Impulses (23 page)

The awkward, ‘first date’ silence is hovering in the air. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife, and Goddammit, I have come very close. I pick at the cheesecake, my appetite nonexistent. I have to say something or I’m going to be racking my head all night, wondering if I had jumped to conclusions. I gaze up at him, my forkful of dessert suspended in mid-air.

“Are we still on for rock-climbing tomorrow?” There, the words are out, and all I have to do is play along with whatever excuse is going to come out of his mouth, and he needn’t know that I invaded his privacy in the first place.

My entire body tenses, time suspended as I wait with unbearable patience for the right or the wrong explanation. The trepidation that shields me from the voice of reason is impenetrable.

Hayden swallows his mouthful. “I-I’m sorry, beautiful. I have a very important appointment that I can’t miss tomorrow. It completely slipped my mind, what with all the excitement of…us,” he hesitates, but smiles at the end of his sentence.

Yeah, I bet,
my subconscious snaps sardonically.

“Rain check?” he adds apologetic all the while wincing at my callous, goading expression.

You fucking liar. You fucking lying, cheating bastard. I envision myself pushing my way out of my seat, walking over to him, physically lashing out and strangling him with his own tie, had he be wearing one.

I hang my head and stare at the dismantled, crumbling cheesecake. I inhaling deeply to suppress myself from re-enacting what I just foresaw, and the gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach has quadrupled. He has barefaced lied to me. He looked me in the eye, and completely deceived me.

That, to, Samantha Kennedy, is a fucking deal breaker.

“Yeah, rain check,” I mumble, fighting the urge to release every emotion that is tearing me up––pulling me in every direction like two predators fighting over a carcass. Betrayal, anger, sadness, regret, heartbreak…how could I fall for the same shit again? How could I believe that Hayden was any different to other men?
Fuck
.

“I will be back before 4:00 p.m. and I will have my cell on me all day anyway, so if you need to ring me, feel free.”

“Thank you,” I mutter unresponsive, still focusing on my dessert.

Why the Hell are you thanking him?

“Maybe we could go and see a movie tomorrow night. We could see that romance-comedy one you wanted.” His voice is light and airy, no evidence of guilt or burden for what he is pursuing at my expense; truly unbelievable.

“Samantha…beautiful, what on earth is the matter? You have had this face on you for almost an hour. You won’t talk to me; you won’t even look at me. For God sake, what is going on in that head of yours?” he exclaims while slamming his fork down onto the plate below.

Taking a moment to prepare myself for the look on his face, I gasp, and finally peek up.

“Please…talk to me; your worries are my worries, Samantha. Please…” shaking his head once resigned, he finishes, “just talk to me.” His wounded, beseeching gaze is my weakness. But I rediscover the anger heating in my body, pushing aside the devastation that I’m consumed by and I manage to stifle a sob.

I swallow the increasing, bitter tasting mass that has formulated and manifested since seeing that message. “I’m just feeling a little funky, Hayden.”

“Funky…?” his intense facial expression softens, as he pushes himself back into the chocolate leather dining-seat. And my mouth sets in a firm, uncompromising line at his regaling reaction.

“Yes, Hayden, funky––I am feeling off…ill…not well…whatever term you wish to use,” I snap and he blanches at my sudden outburst. I sigh, and try to regain my equilibrium. “I’m sorry…” I trail off, screwing my eyes shut as I regulate my harsh breathing and racing heartbeat. “I think we should call it a night. I need some sleep, and you…um…” I force my eyes open, the bitter taste becoming thicker and more noticeable as I ready myself to reprise his deceit, “you got your important meeting tomorrow, and it’s late, so…”

Hayden nods his head in agreement, and pushes his chair back to slip out of the place-setting. Shrugging on his suit jacket, he strolls over to the apartment door as I follow meekly behind him to see him out.

He stops, turns to face me and brushes his hand on the right side of my face. I close my eyes, allowing myself to savior this precious moment, knowing that this time tomorrow, he will be the aspect missing out of my life. I cover his hand with mine and lean into his caress.

“Thank you for tonight…I wish we could have made it more special.” I peek up at him as profuse regret cloaks his broken voice. “Get some sleep,” he orders and plants a tender, loving kiss on the top of my head. “I need you feeling well for tomorrow.”

I nod despairingly, my mouth set in a firm line.

“Don’t forget, my phone will be on. If you want to ring me then please do. It will be the highlight of my day hearing your voice.” He smiles, and I cannot help but offer the same courtesy. “I promise I will make it up to you, beautiful,” he murmurs ruefully, while twisting the doorknob and pulling the door open.

He leans down to kiss me, his lips gentle and sweet tasting from the dessert, familiar and heartening. He lingers, pressing tender kisses one at a time, withdrawing slowly and with hefty reluctance before swooping in to taste and feel my lips once more against his as he presses firmly against my mouth again. Leaning his forehead against mine, Hayden grazes the back of his knuckles down the side of my face; my eyes remain closed as his sweet, refreshing breath tickles at my surface.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers, and I grant an unconvincing nod when he pulls away from me and turns for the elevator.

Warring with myself as Hayden steps inside the car, he flashes a sincere grin as the doors close, and removes the one person I learned to trust––learned to open my heart to, and bared my all for––out of my life. I cannot and will not be treated this way, not again. No secret meetings, no dishonesty. Without honesty and trust, a relationship cannot survive. I gave him the opportunity to be honest, he chose not to.

To Hayden that was a kiss goodnight. To me…it was a kiss goodbye.

Drifting slowly away from unconscious, I stretch out my arms, reaching out to Hayden, who should be on the right side of my bed. My eyes spring open when all I feel is the empty, cold sheet beneath my touch. Realization knocks me and my stomach rears up to my throat and free falls back to its rightful position.

He lied to me.

I groan and peek over at the clock, 10:45 a.m. Well, I certainly caught up on well-deserved sleep. My body feels refreshed and energized. Emotionally…I feel entirely shredded and humiliated.
Cassandra
and Hayden are going to have a good laugh at this. I can imagine it now as clear as the sun graces the sky; sipping over a nice, chilled glass of wine,
‘Yes, I got away with it; Samantha will believe anything I say’.
The thought feeds the furnace of antagonism that I contain deep within.

I still the disquieting thought in its tracks. He isn’t mine anymore; he can go and fuck whoever he wants. I am unsure which thought I am angrier and hurt about most: them laughing at my expense, or that he is no longer mine.

Staggering down the corridor to the dining end of the front room, I fixate my stare on the table in a mournful silence. The only evidence of last night’s happenings is the single, slim, white candle still positioned in the center of the polished wood.

I wrap my nightgown around me tightly, seeking comfort within the fluffy, lilac material.

“Good morning, sweetie––coffee?” The loving, chipper voice of my roommate springs up on me from the kitchen. Feeling lifeless, I respond with an enervated nod while gazing at her made-up profile, her brunet mane twisted and secured in clip, allowing the ends of her lock to flop over the top like a peacocks feathers.

I slip myself onto my stool.

“I was going to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if Hayden had stayed the night...” she pours me a fresh batch of brewed coffee and hands it to me from behind the bar. I watch, hypnotized as the steam swirls from the cup. “I didn’t want to disturb any…celebratory exploits.”

I will myself not to look up at her, knowing that I will shatter into a thousand pieces if I give in. She leans over the bar, her soft hands encasing mine as I hold my cup.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” she probes with obvious concern.

Unable to fight against it, I lift my head up and I’m met by her sympathetic face. My lip trembles and my vision blurs. I blink my eyes slowly to halt my tears from falling, but my lids are unable to contain the amount I have suppressed. I slowly open them, the barricade removed, as my tears speak the words of my emotional decimation and I begin to explain the events of last night.

“Let me get this straight; you read the message that Hayden received, from another woman saying––”

“’Hayden, don’t forget about tomorrow. It will be nice to see you again. I will meet you at noon’,” I scathingly relay the message, rolling my eyes, and taking a sip of cooling coffee.

“And he has no idea that you saw this message,” Jessie urges, the degree of cynicism making the vibrancy of her emerald eyes dimmer.

I shake my head.

“He didn’t offer any information or…”

I inhale deeply, attempting to regain my composure. “Nope, and that’s what makes matters worse, Jess,” I shake my head broodingly. “I had to ask if we were still on for today, and then he miraculously remembers a ‘very important appointment’. Jess…if this meeting is truly innocent…then why keep it a secret? I gave him ample opportunity to tell me, but instead, I am the one that had to go all Inspector Clouseau and probe to find out.”

This is what has been irritating me, niggling away all night in my mind. I begin to feel hollow, numb and desolate. I hang my head, focusing on my hands in my lap as I take all of my anxiety out on my ring, rotating it at high velocity around my finger.

Jessie slips onto the vacant stool beside me, her feet propped up on the silver, central footrest. Her right knee exposed as her faded, knee ripped jeans widen as she bends her leg. Setting her index finger under my chin, she coaxes me to look up at her.

“He said that he will have his phone on him, right?” Her tone sooths me, and I nod my head curious as to where she is going with this. “And he said that if you wanted to, you could call him, right?” her voice is barely audible and husky. She really does have one of those voices that no matter how conflicted you are, how angry and rash you’re being she can alleviate the struggle between heart and mind.

I nod again.

“Sweetie, if he was playing around, and that is an enormous if…because I don’t think he is that type,” she strains her belief; Jessie always gives people the benefit of the doubt until stated otherwise. “But if he is…do you honestly think he would tell you that he will have his cell, and to ring him up whenever you wanted?”

“Jess…that’s what they––” I snigger and shake my head at her level of naivety.

Jessie holds her finger to my mouth to hush me. “And if he is telling the truth about having this ‘very important appointment’, doesn’t it speak a thousand words when he says that he would answer…regardless of the appointment?” Her big, green eyes swell with her elaboration.

Diminutive warming sensations prickles and courses through my extremities, my hands begin to tingle, and a ghost of a smile slowly traverses my melancholic expression. I sense that familiar relaxation, that eagerness as I succumb to the hope that my mind was wrong.

“You, Sammy, of all people should realize by now, that making a rash decision like what you made last night, is never, ever a good way to progress. It can make things a hundred times worse.”

I instantly through my arms around Jessie’s neck. “Jessie, Jessie, Jessie. You are my voice of reason. You’re right, I jumped to conclusions. It’s just…I’ve let him in completely––well, not completely, completely…but when I see a sign, I can’t ignore it. I will not ignore it if it will lead me to where I was. I need some security and my barrier––”

“I know that, sweetie,” she interjects my ramblings as her hand smoothes over my matted locks. “I’m just relieved that you didn’t tell Hayden last night that it was over, otherwise, you may not have had a second chance.”

With my keen, hopeful smile brightening up my sore, puffy eyes, I ask Jessie what time it is.

“11:50 a.m.,” she replies, gazing down at her wristwatch.

“He’ll be meeting her in ten minutes. I’ll ring him in half an hour.”

Willing to wipe away every undesirable thought that was feasting on my insecurities last night, and excited to hear the familiar, deep, rough voice that only last night, I convinced myself I was never going to hear again, I begin to count down those agonizingly long minutes.

As I watch the hand of the clock gradually make its way to 12:20 p.m. I dial Hayden’s number and press the call button. With the handset resting against the right side of my head, my face splits into a delighted grin as I wait for his familiar, “Hey, beautiful” response, which usually would have reverberated down the earpiece on the second or at the very latest, the third ring.

While continuing to wait and wait for him to answer, my face starts to fall. The strong, overwhelming hope I felt only half an hour ago begins to lessen with every unanswered toll of the connecting call. I defer to the hesitancy that has me waiting on the unanswered line and hang up. I decide to try again in a few more minutes.

I continue to call Hayden for three hours, at fifteen to twenty minute intervals. The excitement I felt as I pressed the call button each time has the butterflies dusting against the walls of my stomach. The confidence that he will answer begins to dwindle as my confidence turns into hopefulness and faith, until eventually I concentrate on the likelihood that he
may
answer. That feeling is more depressing than comforting.

“Any luck?”

Anger stews inside of me. Twice I have felt this same rejection, disappointment and betrayal in less than twenty-four hours. I would prefer to be punched repeatedly, or physically hurt in any which way desired. It’s the emotional hurt I can’t contend with.