Story Eight

What is it with me and unhappy endings? It's worse enough I can't write satisfying endings, sheesh.

********************

I came across a piece in a magazine saying he had written a screenplay that became a number one movie. It easily could have been someone else with the same name, but, when I turned to finish the article, there was a picture of him laughing with one of the producers and one of the actors.
I’ll always have that one image of him.

We stood apart but face to face, when he finally spoke,”I called you yesterday.”
I wasn’t looking at him, but staring inside the living room. People were drinking and flirting with each other, while a few of us sparingly sprinkled the backyard. I was holding a glass filled with apple juice, while he held a cigarette.
In between puffs, our silence was growing, until I looked at him and he was patiently waiting for me to talk.
“I don’t feel like I belong here anymore.”
I don’t know why I said that, but went and joined the others inside.
Before I stepped inside, I looked over at him, with that wistful mixture of confusion and sadness over his face. He scratched his head, and then slowly tossed his cigarette on the patio, before stomping it out.
He watched, as I turned away and walked off.

Two nights before, I was sitting in someone’s living room, laughing over mixed drinks with her, when her doorbell rang. It was late at night, and she was a mutual friend of ours.
“So, you’re telling me--”
Chelsea turned to the door.
“--I don’t know who that is. I’m not expecting anyone at this hour.”
I looked at the hands on the wall. It was nearly midnight.
She got up and went to the door.
He was standing there.
I noticed she looked at me, then back at him.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I can’t right now. I have company.”
She moved out of the way, and he saw me sitting on the couch, sipping a green cosmo.
My head slowly turned his way, and we found ourselves looking at each other.
My friend stood there, silently. She looked at us both, and a slight smirk came across her face before she quickly erased it off her face.
I couldn’t look at him anymore and turned away.
“Do you want to come in, Myles?”
I turned back to them.
He was looking right at me, when he said,”Is it a good idea?”
I made no indication, but she let him in.
She came back to where she was sitting, and he came and took a chair directly across from me.
“Want something to drink, Myles?”
He nodded, before taking a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and helping himself to one. Popping it in his mouth, he took his lighter from the same pocket and lit it, before sitting back in his chair.
My friend cleared her throat and pointed at the ashtray on the coffee table.
“You obviously don’t remember almost burning my house down, when you used one of my plants as an ashtray, Myles,” she said.
He took a puff then slowly pulled it from his mouth and said, “Not my fault that I didn’t have an ashtray near me.”
“That’s why that’s there now. Now, use it, Myles.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He leaned forward and picked up the square-shaped crystal object, before putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

A few minutes passed before any of us said anything.
My friend leaned closer to me, then whispered,”I hate to do this to you, but I have to go to the bathroom. Are you going to be okay?”
I looked at her, then slowly nodded.
She got up and then left the room.
I didn’t feel uncomfortable until he put his drink down on the coffee table and put his cigarette out on the ashtray, exhaling the smoke.
“I missed you.”
I quickly downed my drink, before starting in on making myself another. It didn’t matter what at this point, as he wasn’t blinking.

We sat there for a good minute. Neither one of us talked, as I drank, while he continued staring.

Chelsea hadn’t returned yet, when I was about to make myself another drink.
Before I could lean down and do it myself, he got up and took the glass out of my hand. I sat there as he dropped a couple of nearly melted cubes into it, then picked up the bottle of sloe gin.

He handed the glass back to me, before he made himself a vodka on the rocks.
Instead of sitting down, back in his chair, he sat down where our friend ‘s empty seat still remained.
I took a couple sips, before any words came out of me.
“I know you’ve missed me. You kept calling my place. When you stopped calling, you left texts. When you stopped texting, you left messages on my cell phone.”
“Why didn’t you answer any of them?”
I took a few more sips, before looking at him.
He wasn’t drinking, and his glass remained full, but his eyes didn’t leave the sight of his fingers gripping the glass.
Both of us were quiet when he turned to me and asked, “Was it something I did?”
I shook my head.
He started sipping his drink before he set it down on the table and took his pack out.

After lighting another cigarette, he smiled and stroke my cheek.
I slightly shuddered at his touch. That’s always how it was with us lately. I always let him have his way with me, because it was an obligation as his girlfriend. I didn’t love him but was kept satiated.

As we sat there, Myles pulled the drink out of my hand, before setting his cigarette on the ashtray and exhaling smoke.
I sat quietly, as he leaned closer and kissed my neck. My eyes slowly closed before we heard coughing trying to hide laughing.
“Not on the couch, please. I just had it cleaned, after Sam’s cat peed all over.”
He slowly moved away from me, stifling a chuckle, and picked his cigarette back up.
I picked up my drink and we sat there quietly, with his arm around me.
Our friend sat in the empty chair, looking at us, before picking up her glass from the table and spritzing some club soda.

I was in no condition to drive myself home, so Myles took me.
At least, that’s what I think happened, as I woke up, fully clothed, with his arms tightly wound around my body.
My eyes opened and his face was buried in my neck, snoring into my ear. I slowly moved arms from around me, but roused him.
We didn’t say a word for some time before looking at each other.
He slowly reached for my hand and I watched as fingers intertwined with mine.
I sat up and didn’t look at him, as our hands still remained.

Our hands stayed for a few minutes before slowly withdrawing.
I slowly got off the bed, after he gently moved his hand from an elbow to my back.
I was in the bathroom, when he started.
“I had the best night’s sleep in the longest time.”
I kept quiet, trying to find the aspirin.
His voice was conflicting with after effects of the rave party that had taken place inside my head, as he continued rambling, while he came and went from the toilet.
I finally located the medicine hidden between tampons and cotton balls. And, after downing a couple, and having a bit of water, I felt less worse.
I stood in the frame, and he was back on the bed, sitting on the edge and facing my direction.
We were looking at each other, when Myles got up, off the bed, and came over.
He only had three drinks so he had his wits about him. His half foot always made me look up, when he stood near.
I looked at him and he tried to bind my eyes to his, but couldn’t as I kept looking past him.
It lasted a few seconds, before I finally looked into his blue eyes, he bent down and braced his hands against the door frame, before kissing me.
My mouth was closed before he pried my lips apart.

When he finished kissing me, I was leaning against one side of the frame and arms circled his neck. His body pinned against mine and I could feel every inch of arousal reminding itself against my thigh.
We looked at each other, before he led me back to bed.

A few hours later, both of us heavily breathing and in reverse cowgirl, I slowly got off him and lied down.
Our bodies were separate, as I found myself staring at the ceiling.
Myles looked at me and moved closer, enveloping my body with his arm.
We were silent for some time, before he asked,”What are you thinking about?”
I looked at him and shook my head.
“It’s not important.”
He lightly traced my cheek with his fingers.
I stopped his hand, then turned away.
There was a long pause.
Myles moved as close as he could to me. He had one arm under his head, as the other tightly holding me against him, his wrist between my breasts.
My heart beating against it, as we didn’t say anything for a really long time.
I knew he would remember this moment as the one where he realized it was over.

***

A couple weeks passed and I didn’t return any of his calls or any of his emails. I loved him but my unhappiness wasn’t something I could suppress anymore.

Pretty soon, days turned into weeks turned into months turned into today. I sat there and found myself staring at his picture. I was already married to someone else and quite happy with him. But, I’ve always wondered if he was happy. There was nothing in the article about him seeing anybody, so I wasn’t sure if he was seeing anybody, but part of me was curious if he was.
Before I realized what I was doing, I called up Chelsea, who I haven’t talked with in a couple months, because she was in the process of relocating to another city for her new job.
I called her and she answered.
“Hello, sweetie. How are you and Jake?”
“We’re good.”
“But...”, she joked.
“But, nothing. I called because I was reading a magazine and saw a picture of Myles.”
“Oh. I haven’t heard that name in ages.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you still talk with him.”
“Not for a few months now. Why?”
“I was just wondering if you knew how he was these days?”
Pause. I could see her arching her eyebrow over the phone.
“Well....”
She started telling me how he was close to getting married but broke it off.
“Did he give you a reason why it didn’t work?”
“Oh. Just the obvious one.”
“The obvious one?”
“Yeah, he never got over someone. And, we both know who that person is.”
I didn’t say anything for a while, but then weakly said, “Me?”
“Yes, you, my dear. You are the one that got away. He was heartbroken when I told him you got married.”
“Is he doing good otherwise?”
“Considering, yes.” She paused then added,” He wants to see you again. If I give you his number, will you at least talk to him, so he will quit sounding like a wounded puppy?”
Begrudgingly, I said, “All right.”

I sat there two days later holding the piece of paper with his number on it and picked up the phone then dialed it.
I got his voicemail and left a message.

I wasn’t expecting a call an hour later, while I sat there in the car, about to leave for work.
“Hello?” I said.
“Kiara?”
“It’s me.”
Both of us were silent, before he suddenly blurted, “I can’t talk over the phone, but would you want to meet for coffee later?”
“I get off work at 5, so about 6ish. At the corner of Ash and J?”
“All right. I’ll be there.”

As soon as I walked in, I scanned the room and saw him in one corner, facing the door. He was sitting at a table, nursing something warm in a tall paper cup.
After I saw him, he stood up.
I walked over to him and he went to hug me, but I didn’t return it.
He had the same exact expression on his face, and pretty much looked the same, except that the last time I saw him, he was clean shaven.
I sat down and he offered to buy me a drink.
I accepted and we sat there for an hour, just talking and catching up.
He hadn’t changed much, except for living in a bigger place and people knew who he was.
While I was still drinking, I rested my left hand on the table and noticed he kept looking down at the table. His smile turned downwards.
He was about to ask about it, when my cell started ringing and I answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hon, can you get something at the store?”
“What do you need, Jake?”
“Can you buy some orange juice?”
A laugh came out of me.
“All right. I’ll stop at the store. Right now, I’m having coffee with a friend of mine.”
“All right. But, hurry home.”
“Okay, Bye, Baby.”
“Bye, Hon.”
I hung up and looked at my watch.
“I have to go now.”
“All right.”
I stood up, and he stood up with me.
Before I walked off, he went in for another hug and I awkwardly accepted that and a kiss on the cheek.

I got home with a loaf of sourdough and two cartoons of orange juice.
Jake was setting dinner when I walked in.
I put the things away and went up to him, then we hugged and kissed.
“What are we having tonight?”
“Something good. Now, go change and relax.”
He slapped my ass before I went to our bedroom and changed out of my clothes. I looked at my cell and noticed I had a message, which I looked at. It was from Myles and I just deleted it after scanning it.

A few days passed and I found myself flipping through the television and they were about to interview someone, but I didn’t catch their name. I was about to change the channel when they showed a snippet of a future airing of an interview with the writer Myles Crepensky.
I wanted to toss my remote at the television.

The next morning, my husband and I were sitting at the kitchen counter on a Saturday morning, eating blueberry pancakes and drinking coffee and casually chatting.
We were talking about past relationships and I mentioned Myles.
It turned out my husband knew who he was, as he got up and got a collection of short stories he had been reading from the bedroom. It didn’t occur to me that it was the same person and was just a coincidence about the name.
As I sat there squirming, he happily read one of the short stories to me.
My reaction to the whole thing was complete silence.
The story was about something that Myles and I talked about a long time ago, when we were still dating.
I grabbed the book out of Jake’s hand and quickly scanned the 250 pages. Our whole relationship was mined and examined and exposed in full. Happiness didn’t exactly fill me, as I closed the book and set it down.
Jake started talking about the short stories and I found myself suddenly offer Myle’s phone number to him, despite my best judgement.

I reluctantly agreed for the three of us to meet for dinner.
There were actually four of us, as we all sat at a table, with myself and my husband at one side. Jake was a little star struck as Myles and a stunning well known actress sat at the other. The actress made no question in my mind that she was really into Myles, but it was obvious he didn’t feel the same way and I was amused he treated her more like a relative than a date the whole time.
Myles made it obvious who he was here to see, when at one point, he dropped something under the table, then he disappeared underneathe. The actress, Tuesday Flordamia, and my husband was talking about her last movie, and my husband was harmlessly flirting with her, but she only had eyes for my ex. I watched them and then felt something warm and slick against my exposed knee. I looked around and froze, as I realized Myles was under the table, licking my knee, a firm grasp on the back of my leg.
It seemed to last forever, before Myles resurfaced. All three of us looked at him, and he shrugged it off, saying he was tying his shoelaces.
I wasn’t too pleased about having to wipe my knee.

Tuesday and I went to the bathroom together, and we ended up talking about Myles. They had been dating for a couple weeks and she was quite smitten with him. She said she first laid eyes on him as they sat near each other at a movie premiere and she aggressively pursued him until he agreed to go on a date with her. She actually thought he was gay at first as she asked around and nobody seemed to recall him ever really going on many dates with other women, just two. I told her he was almost married at one point, and she seemed surprised.
She looked at me and asked how well I knew him.
I said, “I knew him better in the past then the present.”
She laughed it off then we went back to the table.

I got a message later that night from Myles, saying he wanted to see me again.
I reluctantly messaged him back, saying I would agree to it, but it had to be the last time we saw each other.

Three days later, I was alone with him, standing in the corner of a used bookstore. I had my back to him while perusing the titles and authors, and I could feel him standing behind me.
I slightly ignored him and could feel him breathing in big swallows.
He finally had enough and turned me around.
I hadn’t really expected him to touch me, or when I found him trying to melt me into his arms by kissing me.
After I stopped him, I started an argument.
He didn’t want to argue back, so he hugged me instead and rubbed the back of my head.
I broke out of his arms, completely frustrated that he wasn’t listening to me, and only to his own desires.
He said, “Everything I’ve done is because of you.”
I didn’t know how to respond but just looked at him and then walked off.

I didn’t return his calls or emails for the next two months.

Eventually, I assumed he would stop calling, but after three months he still called once a day.
I finally picked up and answered.
He asked to see me one more time.
I agreed, but just one more time.

It was horrible and a complete mistake, but it just doesn’t occur to him that this was and will always be one-sided.
Before I left, I let him hug me. It was passionate, as I felt him try to get every inch of me involved, and his mouth was on my neck, but I felt nothing and didn’t respond back.

I never saw him again, and four months later, I found an article in a magazine saying Tuesday and him were getting married.

Three months later, they were married.

A year later, they divorced.

Through-out this whole time, he continued to call.

Six months after that, Jake showed me a short story he came across that Myles had written and asked me if I knew where he got the idea for it.
The short story was of the main character imaging himself married to the one that got away and their life together.
I looked my husband dead in the eye and shook my head.

We never mentioned his name again, and his books and everything he wrote or touched mysteriously disappeared from our place within a week.