Its just us here omnibus, p.62
It's Just Us Here Omnibus, page 62
part #1 of It's Just Us Here Series
“I’m not letting you do that,” he said quietly.
“You don’t own me,” I countered. “You don’t control me. I don’t care what you think. I don’t have to care anymore!” It felt like I was flying circles around him, but in reality I was in the back seat blabbering drunkenly and making an ass of myself.
He didn’t speak to me again until we pulled up to the front of his parking garage.
“Give me your keys,” he said.
“No.”
He opened the door. “Get out,” he ordered.
“No. I’m taking this car to my house!”
“I’m not paying for it. Get out of the car and get upstairs. You need to sleep this off. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“No!” I pulled out my smartphone, which I had carried with me even though I never carried a phone. “I’m taking this car back home.” I drunkenly called up the app.
“You don’t have a data plan,” he explained calmly. “Come up—”
“Yes I do!” I shouted out the open door. “Got it today.” I hiccuped. “Just so I could get home if I needed to.” I looked at my phone—it wasn’t working. The guy at the store had showed me how to get it started and helped me load my home location into Uber, but I wasn’t drunk at the time and now my fingers couldn’t figure it out. “And I know you got me drunk that first time so I would stay the night at your place.... Didn’t you!”
I focused back on my phone and muttered, forgetting about my sudden accusation.
“Get out of the car. You’re drunk and you don’t have a data plan on your phone.”
“Yes I do,” I insisted stubbornly. “I got it today, but I can’t figure it out.” How could I be so pathetic? I whined and held my phone up for him to look at.
Mark got in the back seat with me. “Let me see it,” he said patiently. He scrolled down from the top and somehow activated my data. “That’s how you do it, see?” He started the Uber app and asked it to take me home. “I got you the cab.”
“Thanks,” I said, like an emperor.
“This ride is a waste of money,” he said, still trying to dissuade me. “Stay here for the night and calm down.”
“This is worth it,” I stressed. “Plus, it’s my first Uber so I get five dollars for free. Worth it!” He wouldn’t leave, so I kicked him. Then he got out and shut the door.
The driver took me home—we didn’t have to talk. He knew my address from the app and there was nothing else I wanted to say to him. He had heard our entire argument. What must he think? That we were lovers, probably. A lover’s quarrel.
I sat in the back seat and kept silent, sullen. Why had I been so nasty to Mark? Yes, he was underhanded and bitter towards me, but that didn’t excuse my behavior. Where had all that come from? I wouldn’t talk like that to my number one nemesis, much less someone I actually cared about.
I did care about him. My actions might have said the exact opposite, but I wanted to get back to normal... to where we could be friends again. That clearly wouldn’t happen overnight. We needed time to heal, if healing was even possible.
I got out of the car at my house and gave the guy a nice five dollar tip (since I had received five dollars towards my ride). Tomorrow I would take public transportation into Mark’s neighborhood to get my car. There was no need to use Uber again. Tomorrow I would call the data company and tell them to cancel my data plan. It had served its purpose.
Why did I think it was a good idea to do that move with the phone? I threw it in his face—vindictively. Mark thought he could hurt me? Two could certainly play at that game! Just watch how much more I could hurt him.
I had spent the night getting drunk on gluten-free beer just so I could prove a point—I didn’t need him. I could take care of myself. I didn’t need Mark to lend me his bedroom. I didn’t need him to look out for me—I made it home just fine.
Just fine. I’m perfectly fine. Everything is fine.
Wow, I was really drunk. I kept bumping into things—my parents must have heard me as I made my way through the kitchen. My feet looked really far away.
I got to my room and saw my phone—the one with the texting plan. I giggled, laughing at the fact that I now had a phone for data and a separate phone for texts and calls.
I texted Mark—he deserved to know that I had gotten home safely.
= made it home =
I got a text back quickly.
~what?~
I looked at what I had written to him. It was a mess of gobbly words. I took my time and typed my message again.
= i am home =
~okay. goodnight~
= bitch =
Then I passed out.
I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING WITH A POUNDING HEADACHE, which was mostly my own fault. I hadn’t drunk water the night before and was dehydrated. I walked downstairs like a zombie and drank a cup of water, then swallowed two aspirin. I ate a banana and got to work on my morning writing.
The hours went by slowly and painfully. My body woke up as the morning progressed. By the afternoon, I had made a full recovery and was ready to work out, so I took the bus to Mark’s place.
His car was in his parking spot. My car was waiting for me. I had to wait for someone to open the elevator for me, then went up to his floor. I knocked on his door, but didn’t get an answer. I called his name, but no one responded.
“Fine,” I said to the door. “I guess we’ll go over separately.”
I drove to Tim and Ryan’s gym. They were already on the floor. The locker room was empty. I briefly wondered if Mark was already here, but there was no sign of him. I gave him five minutes to show up, then went out to meet the guys.
“Hey, dude,” Ryan said. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”
“Why?”
“Mark is in New York for the weekend. I thought you might skip tonight.”
“Why would I do that? I only skip if my joints hurt.”
We started lifting. So, Mark told the guys that he would be gone, but not me? What a fucking asshole. Jerk. I lifted with a rage burning up my insides. I lifted like I wanted to be punching Mark’s head with each grunt.
“Are you two doing okay?” Ryan asked tentatively.
“What are you talking about?”
“Um.... You and Mark... you two felt off yesterday. Are you in a fight?”
“Everything’s fine. I went home with him, didn’t I? I showed up with him, didn’t I? Everything is fucking perfect.” I started my next set.
Tim didn’t contribute anything to the conversation, but usually when our chats turned in this direction he would be the one to end them. He didn’t end it this time and Ryan continued prodding me:
“Mark won’t talk about what happened last week. Did you have a good time? Did something... happen?”
“What do you want me to say?” I growled. “Nothing happened. Somebody wanted something to happen, but I put him in his place. And now that I think about it, I suspect there were a couple guys back here who could’ve told me what to expect... especially you.” I didn’t mean to specifically accuse Ryan of anything. He blushed and I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but the big guy had a guilty conscience.
Ryan apparently messed around with Mark a couple times when they were in college. I didn’t know that—didn’t have the slightest inkling. But Ryan thought that’s what I was implying... so he felt both guilty and shamed. Sometimes I blurt awkward truths due to my intuition... and I had been around the guys long enough to know that Ryan had a bit of a guy crush on Mark. I hadn’t consciously meant to insinuate anything other than that.
Ryan stopped talking. We didn’t speak any further of last night’s Poker Night or events from my hike with Mark. I didn't want to fight with them, too. If Mark wasn’t going to share it with them, then I wasn’t going to talk about it, either.
Why didn’t I call Tim before spontaneously volunteering to go on that stupid hike? He would have told me what to expect from Mark. Why couldn’t he have told me Mark was bisexual right from the beginning? Why didn’t anyone tell me? I felt stupid—duped—and my stupidity embarrassed me. In truth, however, it was my continued denial and refusal to accept the implications of Mark’s interest in me that was the hidden source of this shame.
The three of us made it through the workout without getting in an argument. I compartmentalized my anger—just like I always did. They didn’t bring up Mark again until we were about to leave for the day.
“Mark isn’t going to be here for tennis. Why don’t you call John?” Ryan asked.
“You can if you want. I don’t know if I want to play tomorrow. I might just go for a run.” Plus, tennis reminds me of the autographed tennis ball that Mark got me, which reminds me of the autographed jersey he got me... which reminds me that I don’t know what the hell I want from him.
Ryan and Tim didn’t comment on my attitude. “I’m calling John,” Ryan said. The conversation lasted less than five minutes and Ryan convinced John to show up tomorrow for tennis. “He’s in!” Ryan said triumphantly.
“I guess I’m going then,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” What a dismal feeling—as if I wanted John as a doubles partner. Not.
I went home and worked, still in a funk. The romance novel I was writing suddenly took a tragic turn at the end. Wait! I couldn’t print something like that—romances need happy endings. People love their Happily Ever Afters. I liked HEA’s too—might not want to admit it, but I had been through enough crap in my life that if I read a romance, I just wanted the characters to fall in love and fit together perfectly.
That never happened in real life. But it was an important fantasy that could sell books like crazy. I couldn’t have a tragic, murderous ending to my romance novel—it would never sell.
I worked on the ending without making headway and promised myself that I would work on it the next day with fresh eyes.
That Saturday turned out to be as blah as the previous day had been. I showed up for tennis and we went through our drills and played our games. John/Juan was a decent fill-in. He was better than Ryan. We made a good team. We exchanged numbers.
But he was no Mark. He wasn’t funny. He couldn’t make me laugh just by making a silly face. Nor did he laugh at me when I did something silly (like how Mark used to find my antics comical). John was similar to me. He was there to play tennis and he was focused. He joked occasionally, but it wasn’t like playing with Mark. John could hold a conversation better than Mark, but he was absolutely predictable.
With Mark, you never knew what you were going to get. I had already known Mark for three months, yet he could still surprise me. I had been with John for a grand total of eight hours (most of which was during poker) and I already knew exactly what to expect out of him... just like I knew Ryan liked to add a little drama when there didn’t need to be any... and that Tim was the peacemaker. John was a numbers nerd.
But Mark... Mark was all kinds of things rolled into one person. He was vain and narcissistic, but he was also kind and compassionate. He was a jock and acted dumb, but he could be surprisingly insightful.
Mark was...
Mark was irreplaceable. I just had to admit it. I was still in love with him. I didn’t just love him like a friend, I was fucking in love with him and it wasn’t quitting. It hurt to be away from him. I wasn’t successfully pulling away—I was torturing myself, like I expected him to come back for me and to forgive me for all the mean and nasty things I had said.
I wanted this pain to be over.
We finished tennis and I headed straight home, electing not to eat with the guys. I didn’t have anything to say to them. Eating lunch after tennis reminded me of Mark and how he would sneakily pay for my meal before I could tell him not to.
I wanted to go home and lie down and think... so that’s exactly what I did. I spent most of my Saturday in bed and staring at the wall while mulling over the changes I needed to make. From now on, I promised, I won’t yell at him. I won’t be nasty to him. I will move on and we will start being friends again.
That was my goal.
Sunday I drove to his gym and parked. I got there in the afternoon even though I would have preferred going earlier. I figured Mark might be around in the afternoon, and my hunch was right... he had gotten back from New York and he was already working out with someone when I showed up. I waved to him as I entered. He gave me one of those jock head nods, then focused on his partner.
I lifted some free weights and kept my workout short—I wasn’t really there to lift. I knew my way around the gym so I didn’t need Mark to hover over me or force me to do exhausting ‘supersets’.
But I wanted him to.
I saw Mark finish up his workout and took that as my opportunity to approach him.
“Hey,” I said.
“Oh hey,” he said without looking at me. He fidgeted with the edge of his shirt. “Nice to see you.”
“Yeah, nice to see you, too.” Be nice... be nice... “Are you going on another fashion week this week?”
He shrugged.
“Do you want to go for a run tomorrow?”
“No. I’m busy tonight.”
Which means he’s going out.
“Where are you going? Anywhere cool?”
“Like you care,” he said stiffly. I flinched, then his tone softened. “I’ll see you here on Wednesday, though. Regular time?”
“That sounds good,” I said, hopefully not sounding desperate. We separated and I returned to lifting random weights, just to give him time to get off the floor and out of the locker room. When I went back to change, he was already gone.
Apparently I was going to see him Wednesday and we were going to work out together. That was a good start... and it was less than one week since our breakup. So that should be enough time to start the healing process. Right?
Maybe sometime over the next three days I would stop pining for him... maybe it would stop hurting... maybe we could go back to being friends, minus the cuddling. Maybe I could stop feeling so embarrassed.
Maybes are for fools.
He's Gay!
I RAN ON MONDAY MORNING IN THE RAIN. It was a normal Monday. Perfectly efficient. I missed Mark badly.
I made it to Wednesday without breaking down and texting him. I hadn’t received any messages from him so I figured I wouldn’t send one. Normally I replied to him. But our roles had reversed.
I drove to his place thinking we would walk to the gym together like we always did on Wednesday.
The second parking spot was filled.
I stopped in the middle of the parking garage and texted him. Maybe he went on a photoshoot and hadn’t informed me? Maybe he had a ‘friend’ over. Maybe he was trying to prove a point again.
Whatever the case, I texted him and got a quick reply.
= we working out? =
~sorry dude, sister is here for the weekend~
~see u next week~
But which sister?
Invite me. Talk to me. Be near me.
I had met Kelly and gotten along well with her. I had met Keegan and he was great. All that was left to meet was Katherine, the lawyer, or Melanie, the sister who sometimes used the guest bedroom. I wanted to text back and say that I would love to meet Melanie seeing as I had heard so much about her. She was supposed to be a lot like Mark. People supposedly mistook them for twins back when they were in grade school.
But I didn’t send him that pathetic text.
Instead, I pulled out of his parking garage, drove to the gym, and did my workout. Alone.
Then I left.
When I got home, I wrote and typed and edited... slowly becoming listless. Mark was often on my mind. All the time spent thinking about Mark was beginning to take its toll. I had to get him out of my head.
I called John. He agreed to play tennis with me, Tim and Ryan on Saturday again. Mark would be with his sister, or so I assumed.
“It’s nice to get the call beforehand,” John said.
“Normally I don’t know until Friday if Mark is going to be available or not.”
“That’s kind of unthoughtful of Mark.”
“He’s a nice guy,” I said. Then I hung up and felt miserable. I didn’t want to play tennis with John—why couldn’t my partner be Mark? I wanted to wake up at his place and get him up (grumpy or cuddly) and force him to the car. I wanted to be more than his doubles partner... I wanted to be his real partner.
That’s what I eventually confessed to Lynn—that I wanted to have Mark for real. I had spoken to her practically every day after the breakup. She knew I felt lonely. I had been alone most of my life—that wasn’t the problem. The problem was being without Mark. Lynn tried to get me to confess that I made a mistake in rejecting him.
Being competitive and always having to be right... I couldn’t admit it out loud, but I knew I had screwed up. And, worse than that, she knew it too. Even my body knew it was a mistake—I kept getting sick and had one of my deep spells of weakness due to my autoimmune disorder, which lasted for days—much longer than normal. I had to cancel my Friday workout because I was fatigued. I forgot to cancel tennis with John so he showed up to play with Ryan and Tim.
I apologized profusely and used my autoimmune disorder as an excuse. I never used it as an excuse... and I felt dirty for treating John so poorly. He was cheerful about it and the guys rotated and played singles.
That Sunday, I went to the gym at a time I thought Mark would be there. I couldn’t do much because I was still recovering from my weakness. He wasn’t on the main floor when I started, but he showed up as I was finishing. He had a gaggle of admirers, whom he indulged. He smiled like he was the king of the gym.
He didn’t look at me. He looked everywhere else but me.
I walked up to him when I was finished.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, dude.”
“How was Melanie?”
“She’s good.”
Silence. The guy he was lifting with didn’t talk to me. Mark had gone from cheerful to frosty. I didn’t know how to get away safely.
