I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket as I walked back inside, but I ignored it.
In my mind, I thought I would be able to walk back into the station, get myself together, and finish my shift, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I had to tell them I was sick and needed to go home.
The producers began to scramble for my replacement, calling the evening girl to come in early and talking about whether or not they could just make it through the six o'clock broadcast without hair and makeup, but I just numbly grabbed my things and left. I told them I would do my best to be back in the morning for my usual shift.
I went straight home.
My head and jaw ached and throbbed.
I had shed some tears, but for the most part, I was too mad and out of it to even cry. I was mad at myself. I couldn't believe I had gone and fallen for someone when I knew better. For my entire life, I had been content to be alone, and the one second I let down my guard and tried to let someone in, this happened. There is no such thing as uncomplicated love, and as someone who didn't care much for complications, I should've known better than to love at all.
Patrick was extremely excited to see me when I got home, but I just numbly put him outside before collapsing onto my couch.
I lay there for what must have been a half-hour, thinking about how stupid I was. I could still see the picture of Isaac and Jillian when I closed my eyes, and I hated Cindy for ever telling me about it. I hated myself for not knowing it was there in the first place. My heart hurt so bad that in that moment that I honestly wished I had never met Isaac Charles.
I took a shower, washing my hair and brushing my teeth, and doing everything I could to physically scrub the grime and the feelings from the morning's events off of me. I went to the couch again when I was done and stayed there, unmoving for another half-hour or so.
I didn't get off the couch the first four or five times Patrick barked, but once he began doing it persistently, I drug myself to the back door to let him in. My purse was sitting on the kitchen counter, and, out of habit, I stuck my hand inside and pulled out my phone, absentmindedly pressing the home button and staring at the screen.
I had missed calls and texts from Isaac, but I didn't bother looking at them. I just tossed my phone back onto my purse, and lumbered into the living room again.
Patrick came up to me, sniffing and wagging his tail like he was in the best of moods. I talked sweetly to him, saying things like, "Hey boy," and "That's a good boy," but it was without any real emotion that I did it—I just knew he didn't deserve to be punished for my heartbreak. He sniffed me for a couple of minutes, but when I remained listless on the couch, he finally gave up and curled up on the floor next to me.
We were still in this position when I saw someone pull up in my driveway. I couldn't see them directly, but I saw a reflection of light through the window. Patrick saw it also, because he sprang up and ran to the window to get a look.
He let out several excited barks, running back and forth from the windows to the front door. I told myself it was the mailman, or UPS, or maybe even my mom, but deep down, I knew who it was. I could not see the front door from my position on the couch, but I heard a knock, and Patrick continued to bark and jump around excitedly.
Part of me was furious, part of me was scared to death to open the door, and part of me was relieved and happy.
My feelings were so constantly changing that I was almost dizzy with it.
While staying there to wallow in my own self-pity seemed like a viable option, I knew that wasn't my style. I had no choice but to get up and deal with the confrontation that was waiting at my door. I glanced in the mirror on my way there. It was obvious that I had been crying, but it wasn't as noticeable as I anticipated.
Patrick was standing with his nose pressed to the edge of the door, waiting anxiously for me to open it, but I nudged him back with my hip, telling him quietly to get out of the way as I reached out for the doorknob. I opened the door just a crack, filling the opening with my body so that Patrick couldn’t get around me. He whined and pushed at me with his nose, but I didn't budge.
Isaac stood on my porch.
He was only a few feet away from me, but I didn’t look at him. I focused on his waist and his knees, and the blank space that was right next to him—anywhere but his face.
"Shelby, can I come in?" he asked. There was undeniable emotion and disappointment in his voice, and my heart broke even more. "I went by the station, but your car wasn't there. Can I please come in so we can talk?"
"No," I said.
"Why not? What's wrong? What did I do?"
I came really close to saying the cliché phrase, "It's not you, it's me," but I caught myself before it came out. "Nothing," I said. "You didn't do anything. It's not your fault."
"Then what's the matter?"
I took a deep breath, knowing he deserved an explanation. "Everybody our age has a past, Isaac. It's just me who can't handle it. It's my fault. I'm not built for these feelings."
"What past? What are you talking about? Are you talking about that thing I told you when you were cutting my hair?" He paused, waiting for me to answer.
"Yes, Isaac."
I could see him shift his stance and run his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. "I knew I shouldn't have told you that," he said. "I knew right after I said it that it would change things. I don't know what I was thinking." He stepped a little closer to me. "Please forgive me for that, Shelby. It was a long time ago." He was staring straight at me. I wasn't looking at his face, but knew he was just from the way he was standing.
"That's the thing, Isaac. It was such a long time ago. You shouldn't have to ask me to forgive you for that. Most women wouldn’t even think about it. Most women have pasts of their own. The problem is me. The problem is that I can't handle it. I see your picture with her, and I do crazy stuff like throw my phone in the trash. It's ridiculous. I'm not built for lov—trusting people. I'm not cut out for doing this."
"Shelby, will you please let me in so we can sit down and talk about this?"
I glanced at him for a second, but I couldn't handle it, so I instantly looked away. He was so sweet and handsome. I shook my head.
"Why not? And what picture are you talking about? Why'd you throw your phone in the trash?"
My heart wrenched at the mention of it. Patrick continued incessantly to try to get around me, but I wouldn't let him.
"Your Facebook," I said. "Cindy came in to work today talking about some post she saw on Facebook, so I looked at it, and there you were with that girl from college." I let out a huff. "Plus, just the fact that Cindy was all torn up about not hearing from you. I'm just, it's just, it's, I'm sick, Isaac. It makes me literally sick. I'm really not cut out for drama."
Isaac held his palms out and ducked to put himself in my line of vision. "There's no drama, "he said calmly. "I seriously don't know what you're talking about. I don't even deal with my Facebook. My team at work said I need to have a presence on there, so Yvonne handles all that for me. I don't even mess with that. I don't know what picture you're talking about. Who was it? Me and Jillian?" He seemed stupefied by the possibility.
I nodded.
"An old picture?" he asked, still looking confused.
I nodded again.
He stood there for a few seconds before again trying to get me to look at him by moving in front of me. "I haven't been with anyone in almost ten years, Shelby. There's no drama. All you have to do is tell me where you saw the picture, and I'll call Yvonne and tell her to take it away. I don't know where she would have got something like that in the first place."
He stood patiently in front of me. It took me a few seconds but finally, I let my gaze meet his. I wanted so badly to believe that everything would work out. When I looked into his eyes, I truly felt like I loved him—like my soul connected with his.
"I'm the same as you," he said softly, holding my gaze. "I'm not good at trusting people, either. I don't let people in. I don't go around falling in love like this, Shelby. This is new for me too. It's scary for me too. I want to throw your phone in the trash, too, if that's what's making you do this."
I had to hold back a little smile at that statement. I could tell he meant it, and that's what made it strike me as funny. "It's not just that," I said. "I'm just afraid that I won't be able to handle the jealousy, Isaac. I'm not normally a jealous person, and I don't like being that way. To me, and jealousy feels like a weakness. I don't like it."
"Then, just don't be jealous," he said throwing his hands up.
"That's easy for you to say, but what am I supposed to say to Cindy when she comes in to work looking all depressed that you didn't call her this weekend?"
"Tell her that I'm not going to call her because I'm yours," he said as if that were the only logical answer.
I let out a little laugh, imagining myself saying such a thing to Cindy.
"What?" he asked. "What's funny?"
"I just can't imagine me saying something like that."
"Well, I'm sorry but you're going to have to. You're going to have to make yourself do some things that are out of your comfort zone, Shelby, and so am I. Neither of us are used to trusting someone, and it might mean we have to be a little uncomfortable at times, but we're just going to have to be tough and get through it."
I stared at him—into his endless soft green eyes.
"I'm not letting you break up with me just because you're scared. You already warned me that you were scared, so I knew I might have to help you get past some moments like this. I was prepared for that."
"What about you?" I asked. "You're scared too."
"I am," he said nodding. "But I'm way more scared to lose you than to go through whatever it takes to keep you. I want you at any cost, Shelby. I want you and you alone. I'll do whatever it takes to make you know that."
"What's gonna happen when the building's done?" I asked.
"I don't know. I guess we're gonna be in a position where we have to figure out a way to see each other."
Patrick, who had lost all patience by this point, gave a loud bark from right behind me.
"Patrick wants me to come in," Isaac said.
"I do too, but—"
"But what?" he said.
"But I already told myself that I had to let you go."
"So tell yourself that was a lie," he said reasonably.
"Just like that?" I said. "I'm supposed to switch gears just like that?"
He nodded at me as if maybe I was missing something by not seeing it as that simple. He was breathtakingly handsome, and for the first time since I opened the door, I found myself seeing him as something besides a threat. I saw him for what he was—a kind, considerate, smart, sweet, patient, rational person. He was gorgeous inside and out—gentle and mild yet rugged and masculine. I knew as I stood there looking at Isaac that I was altogether wrong for thinking our love wasn't worth the risk. He was totally worth the risk. He was more than worth the risk. I was an idiot for thinking otherwise.
"I'm sorry," I said.
My heartache shifted to feelings of regret and embarrassment, and I prayed desperately that he would forgive me.
"Sorry that you can't let me in?" Isaac asked in a confused, frustrated tone.
I shook my head. "No. I'm just sorry about everything," I said.