Aubrey
“Aubrey,” David calls quietly, his voice soft, coaxing and so out of character, I turn instinctively toward him.
His focus is on the road, and I watch his teeth grind within his jaw. He’s nervous, but I understand that. This could make his career, make the work he’s committed his whole self to, all worth it. This is it. His moment, a test if you will. A bid at his biggest client, one that will undoubtedly change his standing in the company he’s given his life to. He’ll be revered, respected.
He glances toward me, only a fleeting look before his eyes return to the road as he drives.
“David, I know this is an important night for you, I’ll be on my best behavior.”
I hate that I have to recite those words, but he nods. The tick in his jaw flexes again with the tension the anticipation for this evening brings. It clouds him with an air of vulnerability you never see from him. Enough to almost tempt me to reach out. To touch him reassuringly in some way. Almost.
I think an act of intimacy would throw him off as much as it would me right now. It’s sad that this is now our reality. That we’ve come to a point in our life where we feel the need to warn one another to behave in a way we see fit. Or that a simple loving act of encouragement would make each other anxious.
I watch his profile as he drives, he’s focused, but clearly somewhere else. His entire career depends on tonight. Watching him as closely as I am isn’t something I do often, not anymore and I try to recall if either of us ever gave this relationship a proper shot.
Did I support him in his endeavors the way I should have?
Has he ever really embraced the person I am, or been proud of the strength and confidence I have in myself to speak my mind? Did he ever think he could truly love me?
Have we always really resented these traits that seem to have formed such a crater of mistrust and misery around us? Or have we grown into it?
“Did it annoy you from the beginning?” His neck twists immediately as my voice breaks the quiet in the car, his face showing his confusion at my question. “My openness, forwardness, who I am…. I guess?”
I shouldn’t be doing this to him now, not on the bridge of such an important moment in his life, but the question falls from my mouth before I can give it a second thought.
“No,” he answers, shocking me with how genuine the simple word sounded.
I’m used to him sighing, the sound always laced with such irritation, such annoyance at anything and everything I do. But now, he sighs and there’s an acceptance, a sadness in the sound.
“I admired it when we first met. I found it refreshing. It was different from the falseness and pretense I’m surrounded with on a daily basis.”
I turn away from looking at him, my eyes staring blankly at the road as we drive “What changed?”
Silence spans the small physical distance between us, widening the expanse so significantly I accept that he most likely won’t answer my question.
But he does. And when he speaks the disdain he normally throws my way is missing. “I grew up.” His words are hurtful, but not intended that way. A statement of fact. A simple declaration that he grew out of fondness with me, something I’m never actually certain I felt for him. Not in droves anyway.
Silence ensues once again, and I realize that quiet is our norm. Our go-to. I guess in reality it’s not a bad thing. It could be worse. We could feel the need to fill the gaps with mindless chatter. Maybe I should be grateful that because of David’s stiffness, small talk is something he refuses to participate in.
The difficulty is, I now know the difference between contented quiet and empty silence. When I spent time with Jake, our silence hadn’t felt awkward, it was simply the ease in which we found one another’s company. There was nothing forced between us. We’d chat when we wanted, but we were always happy in our quiet.
David’s silence is awkward. Neither of us seems to know how to be around one another. In the beginning, we’d try for small talk, for senseless conversation but it would always fall flat. Eventually, we both seemed to give up.
Maybe that was our problem. We both seem to stop making any kind of effort. We co-exist, trying in vain to continue this charade. I understand his reasoning, the carefully crafted plan I seemed to slide into without knowledge. I just wonder how long it will last? Does he expect it to continue forever? And I wonder if for the rest of my life I’ll compare David to Jake. I have to assume so. I love Jake, and I resent David. But I have to accept that Jake now hates me. I don’t blame him for that. I hate myself.
This last month or so has been torturous. Not having the contact I crave. I can’t even bring him up in conversation with Annabelle because I know I’ll start to cry. So I have zero idea about how he’s doing. Last I spoke to him was our phone call that finished whatever we had. It was the most excruciating few minutes of my life, yet, I never wanted it to end. I knew that as soon as our call disconnected, I would no longer have any right to Jake. Not that I ever really had a right. But contact was permissible. The fear that phone call filled me with crippled my ability to breathe. Of course he was stronger than me, and when he whispered his easy goodbye, his endearment breaking on a cracked sob, I felt as though the greatest part of me had died.
“Did you ever find attraction in the traits you now seem to despise in me?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, pushing thoughts of Jake away to concentrate on mine and David’s conversation. It feels foreign, speaking to him so openly without having to force it. I could lie, but he gave me honesty, so I owe him that.
“Attraction, no. I admired your drive and found your rigid nature…. sweet?” My answer finishes on a question, stuck for how to explain my feelings accurately.
I watch his features morph in thought as he contemplates my words.
“Why stay then?”
I raise an eyebrow in disbelief and he rolls his eyes. “Before. Why stay so long?”
I shrug limply. “I had belief in that fact that we’d grow into something more.”
We let the quiet overtake us again, no longer feeling the need to fill the silence.
“That went so well,” David smiles widely, a small slur in the excitement of his words.
I return his smile, nodding my agreement. He’s right. The night went off without a hitch. We charmed the shit out of the clients he has spent the last few months wooing. They were eating out of the palm of our hands as the night progressed and by the time we left, I had zero doubt that David would claim the client as his own.
“Thank you, Aubrey. You were brilliant,” he praises, so unexpectedly my neck twists in his direction, my right eyebrow arching in disbelief.
He laughs. That’s right, he laughs, chuckles, his eyes closing in amusement. “Don’t be shocked, I can offer praise where it’s due, and you played your part well.”
I laugh humorlessly at his backhanded compliment, but he doesn’t notice, too caught up in his own giddiness.
It’s disappointing that he thinks everyone liked a pretend version of who I am. Truth be told, I didn’t need to school my personality, the client loved it. He drank up my humor and spirit like he was starved of it. He remained plastered to my side the entire night, enjoying my flirtation and wit. David noticed less and less the more he drank and the more booze he consumed the giant stick usually planted firmly up his ass began to disappear.
His company was actually enjoyable, shocking the fucking shit out of me. He was funny, easy going almost. Almost. It was a stark difference to the man I’ve spent years trying to love. For the briefest moment, I was reminded of the man I met that very first night. Not the version he seems to have morphed into.
“Aubrey,” his hand reaches across the center console, holding my wrist softly to pull my attention, “truly, thank you. I know these events aren’t something you particularly enjoy, but I really appreciate how great you were tonight. This will be good for us. Our dreams coming true.”
I want to scoff at the remark. Our dreams. Is he fucking kidding? I hold in my smart-ass remark though, making myself appreciate that David just thanked me. And it was genuine. Blow me fucking down, I thought I’d die before I’d ever hear similar words come from his mouth.
“You’re welcome. I’m happy for you, David. Truly, I am. You’ve worked hard for this.”
He squeezes my wrist, his hand still wrapped delicately around it in affection. It feels odd. It’s gentle, frail in its pressure and I find myself annoyed by it.
We arrive home, and I watch David as he moves toward our front door, a lazy happiness about him. He waits patiently for me to open the door and I hurry inside ahead of him, but before I can move further past him, he grabs hold of my arm, turning my body toward his as he closes the door softly behind him.
His eyes scan my face, and my heart beats quickly in panic, reading his attention clear enough. He pulls me closer, and I go easy enough, not having reason not to. Not to him, anyway.
“You’re very beautiful, Aubrey.” The hand not holding onto mine rises, and he pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
David’s attractive. I’d be crazy not to be able to admit that honestly. He’s tall. Not as tall as Jake, but still, tall. His shoulders are broad, maybe slightly more so than Jake’s but not significantly. He’s clean cut, face always freshly shaven, unlike Jake, whose face always seems to sport a dark shadow of hair along the sharp cut of his jaw. David’s face is similarly sharp, the lack of hair on his face showcasing the strong line of his jaw. His eyes are dark, not impactful in any significant way, not like Jake’s crystal cut gaze. He has zero laugh lines, definitely no dimple, but his lips are well crafted on his serious face. There’s nothing distinguishably attractive about him, he just is. Women would find interest in his appearance. So looking into his eyes, watching his lips part softly as he moves in to kiss me, I know I should feel something more.
I close my eyes as his lips meet mine and I let him kiss me. It’s soft, fleeting and once again I’m annoyed by his tentativeness. I should push him away, throw off his touch after what he’s put me through, but why bother? Jake hates me and I have no other choice. I’m stuck with him.
I move closer into him, opening my mouth to his to slide my tongue inside. Trying to feel something more. Anything. He groans quietly as our tongues touch and it sounds wrong. Not the rough growl I crave. I pull back, turning my head from his and his eyes flutter open. They’re drunk with need as his hands rise up, pulling at his tie.
“Shall we go to our bedroom?”
I stare at him blankly. Could he be any more predictable?
“Don’t you ever just get so taken over by your need to fuck me you just wanna rip my clothes off and fuck me where we stand?”
His head inches back, taken back by the crassness of my declaration. “You’re not a common whore, Aubrey.”
I cough out a laugh, rolling my eyes. “It’s called passion, David.”
“Yes, and it’s quite achievable in our bedroom as we make love.”
Barf.
Grabbing hold of my hand, he pulls me toward our bedroom, ignoring the mixture of disgust and fear etched on my face. My palms feel sweaty and my chest hurts to breathe.
I can’t do this.
I can’t let him touch me intimately.
I can’t touch him.
Not when all that belongs to somebody else.
Somebody I can’t be with.
Somebody I pushed away.
Somebody who hates me.
“Are you going to undress?”
I startle at the sound of David’s voice. It sounds hollows in my ears, and I feel an overwhelming sense of uncertainty. My arms wrap around my body, shielding me from his watchful gaze, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care to see my apprehension as he continues removing his clothes, folding them neatly as he goes.
The difference between him and Jake in this moment seems magnified. The passion and need Jake loves me with is such a stark difference to the methodical and rehearsed way in which David does.
I feel sick. I feel wrong. I feel vulnerable, and when David’s cool hands touch my back, I startle forward, moving from his grasp.
“Just helping you from your dress,” he offers quietly, brow furrowing at my odd behavior.
I swallow the bile threatening to rise up my throat and pause only briefly before nodding. I’ll need to do this eventually, let David touch me again. We haven’t been intimate for months and months. Since well before Jake and I started our affair. But that’s over.
He steps forward again, and his hands feel suffocating on my skin, but I close my eyes tightly, forcing myself to enjoy the moment. It’s futile. Unachievable.
My dress pools to the floor and I suddenly feel bared in the most painful of ways. My shoulders bunch and I pull away from his hands. He mistakes my movement, moving to the bed and reaching his hand out for me.
I’m naked, bar the small scrap of material of my panties, and the onerous weight of the delicate chain and strawberry around my ankle. A gift from Jake. A small piece of his heart I’m not yet ready to let go of. I refuse to take it off and normally it offers me a sense of peace, of connection to Jake. Even when it shouldn’t. But now, standing so bare for David’s eyes the weight of it feels like shame, like regret and in this awful moment, I want nothing more than to be swallowed by the ground.
I’m being ridiculous. David’s in no way repulsive and he’s always been a kind enough lover. He’s never touched me in a way I haven’t wanted him to. His touch is always soft, tentative and I think that’s what infuriates me most. Now I know how it should feel. Unbridled passion.
I let my eyes roam over David’s body as I place my hand in his, trying to find some kind of excitement in seeing the naked planes of his body. His abdominal muscles flex as he reaches forward, dragging me closer.
He kisses my stomach softly, his chin tipping upward to meet my eyes as his lips drift across my skin. A sob breaks from my throat as our eyes connect and I shrink away from his touch.
His eyes widen at my shaking form, and I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes tightly against my tears. He pulls me back, but my eyes remain closed, not wanting to see the brown of his eyes. Knowing it would feel wrong. It would feel like I was, am, committing the most heinous act of betrayal.
His lips meet my nipple, kissing it softly before his tongue darts out to taste it and I sob again, stepping of his reach.
“What is going on, Aubrey? I’m not hurting you.”
I nod my agreement, eyes still glued shut. “I know.”
“Then why are you shielding yourself from me and crying every time I touch you?”
I shake my head, my arms wrapping severely around my chest.
“Look at me,” he demands and any residual happiness from the evening subsides as the tone of his voice cuts into me. It’s rude and brusque, and I take a step backward as my eyes open at the strictly spoken request. I blink back the tears leaking onto my cheeks and his eyes narrow.
“I’m trying here, Aubrey.” He stands, moving to grab his pajama bottoms from the bed and stepping roughly into them.
I envy him being clothed, envy that he’s now covered and I’m still mostly naked, letting his eyes touch parts of my skin they shouldn’t.
“Are you listening to me?” The question is bitten out as he throws my silk robe at my trembling body and I grab onto it like a lifeline, forcing my body into the material as fast as physically possible. My body now covered in its entirety, I breathe easily on a shuddering breath.
“I’m sorry,” I scratch out. “I’m just not really in the mood.”
“Not in the mood?” he thunders, his hands rubbing along his face in frustration. “My God, Aubrey, you were responding to my touch as though I was touching you without your consent. What is wrong with you?”
I swallow deeply, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
He snorts. “Could’ve fooled me. What kind of woman doesn’t want their male companion to touch them?”
I shake my head. “What kind of man refers to their girlfriend as a companion?”
“You are so strange. I seem like the only one actually trying in this relationship,” he declares, and I laugh at the absurdity of the statement, inciting more anger from him.
“Good God, Aubrey. Well done on ruining a very successful night for us.”
“For you,” I combat. “A successful night for you.”
His hands find his hips and he rolls his eyes. “As I said, I’m the only one trying. You have this ‘me’ versus ‘you’ mentality. How do you expect us to connect when you don’t see us as a team?”
I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of his statement. A team. Jesus. He must still be buzzed, the after effects of the booze at dinner. A team shares in their joint success; something he’s never done for me. A team supports and encourages one another; something neither of us has ever really done for the other. We’re not a team, more two sides working for opposing goals that never seem to overlap.