31
Lola
ThatGuy:
Knock Knock.
LolaB:
Who’s there?
ThatGuy:
The dude.
LolaB:
The dude… who?
ThatGuy: The dude who really hopes you’ll change your mind and meet him soon.
LolaB:
Soon, I promise.
ThatGuy:
Sigh. I guess since I made you wait it’s only fair you make me wait.
LolaB:
Patience is a virtue.
ThatGuy:
Indeed. One I apparently don’t possess. If only I could lure you in with some rare books. Or chocolate. Both things which I’m not opposed to doing, btw.
LolaB:
You realize how creepy it is when you say, ‘lure me in’ right?
ThatGuy:
Yeah, I kinda figured. But then again you haven’t given me the boot yet. So I thought it might be okay to be a little creeptastic.
LolaB:
Mmmhmm. Well, I’ll let it slide this one time.
My focus returns to the computer screen. I’ve been staring at market research data all morning, and my eyes are blurry. There isn’t enough coffee in the world for this, and the problem is that I was up all night tossing and turning after Daire’s message.
I shouldn’t be thinking about it, but I am. How can I not? His words play on repeat in my head. I want to text him back. I want to pacify him and tell him it’s okay. Because what I asked him to do was my idea, and he just went along with it. Daire doesn’t need another reason to feel guilty. But then again, this whole scenario just circles back to my own issues. I can’t tell Daire how to feel. I can’t control what he does or how he acts, and I can’t comfort him for something he should already know himself.
If Daire wants to help himself, he needs to learn that he is an adult who makes his own decisions. He can’t use this or anything else as an excuse to fuel his addiction, and I can’t continue to take on everyone else’s problems. But it doesn’t make it any easier.
If I’m being honest, I miss him. I miss him terribly. My heart aches every day that goes by, and I don’t receive a message from him. I can’t even begin to count the amount of times I’ve thought about texting him in the middle of the night. Or showing up at his office. Or calling him from a blocked number just so I can hear his voice before I hang up. But doing any of those things would be foolish.
My heart might be torn, but I don’t think Daire’s is. He likes to play this game with me. He likes to keep me close, but not too close. He’s afraid of his own feelings, and he’s terrified of being vulnerable, and because of that, I doubt he’ll ever find someone to push past those barriers. Lord knows I tried.
My phone pings, and it’s another message from Tap Left.
ThatGuy:
Whatcha doing?
LolaB:
Market research.
ThatGuy:
Sounds… exciting. Maybe we could do a little market research together over lunch this week. I think you’ll find that I have a wealth of knowledge in that department.
I smile at his persistence and then shake my head. I don’t know why I keep putting it off. When I dove head first into saving the shop, I told myself that I wouldn’t allow any other distractions. But I’ve been working nonstop, and maybe some outside help is exactly what I need. Besides, if I meet him in a strictly professional capacity, it might help with some of the anxiety I’m feeling about the whole situation.
LolaB:
If I agree, could we keep it to business only? I really do need to focus on my shop right now. But I’ll admit that I could use all the help I can get.
ThatGuy:
Holy shit. Did that actually work, or am I hallucinating? Yes, we can keep it to business. But I can’t promise not to be awestruck by your charm once I’m sitting across from you.
I laugh at his cheesy line, and then a voice from behind startles me.
“Lola.”
My shoulders jump, and the phone in my hand clatters onto the desk as I turn slowly and face the last person I expected to see standing in my office.
Daire.
He looks tired. Exhausted, actually. And I don’t think he’s been taking very good care of himself. I want to scold him and ask him why, but that would be the old Lola.
I am not responsible for his well-being. I am not responsible for his well-being.
I keep repeating it in the hopes that I’ll actually make myself believe it.
“What are you doing here?”
His eyes move to my phone. Guilt eats at me, but I have no idea why. We aren’t together, and I’m not doing anything wrong. So, I don’t know why it feels like I am.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He looks like an abandoned puppy, and he’s as humble as I’ve ever heard him.
He closes his eyes and blows out a breath, and I can’t seem to find mine. I want to tell him that I’ve been thinking of him too, but I know no good can come of it.
“Lola, I don’t know how to do this,” he says. “I’m not good at people. I’m not good at doing right by the people I care about. But I care about you.”
“Daire—”
“Please,” he begs. “Just hear me out. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to wake up. I don’t know why I spent so many years hating you and wishing I could blame you for Ryan’s death. When you came to me and told me that you cared about me, I was too young and stupid to know that I was fucking up the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. I pushed you away when all I really wanted to do was make you mine.”
Everything burns and my throat is too clogged to speak. These are the words I’ve always needed from him. The ones I’ve always wanted. But it turns out that maybe I haven’t changed at all because I’m too terrified to acknowledge them now.
“I don’t know how to be the man you deserve,” he ventures on. “I only know that I want to try. And I know in the past I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked you over. I’ve been a dick, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m asking for it now.”
“You have it,” I whisper. “You have my forgiveness, Daire.”
Tears are leaking down my face now, and Daire looks happy. He thinks that means we’re okay. He wants to believe that wipes the slate clean, but it doesn’t. Giving into him is too scary, and I just can’t. It feels like putting myself out there only to have my heart eviscerated again. I can’t breathe, and all I really want to do is tell him to leave.
“I haven’t had a drink in a year, LB,” he tells me. “I know you won’t believe me, but it’s true.”
“No,” I argue. “I saw you at karaoke, Daire.”
“You saw me order drinks. You never saw me drink them.”
My fingers tremble, and I can’t think straight. What he’s telling me right now, I can’t wrap my head around. It isn’t right. I know it isn’t right. Daire sees it on my face, and he falls quiet. My peaceful, ignorant bubble has burst. He’s come in here and wrecked everything all over again. And I hate him for it because he’s a liar.
I tell him so.
“You can’t do this to me again!” I scream.
His eyes widen as if I’ve slapped him, and it only fuels my rage.
“Do you know how many years I spent wishing that you would see me as something else? Thinking that I wasn’t good enough for you? Wondering why it was always me you called when you were drunk?”
He tries to speak, but I stop him. I don’t want to hear any more of his lies.
“You don’t get to come here now and tell me that you’ve loved me all along, Daire. No. It isn’t fair. And I don’t know why you want to hurt me. Do you get off on it? Is that it? Does it make you feel good to hang on to me and never let me be happy because you know I’m too weak to let you go?”
“Lola—”
“I hate you!” I shriek. “Do you get that? You have fucked me up, over and over and over again. You have ruined me for anyone else. You have turned me into this… this crazy bitch who says mean things. This is all your fault.”
Daire’s face turns to stone. “That’s where you’re wrong, LB. You don’t need any help being cruel. You can do that all on your own.”
And with that parting shot, Daire does what he’s best at.
He leaves.