Part Six – Forever Hold Your Peace
Justin opens his mouth to greet me, but I immediately cut him off. “Can I come in?”
I don’t wait for a response, instead pushing past him into the room, then turning around swiftly to face him as he closes the door. He still looks utterly bewildered at my presence as he mutters a drawn out, “Sure,” in response to my question.
“What is your deal?” I blurt out, getting straight to the point. There is a short silence between us as he clearly struggles to understand what I mean.
“Uhhh…what?” is all he manages to say in response.
“You heard me,” I snap. “What is your deal?”
Justin frowns. “Can you be more…specific?”
It’s all I can do not to just scream at him. I came here fully intending to have an honest, reasonable discussion about what is going on in this man’s stupid head, but now I’m just overwhelmed with anger at his stupid face and the stupid situation and the fact that I have to have this stupid conversation with him in the first place. I take a deep breath in an attempt to curb my anger and exasperation before I speak again.
“What do you remember about last night?” I finally ask, the fact that he is clearly severely hungover reminding me that he may not even remember kissing me.
He frowns again, walking past me to sit down on the bed. “I don’t know? I remember hanging out with the guys. We drank a lot, there were cigars involved.”
“Ew.”
“Why? What’s going on right now?”
“You don’t remember what happened after you got back to the hotel?”
“Not really, no. Why?” he asks again. “Did something bad happen?”
“Yes, something bad happened!” I exclaim, raising my voice unintentionally. “You told me you miss me, tried to kiss me, and then told my fucking brother that I’m pretty and my lips taste good. Does that sound bad to you?”
He grimaces and places a hand to his forehead, though I’m not sure if it’s in response to my yelling or because his has a headache. Probably some combination of the two. “Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit.”
A silence falls between us briefly and I fold my arms across my chest and just glare at him intently. I’m not sure what else to do, honestly. I have a lot of questions and I want to do a lot of yelling, but I don’t know what good any of that will do. All I want to know is that I’m not a complete moron for convincing Bianca it’s okay to marry this guy. And I’m just not sure anymore. I don’t get him at all. Two days out from the wedding and he pulls this shit, then doesn’t even have the goddamn decency to remember it?
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, softly, and in a tone that does sound genuine but somehow just manages to fill me with rage again.
“Great. You’re sorry. That fixes everything.”
“Well, what else do you want me to say?” he raises his voice back at me. “I was drunk, I don’t remember doing any of that, and I can’t change it. So, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I’m such a fuck up. Jesus.”
“Well, why the fuck did you do it?” I’m yelling again. I can’t help it.
“I don’t know! I don’t remember, okay? Can you stop yelling? My head is killing me!”
“And whose fault is that?”
He stands up now, visibly angry, and walks over to the minibar, pulling out a bottle of water and tearing off the cap with an unnecessary fervor. “Mine. It’s my fault. Is that what you want to hear? Everything is my fault and I ruin everything and I am a terrible human being. Are you happy?”
“Yes, I am terribly happy. My former best friend, who is no longer my best friend because of you is asking me whether I think she should marry you, whether I think you love her, and I have to try to comfort her while your stupid voice plays in my head over and over telling me that I’m pretty and you miss me two nights before your wedding. I am ecstatic. This is my favorite.” My voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I know it’s obnoxious and unhelpful, but I don’t care anymore. I’m tired, physically and emotionally, and I just want…I don’t know what I want, but I want something that isn’t coming and it’s frustrating.
Justin stares at me now, his expression changing from anger to some mix of exhaustion and concern as he falls back onto the bed and takes a swig of his water. When he speaks again, that soft tone is back. “What did she say?”
I sigh, the more reasonable part of me finding its way to the surface as I look at him. He looks miserable, his hair tousled, eyes reflecting how tired he is, and an expression resembling fear etched into his features.
“I think it’s just cold feet,” I say, only half believing it. “She’s worried you don’t love her, or that you’ll leave her or something. And I want to tell her that’s ridiculous, but…I don’t know. Is it ridiculous?”
“Of course!” he exclaims, the defensiveness returning. I just raise my eyebrows at him and he sighs, letting his guard back down and repeating the words with less conviction. “Of course it’s ridiculous.”
I bite my lip and take the few steps it takes until I’m standing next to the bed, then sink down onto it, sitting next to him. “What is your deal?” I repeat my original question.
“What do you mean?” he says again, exasperated.
“Why are we back here again? I know you were drunk, but I feel like…why would you do that? Why would you kiss me?”
“I don’t know. Why would you kiss me?” he retorts.
I narrow my eyes at him immediately. The moment I think he might not be my least favorite person in the world, he always has to go and ruin it. “What, four years ago? Because I was like 19, stupid and insecure and kind of into you.”
“You were into me?”
Of course that would be the part he focuses on. I roll my eyes.
“Of course I was into you. You think I just went around making out with my best friend’s boyfriend without being into him? Are you an idiot?”
“What about now?” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and I frown.
“What about now?”
“Are you into me now?”
“No! I’m in love with my boyfriend!” I exclaim. “Oh my God, what is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know!” He looks genuinely concerned by the question. “I don’t know, I just…I think about it sometimes, you know? I love Bianca, I do, it’s just…I wasn’t used to you not being in my life. You were Abraham’s sister, you were always there and I didn’t know…I didn’t know how it would feel once you were gone. I guess I said I miss you last night because it’s something that’s been bothering me this whole time. I never liked that I didn’t get to see you anymore after everything that happened.”
I’m a little stunned as this all comes pouring out of him. It’s not what I was expecting to hear. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it never occurred to me that he would be missing me all these years. It’s not like we were so close before we stopped talking. He was just my brother’s best friend. Our relationship was tangential to his relationships with Abraham and Bianca at best. I always liked him and I guess we had our moments but I haven’t exactly felt a loss at him not being in my life. I never thought he would either.
“Well…that’s the choice you made, though,” I finally say. “You chose Bianca. You didn’t choose me. That’s what happened, and it was a long time ago and I don’t get why you’re even still thinking about me at all.”
He looks over at me, looking all movie star tortured and I almost want to laugh, it looks so dramatic. But I hold it in, trying to be sensitive to whatever the hell it is he’s dealing with. “Maybe I made the wrong choice,” he says.
I just shrug non-committally. I vaguely remember a time when I would have been ecstatic to hear him say these things, but now I just feel sad, and a little bit annoyed that this is all coming out right now. And I don’t feel any better about Bianca and the fact that I’ve encouraged her to marry Justin. Justin, who is sitting here looking at me like I’m the one who got away or some shit.
“Maybe you did,” I concede, although I’m not sure I believe it. It wasn’t the wrong choice for me, anyway, as I’ve assured Jake recently. Maybe it was the wrong choice for Justin. But I don’t know. “But it’s made. It’s over. And if you don’t love Bianca, then you need to stop this wedding before everything goes horribly wrong tomorrow. Or I’ll do it for you.”
I’m surprised to hear the words coming out of my mouth. I sort of made the decision as I said it, but as I hear myself saying it, it sounds like the right one. That’s the right thing to do, right? Can I let someone I care about marry a man who is sitting next to me right now telling me he thinks maybe he should have chosen me instead of her?
He just looks at me for a moment, a little sad, a lot dumbfounded, and then before I know it, that motherfucker does it again. He closes the small space between us quicker than I can react and he kisses me. Again.
I immediately push him away, jumping up off the bed instinctively. I guess this is partly my fault. Sitting there was not necessarily my wisest choice.
“What the fuck?” I exclaim.
“I’m sorry,” he spews immediately, standing up. I put a hand on his bare chest to stop him from moving any closer.
“No. What the actual fuck? Why would you do that?”
I drop my hand because I realize that maybe skin to skin contact is not the best choice right now. My mind is reeling. What is even happening? How did we get from me telling him that I’m going to stop his wedding to him kissing me again? What world do I live in right now?
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
“If you say you’re sorry one more time, I will punch you in the throat. I am not even kidding.”
“Okay! God!”
We’re both silent again as I try to figure out what to do next. Walking away seems like the best choice. But he’s standing here looking at me like a wounded puppy and somehow I feel bad. What? Why do I feel bad? None of this is my fault. None of it. I’ve done my best to do the right thing at every turn ever since the end of that ridiculous debacle four years ago, and somehow I still ended up here. And this is not my fault. It’s his fault, and his fault alone. And yet I still feel bad. What is wrong with me?
“Okay,” I say. “I’m gonna go now. I guess you have a lot to think about. Good luck.”
I turn to walk away and of course he grabs my hand and says, “Taylor, wait.”
“Noooooo, why?” I groan in response, turning around to face him again, my hand still in his. I’m just tired. I don’t know what else to do.
“Just wait,” he repeats softly, gazing down into my eyes intently. Suddenly I feel like I’m 19 again, standing with him in Central Park and getting caught up in the moment. So naturally, before I know it, his lips are on mine again. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m just tired of trying to ward him off or if some small, fucked up part of me wants to, but then I’m kissing him back and it’s getting more and more intense, and my hands are finding their way back to his bare chest and his hands are gripping my ass and things just got a million times worse than they were when I knocked on his door what seems like mere seconds ago.
Author's Chapter Notes:
It only took me like two and a half years, but...here's a new chapter, if anyone's still reading!
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