Tall Like You Are
The sunshine dances across my face and I smile as I feel your arms encircle my body. Your lips meet my shoulder and I sigh with happiness. I think for a moment about opening my eyes but then decide against it. It’s perfect here. I don’t want to get up.
“No,” you say, shaking your head at me and standing up. You run your hands through your messy hair “ the hair I always used to love twisting between my fingers when we kissed. Even in your disheveled, disoriented state, it’s beautiful. And I want to touch it, but I can’t. I’m too busy trying not to cry. You repeat that word again. “No.”
“Yes,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I guess I just need it off my conscience. I need you to know I don’t deserve you. I need you to know how horrible I am.
“Last night was amazing,” you whisper in my ear before licking along the lobe and sending shivers up my spine. I grin and finally turn to look at you, but I push away immediately. It isn’t you. It's him.
“You’re lying,” you insist. You’re in denial, there’s no other explanation. Why would I lie about something like this? Why would I say the one thing I know would cause you to walk away from me? That’s the last thing I want. The last thing I want is for you to walk away from me.
“I’m not.” I’m still whispering as I sit on your bed and avoid looking at you. I can’t look at you. It hurts too much. But I can feel your deep blue eyes boring into me as you try to process what I’ve just said.
“Oh no,” I whimper immediately as I remember what I did. “Oh no.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks. He knows what’s wrong. He knows I’m yours. He knows he just helped me destroy the only thing that matters to me.
“Why the hell would you do that?” You yell and I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears.
Don’t cry, I tell myself silently. Don’t cry, Audra. Don’t cry. I don’t want to cry in front of you. I have no right to cry. I have no right to be upset. I have no right to even be here.
“I don’t know.” The words come out, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how in God’s name I managed to say them. I don’t know where I got the strength. You yell again.
“You don’t know?” you repeat, seething with rage that I know is a mask for the pain you’re feeling. “You don’t know?”
I jump out of the bed and hurry around the room, gathering my clothes as quickly as possible. He looks at me and rolls his eyes before standing up and walking over to me. He’s still naked as he wraps his arms around my body. They don’t feel the way yours do. They don’t feel warm and loving. They feel wrong. So, so wrong. How did I not realize that last night?
“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispers and I cringe. No one but you gets to call me that. “He doesn’t have to know.”
I push him away and run out the door, not even stopping to consider the fact that this is my bedroom we’re in.
“I’m sorry.” The tears spill over against my will as I say the only thing I know to say. I wish I could make you see how much I mean it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Baby, I’m so sorry.
“Yeah, well it’s a little fucking late for that isn’t it?” you spit at me. I finally look up at you, still trying to stop the tears and failing miserably as I see the way you’re looking at me. You’re trying to look mad and intimidating, but when I look in your eyes I see something else. You’re hurt. You’re just hurt. You trusted me. You wanted to be with me forever. That’s what I want too, baby. I just made a mistake.
“I guess,” I whimper, looking back down at my hands and folding them together. I think about how your hand feels in mine. How it fits mine perfectly as though no one else was ever supposed to hold my hand. Probably because no one else ever was supposed to hold my hand. But I let him. I let him hold my hand. Why did I let him hold my hand?
I look around the art gallery, tugging at the hem of my short black dress. I’m nervous. So nervous. It’s the first time my art has been shown in a real gallery and you’re not here. You’re not here and I’m all alone with no one to comfort me. I take a sip of wine and glance around at the people viewing my work. I want to hide. I feel so exposed. I wish you were here to hold my hand.
“Well, if it isn’t the lady of the hour,” his voice snaps me out of my self-pitying thoughts and I look up into a pair of blue eyes. They look so much like yours. He’s tall like you are. He seems warm like you do.
“Hello.” I smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Andy.” He offers his hand to me and I shake it.
“Audra.” I take another sip of my wine and he doesn’t let go of my hand, rubbing his thumb over it the way you always do. He reminds me so much of you.
“You seem nervous, Audra,” he observes with a smile. I don’t know why he’s still holding my hand. I don’t know why I don’t let go.
“I am nervous, Andy.” I force a laugh and he whispers in my ear.
“Don’t be.”
“Damn it, Audra!” You’re yelling again and I jump as you punch the wall. I look up in shock and there’s a hole where your fist met the plaster. Your back is turned to me, but I see your shoulders moving up and down as you breathe heavily, unevenly. I stand up and walk over to you, reaching out to touch you, but you shrug me off with such force that I fall to the ground and dissolve into tears again.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. Please believe me. Please. Please let me explain. “I’m sorry, I know I was wrong, but that’s why I’m telling you. I made a mistake and I’m sorry.” I don’t really expect you to forgive me and I know I don’t even deserve forgiveness. But I hope you will. I pray you will. I need you. I love you. Please don’t walk away.
“Why?” Your voice is quiet and not as harsh anymore as your back remains turned to me. “Just tell me why.” I ponder my response for a moment. I know this is my last chance. If I say the wrong thing, you’ll walk out that door and I won’t ever see you again. The problem is, I can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound wrong.
I open the door to my apartment and reach in to switch on the light as he walks in behind me. We’ve spent most of the evening together and I’ve invited him back to look at some of my earlier work that didn’t make it into the show.
“Nice place,” he comments as he looks around the loft I've inhabited for the past four years. It's open and light, full of art. You always loved it there; you said it was like me in apartment form. I smile.
“Thank you.” I walk into the kitchen and he follows as I open the refrigerator. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No thanks, I think I’ve had enough.” He chuckles, referring to the wine we both downed at the party. We’re not drunk, though. A little buzzed, yes, but not drunk. We both know what’s going on.
“Okay.” I smile again as I grab myself a Sprite and walk back towards the living room. He stops me, placing his hands on my hips and staring down at me with those eyes. Those eyes that still remind me so much of you. I open my mouth to speak, but he silences me by placing a finger on my lips. My insides are turning. This is wrong. This is so wrong. I should tell him to stop.
I don’t.
His lips fall onto mine and my Sprite drops out of my hand as I bring it up to cup his face. This is wrong and I know it, but I don’t stop him as his tongue pries my lips apart and slides into my mouth.
I miss you.
I whisper your name as he kisses my neck, but he doesn’t seem to care. He keeps going, pressing my back into the counter and continuing to press his cold lips to my skin over and over. I open my eyes and look at the top of his head, covered in dark blonde curls almost identical to yours. He reminds me so much of you.
“Why?” you ask again, turning to face me when I don’t answer you. “Were you drunk?”
“Not really,” I tell you honestly.
“Was he really so much more attractive than I am?” You continue to look for answers, but you have no idea how off base you are. He may have looked like you, but he wasn’t you. You are so much more beautiful, so much more full of light and happiness. Not like now. Now you look cold and dark. So unhappy. It’s my fault.
“Not at all.” My voice is small and I know you’re frustrated. These are not the answers you want. You want me to give you some easy answer. There isn’t one. I was just lonely. I needed you and you weren’t there. I missed you.
“Then what?” you scream. “Give me something to go on here, Audra.” You want to cry. I can tell. I wish I could make you smile again. I think back on all the good times we’ve had together throughout the past two years. All the times you sat and played the piano as I painted and hummed along, all the times we did stupid things like have pillow fights in your bedroom, all the inside jokes we share. I think about all the things I wanted the other night. I wanted you to hold my hand, tell me it would be all right, cancel that stupid concert to be with me on my big night. But you weren’t there. I missed you.
He leads me into the living room, discarding clothes along the way and we fall onto the couch. I’m thinking about you the whole time. Pretending he’s you. Wishing you were here. Forcing myself not to think about what I’m really doing. I’m betraying you.
“He reminded me of you,” I finally say. “I was lonely. I was upset and nervous. And he looked like you.” You stare at me incredulously. Was that the wrong thing to say? I wonder. I don’t know, but it’s the truth.
“So you’re saying you only did it because you wanted me to be there and I wasn’t?” Your voice is calm. I think for a minute you might understand.
“Yes.” I look up at you and pull my knees to my chest. I can’t read you anymore. I don’t know what you’re thinking.
“Bullshit,” you say. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You don’t believe me. You think I’m trying to give you an answer you’ll accept so you’ll forgive me. I’m not. But I don’t say anything as you walk out the door.
I wish he hadn’t had those blue eyes. I wish he hadn’t been tall like you are. He wasn’t you. He didn’t love me. You loved me. Now you hate me. But I still love you. I wish you’d come back.
You won’t.
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