," I point out.

He raises his eyebrows at me. "You're deflecting."

"And I officially hate you," I retort and sink into the sofa.

"Do you still love him, Tabs?"

He sits beside me, and without thinking, I take the pillow and put it on his lap. My head falls onto the pillow just like we used to do growing up. His hand strokes my hair, and I'm instantly taken back to the day of the scan, to days when we were smaller, and I was upset, he'd stroke my hair until I'd run out of tears.

My nose gets overrun by that musky, flowery aftershave he's worn since he was sixteen. All I can think of are long afternoons cuddling and watching stupid films he'd pick while I try not to fall asleep in this exact position, or the first time we had sex, or long nights after he left inhaling that same scent on my pillow.

"I never thought you'd come back," I whisper. We both know I'm still deflecting from my issues, but at this point, I don't care.

He chuckles. "Give me a little credit."

"Gray," I retort.

"All right, fair enough."

I sigh. "I never thought I would lose Tyler. After we slept together, I thought we'd sorted it. I thought Tyler was over it... well, he said he was. I thought even with the miscarriage we'd move on. I get that my illness... I don't know, I just... this is a Tyler I've never seen before."

He smooths my hair down and sighs. "It'll work itself out, Tabs. I promise."

I sniff. "Gray... please don't make promises you can't keep. You've done it before, and I've just started to trust you again."

He gives me a small, sad chuckle. "Whatever happens, something will work itself out. That's what I meant."

We fall silent and I sniff away the tears.

My nails go again and try to scrape the noise of Tyler's yelling, the blame that surrounds me like a cloud—

"Tabs, this might not be the right time, but... I think I'm ready," Gray interrupts my thoughts.

"For what?" I question. I turn my head to look at him. The seriousness of his expression is enough to make me sit up. For a split second, his eyes scan my lips and it's enough to make me think he might kiss me all over again. But when I really look at him, I see the pain and the misery in those eyes. The self-control between us is like a steady rope; we've had this boundary for a while now and we need it to stay there.

"You know, our pinkie promise? I'm ready to talk about everything." 

══════════════════



You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net