****
Damian tried hard to come into work the next day, but he couldn’t get further than his doorstep. Everything in his apartment reminded him of Becca, even though they’d only been seeing each other a month: a keychain from the Museum of Modern Art; a finger trap they’d gotten caught in before the first night he dipped his tongue between her legs; a t-shirt she’d danced around in after finding out she had one more vacation day she could take this month. That day, they’d stayed in his bed and eaten pizza while watching movies and kissing the breath from each other’s lungs. Her hair left a scent on his pillow each night, no matter how long she laid her head on the case, and he breathed her in while he had slept.
By the third day, he was dodging calls as well as concerned emails, shutting down all queries with a single, artful word. Some of the customers wanted monetary restitution—would he make a statement?
No.
The shareholders wanted to be reassured that nothing out of sorts was going on at IQID. Would he send an email?
No.
A new employee has been hired, can he sign off on the forms?
No.
Was he okay?
No.
The ache after the initial pain was somehow worse than the sting itself. Damian couldn’t believe how hollow he felt, like a straw had just been pulled from his back. Even after the end of the first week, he couldn’t feel anything stronger than mild annoyance; then, one day, he broke a mug Becca had given him. Instead of being upset, he’d gotten angry, and he’d stayed angry since—though sometimes the bubbling rage cooled to a gently meandering acidic river. He poured his energy into pure loathing: of the mailman, of the birds outside, of bicycle bells; even a delivered lemon tart wasn’t exempt from the irrational hatred that kept him up at night. The only place his hatred never ended up was around the thought of Becca.
He never considered why because he never directly thought about Becca. Damian forced himself to think of other things, and it worked splendidly—until it didn’t anymore, and he was lost in a pit of despair again. One night he made the mistake of wandering around the city and ended up that dive bar where he first met Becca. Against his better judgement, he even went in.
Everything was exactly the same. It gave him more than comfort, and Damian signaled for a Fat Tire as he settled into the same stool. The room was just as empty as before, which wasn’t surprising, because it was a Wednesday morning. The bartender eyed him as he handed over his credit card, and he felt the stubble on his jaw as she plucked it from his fingers. He felt a flash of hatred for her, but it was half-hearted. Hate Becca, he told himself. Why don’t you hate Becca?
The answer was simple: love. Damian had never been so in love with someone in his life, and part of him was happy to stay head-over-heels for her as long as he’d let himself. The other part of him was tired of being walked on, though, and it was hard and unyielding inside him. But what had that part gotten him since he’d developed it? Nothing, he realized. In fact, it had lost him more than anything else. He’d just had a chance at an incredible love, and it had withered away because he didn’t want to forgive. Damian gulped his beer, tears burning the backs of his eyes as he realized he may never have another chance.
“Bad beer?”
Damian nearly choked. Becca was standing beside him, holding a glass of Fat Tire out to him with her brown eyes held wide and careful. He started to rise and leave, but the hope in her eyes was too fresh to kill. I’ll hear her out, he decided. Though nothing can fix this.
Becca sat on the stool and stared at her hands for a moment. Damian felt another flash of hatred, but this time for himself—he wanted to kiss her already, and she hadn’t even begun speaking.
When she did, it didn’t get better. She raised her eyes to his, and a ripple of need passed through him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t say it enough. I’m so sorry. But I have to tell you—I never lied about anything else.”
Damian snorted. “Right.”
Becca winced. “I deserve that, but I’m telling you the truth,” she said urgently. “And I think I’ve figured out how to show you.”
She pulled something from her purse and set it on the bar, sliding it over for him to examine under the dim light. Damian saw that it was a laminated identification badge for her newspaper. His thoughts descended into a confused chaos, but his heart pounded in acknowledgement of what this must mean.
“I quit,” Becca said. “And before you say anything…I didn’t quit for you. I hated my job anyway, you know that. I would have quit if a better job offer came up.”
Damian smiled. “But?”
Becca smiled back. “But…I did quit because of you. Because you reminded me that I can be passionate about things, and love things with all of my being. You taught me that I’m still alive, so I should be living…and that starts with love.” She placed one hand on his, and the warmth made him ecstatic. “You made me rediscover what it felt like. Even if you don’t forgive me…thank you. I can go chase my dreams now. I feel like my heart was clogged, and you snaked the drain.” Becca blushed as she finished speaking and dropped her eyes. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. You don’t have to talk to me anymore.”
Damian watched her study the glass of beer before her, brown eyes anxiously tracking the bubbles as they zipped around the glass. A part of him wanted to leave—just turn around and walk out of Becca’s life, never to see her again. It wouldn’t be hard to avoid her with the amount of money he had—but it would be hard on his heart. It was clenching even as he watched her frown, just knowing she was unhappy; Damian desperately wanted to kiss away her tension and sadness until she laughed like the first night he met her. Could he forgive her after her betrayal? Could he love unguarded again?
Damian made several decisions at once. He drank the rest of his beer and set down a tip for the bartender before he turned to Becca. She gazed at him hopefully, the warmth in her honey brown eyes heating him to his core.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “There’s only one way I’ll forgive you.”
Becca’s hopeful smile faltered.
“If we’re going to be together, we need to work as a team—and this team likes kayaking. I have a little house in Maine that’s right on a river; I know you’re afraid of deep water because of your little mermaid stint, but I need you to at least try for me.”
The smile that spread across Becca’s face was infectious. He was grinning as she leapt into his arms, and Damian stood and spun her around as her arching laughter filled the darkened bar. The patrons shot them dirty looks as they celebrated, but neither Damian nor Becca noticed—they were far too comfortable in their steely bubble of new love. One of the yellowed lamps above them fizzled and blew out, but their lips touched as the bulb darkened; Damian’s heart pounded in his chest, heavy with joy in the realization that Becca’s love brought him the key to feeling like a real person again. He was never letting her go.
THE END