Chapter Fifteen
We use two of the condoms that night and the third in the morning. I definitely won’t say the sex was bad, far from it, but just like our relationship, it was intense. One night with Danny is an opus. There’s lust and power struggles that end in blessed release followed by regret (his), tears (mine) and finally tenderness. I initiate morning sex, taking advantage of his morning wood. I won’t say he was mad when he’s awake enough to realize my plan, but the sex that follows was rough and quick and he might have hoped one-sided. But I love it. Maybe because it’s Danny and I lust him, but more likely because it’s Danny and I want all of him, even his frustration and anger.
After a weekend of packing and lust we are both ready for a few days apart, not that he isn’t on my mind most of the time. In my quiet hours alone in my apartment my brain does what it always does; organizes. I create a color-coded, timeline/work chart. I painstakingly research how long it will take to do each task to make his house more marketable, then schedule them in the most efficient order and assign them. I print out two copies to take with me on Friday night when he’s said I can come over again.
My efforts are so much less than appreciated. We fight over it from day one.
I call Dom every morning on my ride into work so she can help me analyze everything going on between me and Danny.
“We’re fighting about the paint again.”
“Jeeeezus, not the paint again. Is he still mad you made him take that first color back?” Dom must have her own flow chart on her white board to keep track of all our issues.
“Probably. Last night he took his bed apart and scraped the walls up as he carried it through the living room.”
“Which is why you wanted to paint it last.” Thank God I have Dom who understands the perfect logic of my plan.
“I know! I had to literally bite my lip and leave the room to keep from yelling, “I told you so.” But he knew. I didn’t have to say it. Now I have to paint that same god-damned wall all over again. Third time!” These talks were supposed to calm me down but I was getting all riled up again. Nothing grates on me more than gross inefficiency. “He fights me on everything. It’s like he hates me now.”
“He doesn’t hate you. So you fight, then you get to make up. Lots of make-up sex, right?”
I’m silent. I don’t reply because even our sex life is starting to tank too. “Not so much.” I admit.
Her quick, “oh,” tells me that even Dom is running out of answers.
✈✈✈
I’m secretly thrilled when he dismantles his bedroom because it means he can start to stay at my place. I reason that maybe things will be better if we are away from the things we keep fighting about. But it turns out to be another grudging compromise. He comes home with me some nights but never brings a suitcase or even his toothbrush. And it doesn’t improve our sex life much. The passion is gone, even the angry passion. I’m starting to feel like sex is now just another task on our color-coded timeline.
One night after a particularly ugly fight about how to arrange things in the storage unit, he lay in bed next to me but felt a million miles away already. I want to apologize but don’t. I’m right, damn it. But I also want to try to grasp at his love that I can feel rapidly pulling away from me.
“Arrange the locker any way you want,” I say. It’s not an apology but a concession.
He breathes a heavy sigh. “I don’t care about the god-damn locker. And you’re right anyway.” The last sentence sounds completely defeated.
“Danny I…” I start to explain my position again but he cuts me off.
“You’re right. Ok? I realize it, god damnit. You’re right about the paint and the furniture and the fact I need to take vitamins. You’re right about the realtor and that I need to buy new work boots. You are right about everything.”
“I just want to help you.” I shrug and squeak out. I have a horrible tightness in my chest that I’m having trouble talking through. It’s the words I’ve been dying to hear but not in his demoralized tone.
He lies back with a sigh. “I know you do, Vivey. I know.” He stares at the ceiling and I wait for the but-statement that will follow.
“What? Say it. Whatever it is.”
“Don’t wait for me.”
I bite my lip and look down so he can’t read my face. I’m caught. Now that it’s clear he is leaving I have been secretly planning our lives once he returns.
“I have a three year contract. Do not wait for me.” He stresses each word.
I don’t answer because I won’t agree to something I had no intention of doing.
He catches my lack of answer. “Fuck,” slips out before he can stop it. He rubs his forehead as if I’m giving him a headache. “We never should have started this.” He says it to the room, not me.
I can’t face him now. I cry silently until I finally have to sniff. He looks over at me.
“Vivey.” He brushes the tears away from one cheek as I wipe them from the other. “Vivey, I know you’re not going to understand this but I love you, I swear I do, but that’s why I need you to agree not to wait for me.”
“That makes no sense.” I sniff again and try to curtail my crying. “You love me?” I grab on to that. “If you love me then we should be together.”
“No.” He reaches over and pulls me to him. “No, it doesn’t mean we should be together. In our case, it means we should let go before we kill each other.” He settles me against his chest. “Vivey, isn’t it obvious now that I’m not the right guy for you? I don’t want you wasting three years of your life not meeting the guy who is right for you.”
“Is this because I’m pushy?” I don’t know if he can read the terror in my voice but I’m naming my biggest fear; that it’s because of me, of who I am, that we failed.
He breathes out and carefully chooses his words, “I have never met anyone who needs others less than you.” He turns on the pillow to look at me. “I need to be needed, Vivey. I want to be needed. I want to be right sometimes.”
I’m crying hard now. This really is the end of us, the end of my Danny dream, because we tried, and I failed.
I have no counter arguments because for once he’s right. I don’t need anyone, even him. I curl up against him and let him hold me while I cry myself to sleep.