Takes Two To Tango
My hands ran over the glass that protected the photo of him and I together during my eighteeth birthday party. It was a few years back, but I could remember just how good he smelled and the way my heart trembled when he kissed me in front of everybody as he handed me my gift. His eyes were so bright and beautiful. His lips were soft and pink. And his smile. . . Oh, when he smiled, my heart stopped and I wondered if the world was worthy enough to have him walk on its earthy layers. Everything from his hair folicles to his toenails left me mesmerized. He was absolutely beautiful.
But he treated me like crap.
Shane Callahan was going to be the death of me. At first glance you would tell me I was lucky to be involved with a man that surpassed Greek god standards, but once you got to know him, the real him, you'd think otherwise.
Shane wasn't a bad person, if he was, I wouldn't have gotten involved with him in the first place, but when it comes to relationships, he sucks all hell. In the beginning, he swept me off my feet. Poetry, phone calls, the constant reminders of how much he loved me. But then, about four years ago, he stopped. Literally stopped. The 'I love you's changed to mumbled 'love ya's and the poetry was never even thought about, let alone written. And the phone calls? Why bother? We live together now and the only time he calls me is if I'm fucking him, which rarely happens now.
The sex was good, don't get me wrong, but he spent so much of his energy on the other bitches he calls 'friends' that he can't get it up for me. But that's okay. That's why I have Justin.
I know what you're thinking. Slut. Bitch. Hoe. Cheater. User. I heard it before and I don't deny it, hell, I've even called myself on it a few times, but it didn't start off that way. When I first met Justin, my intentions weren't to jump his bones. I honestly wanted a friendship. Shane left me at home so many nights crying and alone that I got sick of it and decided to go out. All I did was walk into a local Java Juice station and there he was, ordering the same mango drink I was going to get. We talked for a while as we waited for our orders and he asked me for my number, promising to call.
At first, I thought it was the typical way to get blown off and had no expections for us, but, surprisingly, my phone rang a few days later and it was him, asking if I wanted to chill. We hung out for a while, and actually became good friends for a year. But after a while, though I still saw him as just a friend and a distraction from my fucked up relationship, I knew Justin was interested in something more. He bought me lots of things from Tiffany's and took me out to fancy resturants Shane wouldn't even drive by when I was in the car, and as gold digging as it may sound, I liked it. I took everything he offered and would give him a kiss on the cheek that lingered longer than necessary or wore those jeans and knee boots he loved so much.
As I said before, it wasn't my intention to get involved with him, but I loved the attention he was giving me. The attention Shane didn't have the time to give. Then I started loving the affection Justin offered after he kissed me about a year into our shindig. I felt guilty after that because at that point, I could no longer tell myself that he just liked to give his friends things because he made it abundantly clear that friendship was out of the question when he frenched the hell out of me. But I stayed anyway, hoping that Shane would take notice to all the new things I had and the cologne Justin left on me after one of our nights out.
He never did, or maybe he did and just didn't say anything. Either way, he didn't care enough to say something and that made me even more depressed, so I took all my built frustration out on Justin in the best and worst way possible: sex. If Shane came home smelling like a frangrance I never wore a day in my life, I was at Justin's the next day, riding him like a horse. Whenever I bought a dress and modelled it for Shane, who'd simply grunt or mumble something about it being nice, I was at Justin's later that night, wearing that same dress that would be off minutes later.
The first few times Justin and I were together had been because I was angry or sad and needed something to keep me occupied and in euphoria for a while, but after that, I started to like it. Not just physically (I had liked it that way since day one), but emotionally. I started to appreciate his kisses more and admired how he handled me carefully, even if the sex was rough. It took me a while, but I finally noticed that look in his eyes when we were together. I started to see that with him, it wasn't just sex, it was making love.
I wanted to drop us right then and there because it was just too much of him going into whatever he thought we had, but at the same time, I didn't want to go back to sitting on the couch, waiting for Shane to come home or being at work, doing hair for hours and hours, watching the clock and praying time would stand still so I wouldn't have to go home.
Even when he whispered that he loved me two years ago after we had sex on his kitchen table, I still didn't leave. I just kissed him and smiled before I grinded into him and distracted him with my body instead of having to repeat those words.
I'm not all wrong here. I at least told him about Shane. Granted, it was two years after we met and about a month after I met his family, but at least I told him. He vowed to never speak to me again, but when I showed up at his doorstep crying because Shane locked me out of the house after I told him about what was going on between me and him, he let me in again. Back in his heart. Back in his bed.
A part of me wishes he had held his ground and turned me away. I would've missed him deeply and I probably would've been more depressed, but I would have at least respected him and maybe even appreciated him a little bit more. He might have been able to move on to somebody who actually deserved his body and his heart.
"Good morning to you too," I mumbled as Shane walked into our bedroom and didn't bother to acknowledge my presence as I rested beneath the covers.
"Oh, hey," he said quickly before continuing to rumage through our drawers.
"What are you looking for?" I asked as I yawned and stretched.
"Uh. . ." He opened and slammed another drawer shut.
"Uh. . ." I mocked.
"My tie," he grumbled in annoyance, "The silver one with the stripes. . ."
"It's in the third drawer on the right." He leaned down and opened the drawer. I watched as he pushed a stack of his folded underwear to the side and grabbed his tie. He began to loop it around his neck before his cell phone rung from its spot on nightstand.
"Shit. . ." He rushed over to the bed and flopped down as he answered the phone, "Hello?"
"You're welcome," I murmurred as I rolled my eyes. I just continued to lie there as he continued to blab on the phone to Michael Richards. He works at the same advertising company as Shane and has hit on me more times than I'd like to admit. I shiver as the memories of those unpleasant moments fill my mind and shake my head before Justin consumes my thoughts. I try to think of a way to deal with the hissy fit I know he's going to have since I abandoned him two days ago and haven't bothered to call since. I don't think too hard because I know it won't take much.
"Babe, it's going to be a late night." Shane voice breaks through my thoughts and I lazily turn my head to face him. "We have an ad to work on and it's going to take a while."
"Yeah, okay," I said as sarcastically as possible, but Shane doesn't even flinch.
"I'll call you tonight, all right?" He kisses the top of my forehead and runs out the door before I even have a chance to respond.
"I love you too." I said to nobody as the scent of his cologne lingered in the air and my eyes welled up with unshed tears.
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I yawned and I tiredly dragged myself through the living room as the sound of the bell subsided before starting up again.
"I'm comin'!" I shout out before jogging over to the door. I made the biggest mistake of my life by doing so because there she was, all smiles before me.
"He-"
"What are you doing here, Teresa?" I asked curtly as I folded my arms across my chest.
"I'm here to see you," she stated a-matter-of-factly, "Now, are you going to invite me in or am I'm going to have to invite myself?"
"Go home." She rolled her eyes to the Heavens despite the many warnings I've given her that they're going to get stuck that way.
"Justin, I know you're mad, but are you seriously going to leave me out here?"
"Yes." I wanted to simply slam the door in her face, but I couldn't bring myself to do so.
"Come on, man. . ."
"What is wrong with you?" I asked suddenly, "Why are you coming here acting like nothing's happened?"
"Because. . . I was hoping you forgot." She couldn't be serious.
"Stop fuckin' with me."
"I thought you liked it when I did that."
"That's not funny."
"I'm not laughing."
"Go. Away."
"Make me." I rolled my eyes this time and sighed.
"What do you want?"
"That's a loaded question, baby." She reached for me, but I pushed her hand away.
"Maybe you didn't understand me the first time," I stated firmly, "Go away now. Leave. Off my property. Don't come back."
"Justin," she said, "You can't be that mad."
"How could I not be that mad?" I asked in disbelief, "How would you feel if I left you hanging?"
"Like crap," she answered, "But that's why I want to make it up to you."
"By fuckin' me and leaving again?" I asked rhetorically, "I'll pass on that opportunity, thank you very much."
"You know, if you really wanted me gone, you would've slammed that face in my door a long time ago."
"Don't tempt me," I growled.
"What is wrong with you?" she whined.
"You're what's wrong with me."
"You don't mean that."
"I don't want to have this discussion anymore," I said dismissively, "I want you to leave."
"You want me to stay."
"I don't-"
"You love me." I groaned and turned to walk back into the house.
"This isn't about that."
"It is," she argued, "This is about you loving me." She slammed the door behind her as she flowed me into the living room.
"This is about you not loving me," I corrected. I turn in time to see her flinch because I told her the truth. The truth that, after all these years, she still can't admit.
"Justin," she said, now frustrated because she knows it's true.
"Look, I'm tired," I sighed, "I'm so tired of the same old thing. I'm tired of being second best. . . I deserve more than that."
"I can't give you anything else," she murmurred, "This is all I have to give."
"This is not enough for me," I informed her as I gestured between us, "We either do this right or not at all. I can't just let you run over me anymore. I can't sit back and watch you keep running back to him every time he says he's sorry and-"
"You don't know anything about him and me!" she shouted defensively.
"I know he's a bastard."
"He loves me."
"I love you," I reminded, "I love you more than he ever has or will. As a matter of fact, he doesn't even love you at all."
"He does love me."
"Does he tell you that before or after he cheats on you?" She looks down briefly, ashamed, before meekily replying.
"It's. . . different."
"Why?" I asked, "Because you love him and not me?" She doesn't answer. "Why is that anyway? I mean, I treat you like a fuckin' queen and I'm ready to give you everything and yet, you love him. You need him. You have to stay with him no matter how many times he makes you cry or leaves you out on your ass-"
"Shut up!" she yelled, "You don't understand!"
"I do understand!" I argued, "I've been more involved in this entire relationship than the both of you combined!"
"Justin-"
"No, don't 'Justin' me!" I continued, "I'm so sick of it. I'm so sick of you showin' up at my doorstep at three in the morning cryin' over him. I'm so sick of waking up alone. I'm so sick of being your fuck buddy! I'm sick of the bullshit. I'm so sick of the fuckin' bullshit!" The last syllable from my mouth echoed throughout the room and she cowarded behind her hands and whimpered. My heart broke as I watched her cry and I'm surprised it's even capable of doing so after all the times it's been broken. Broken by the same woman who's breaking it again in this very moment.
I try not to care. I try to swallow down my sympathy and fight the tears threatening to fall from my own eyes. I try to be stronger than this. I try to be the guy who triumphantly accomplishes his mission of breaking up with some woman who's no good for him.
But she's not just some woman. She's golden. She's precious. She's mine. . . in my mind. She's mine when I kiss her. She's mine when we make love. She's my friend. She's the worst thing that's ever happened to me, but the best thing all the same. I love her. I hate her. She's the epitome of heavenly, but the devil herself. She's my poison and my cure. She's my everything. . .
So when she reaches out for a hug, I don't hesitate to wrap my arms around her and let her bury her face in my chest. I hold her tight and kiss the top of her head with a heavy sigh. I never understand why I'm so sad when this happens. When she ends up in my arms at the end of a fight when my goal was to end things once and for all. I don't know why I'm so disappointed when, in a day or two, she breaks my heart again by doing the same damn thing she's always done. I'll never understand how, after so many pointless fights, I never get it through my head that it's always just a losing battle.
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My eyes shot open the moment I felt the bed shift beside me. My heart's beat quickened for a moment, but returned to its normal pace as I watched her scoot over to me and felt her snuggle against my chest. I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled to myself before I turned my attention to the clock resting on the nightstand behind her and saw it was only one in the morning and that I didn't need to worry for at least a few more hours.
"Mmm. . ." I rose a brow as she continued to mumble and whimper in her sleep and smiled to myself. She was just too cute. My hands ran over her smooth cheek as I admired her delicate features. Everything from her almond shaped eyes and their long lashes to her button nose and the curve of her full lips. She's gorgeous and precious in her sleep. I love her for it, but it pains me to know that beauty quickly fades in the morning time when her ugly habits come to play. But I love her. I love despite the fact that I should know better.
My hands ran down the soft skin of her exposed arms and a small, tired smile crossed her face before she shifted again to move closer to me. My heart fluttered in my chest because of her subconscious actions because I led myself to believe, if only for a second, that she loves me. Loves me enough to want to be close to me. Logic tells me that she's just cold or still longs for the teddy she won't admit she still sleeps with at night.
I can feel myself sadden by the reality of the situation that always seems to crash down on me when I give myself false hope. I try to shake the feeling, but it stays deep in the pit of my stomach. My eyes close and I try to focus on sleep, but fail. I was anxious. I was afraid. I didn't want to sleep because I didn't want to miss a moment of my time with her because I knew was limited.
So, I watched her. I watched her shift and sigh. I watched her whimper and snuggle into me. I enjoyed the feeling of our skins touching as she intertwined her leg with mine. I shivered because of the warmth I felt from her when I kissed her forehead and brushed her hair from her face with my fingertips. I longed for her. I grieved for her. I grieved for the part of me that died just a little bit more when every hour passed and the sun eventually peaked through the clouds and blocked out the moon.
It wasn't until the smell of coffee and bacon hit my nose that I realized I had drifted off to sleep. I groggliy reached over to the spot beside me and felt that it was empty. For a moment, I was disappointed and angry, but then I took a deep breath and remembered the food. The food that Trace couldn't manage to cook without burning down my home. The food that my mother was too far away to make. It could only mean that she stayed. It can only mean that she's downstairs, waiting for me to wake up.
I jumped out of bed and jogged over to my bathroom. I quickly brushed my teeth and washed my face before I dashed down the stairs like a kid on Christmas morning. I hurriedly walked through the living room and reached the entrance of the kitchen. The giant grin on my face flattered when my eyes weren't met by the sight of her petite and curvy frame, but were met by the sight the tall frame of my mother and the back of her head that was covered in a bushel of blonde curls.
"Damn it," I grumbled, causing my mother to turn around and smirk.
"Well, good mornin' to you too, darlin'," she stated sarcastically before I smiled weakly and dragged myself over toward her. I stood by her side and kissed her cheek before grabbing a strip of bacon she had already cooked and put on a plate by the stove. She swatted my hand and I pouted before dragging myself back to the small, tan table in the center of the room. I took a seat and munched on my bacon. The room was quiet except for the crackle of the grease in the pan and I sighed to myself.
I should've known. What made me believe that this time would be different from the rest?
"What are you doing here?" I asked with my mouth full. My mom wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
"I flew out this morning because I was bored," she chuckled, "Your dad's working and things are so slow back at home. I would much rather spend my time spoiling you than wasting away on the couch somewhere." I smiled gently.
"Thanks, mama," I said, "I appreciate the love." A comfortable silence filled the room again and I continued to munch on my bacon until my mother spoke again.
"So. . ." my mom began and I rolled my eyes, already knowing what's coming.
"It didn't happen," I answered.
"What?" she asked.
"I didn't break up with her," I explained before turning in my seat to face her, "That was what you were gonna ask, right?"
"Actually, I was gonna ask if you wanted three or four slices of bacon, but since you brought it up, what happened?" She started to prepare me a plate as I watched like I always did, completely amazed that she cooked as good as she did.
"The same thing that always happens happened," I said, "She came here and I basically told her it was over. She shrugged me off and tried to get all touchy-feely. I said no and yelled. She yelled back. I yelled some more. She cried and I was done. She won, like always, and I woke up disappointed, like always." I can hear my mother sigh before she turned and faced me. She had that look on her face that told me we were going to have a conversation that we had a million times before as she placed the plate of eggs, sausage and bacon in front of me as well as a fork.
"Don't be mad at yourself," she cooed in her motherly fashion as she took a seat next to me. I grabbed a sausage link and stuffed it into my mouth. My mom shook her head and chuckled lightly. I didn't see the humor, so I just continued to chew.
"How could I not be?" I asked after swallowing the food in my mouth and silently praising my mother and her heavenly cooking. "I always do this."
"It's not just your fault," my mother comforted, "It takes two to tango."
"Yeah, but if I could just tell her no and actually mean it, maybe there wouldn't be tango-ing goin' around."
"But you love her." I winced at her words because the love was always on my part. It was never 'you love each other'.
"So?"
"So, that means you have a really big soft spot for her." I snorted. "I'm serious, Justin. When you love someone, you're willing to do anything to make them happy."
"But that's the thing, mama," I said, "I don't make her happy. If I did, why is not here?"
"I don't know," my mother answered honestly, "But I know you make her happy. She loves you."
"Says who?" I asked, raising my voice.
"Says the way she looks at you," my mom said, "Says the way she keeps running to you whenever something happens in her."
"I'm just. . . convenient," I told her, "I don't mean anything."
"You do mean something," she impugned, "You're her friend."
"I was her friend," I corrected with emphasis, "Things are so different now, mama. I can't even look at her and see my friend anymore. I can just see what every other guy sees."
"If that were true, you wouldn't have tolerated her behavior all these years," my mom said, "You know how good of a person she is and you love that part of her. You love the woman you grew to know."
"I know. . ." I mumbled sadly as I began to pick at my eggs with my fork. "There's a million women in this world and she's the only one I can imagine spending my life with." My mother smiled gently and I could've sworn her eyes glazed over with tears. The last thing I needed was my mom crying. She's wept for me and with me too many times in my lifetime. Most were tears of joy, but I can tell now that she just feels sorry for me. Here I was talking about spending the rest of my life with a woman who didn't care about me enough to wake up with me in the morning or at least tell me that she likes me just a little bit beyond the physical.
"Baby," my mom began in a quiet voice that told me she was fighting her emotions, "One of these days she's going to realize how wonderful you are and love you the way you deserve." I nodded my head as she spoke despite the fact that I didn't believe a damn word she just said.
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