Addicted Ch. 16 by Wilson Spalding
Lizzy gave me a kiss and the door closed behind her.
The click of the latch echoed through my apartment. It was the loneliest goddamned sound I’d ever heard. Two fucking seconds and I was already missing her.
This wasn’t good. This wasn’t me.
#
Six hours later, I had checked off all my go-to purge habits. I’d gone for a short run and probably lost hearing to my playlist. I’d lifted, then worked over the heavy bag until sweat stung my eyes. A cold shower and a shave later, I focused on visualizing the anatomy of a knee, all in an effort to help a client recovering from a torn ACL.
I actually had a couple dozen plastic medical models that I’d bring into the gym from time to time, including a knee you could take apart to see what a torn anterior cruciate ligament looked like. It helped people understand why therapy takes forever and why they had to be careful during recovery.
I’d probably bring that model in on Monday.
And I was fooling myself if I thought I ever really got Lizzy out of my head.
We were a couple months into a very physical relationship… and she cheated.
Twice.
I knew it. She admitted it.
I saw the second one. I watched it. Hell, I was the one who encouraged it.
And then…?
I couldn’t do this. I stared at my phone, wondering what this break-up call should sound like. I’d certainly done it before, but I was a face-to-face kinda guy.
In that moment, I closed my eyes. I could feel the stress in my own knees. Despite the wraps and the gloves, I felt the tenderness in my knuckles. I felt the post-pump weariness in my shoulders. But I didn’t feel anything above my neck.
Once I realized it, it took a second to sink in.
There was no emotion. It wasn’t calm, it wasn’t serene. It was empty without loneliness. I knew myself well enough to know that if I’d had an ounce of emotion, this would’ve been scary as fuck.
It’s like I’d blown a fuse.
Got lost so deep in feeling Lizzy that I couldn’t handle it, then SNAP. From what I remembered of my old Psych classes, I think they called this “dissociation.” Or sociopathy, or something. For fucks’ sake, I was a physical therapist, not a psychiatrist.
There. That was something. A flash of anger. Emotion. Good.
Anger at who?
Me. Wait, ME?
Why?
I always had a plan. Everything. Have a plan. Don’t go into battle without a plan. You can always change a bad plan, but you can’t adapt what isn’t there.
I had no plan with Lizzy.
She walked out the door this morning, and “we” were okay. We said “I love you” to each other, and we meant it. Then… “pop.”
I had no idea how to give what she seemed to need. I’d played the “dom” in a relationship before, including wearing business suits while she wore a leather collar. Totally not me, but the sex was good. From what that girl had said, I could play the “mister/daddy” role like I’d been born into it. Jesus, that girl used to go back to her place after dates and write margin notes in her romance novels.
Came from a rich family, too…
Thing was: it was boring. It wasn’t me.
I glanced at my phone, shaking my head. Fear was coming back now, too. Fear in gray, sadness in blue, anger in reds.
Was this the backside of emotional shock?
I had my share of sustained operational stress, but I’d never been diagnosed with Post-Traumatic.
And now, all of it was flooding back. Jesus. I squeezed my eyes shut.
I wasn’t getting shot at. What the fuck?
This was a girl.
I gripped the kitchen counter, sure I’d fall off the world if I let go. Didn’t even realize I was smiling… then chuckling… until I heard my own voice.
Happy?
Yeah.
Deliriously happy. Or at least delirious. And happy.
I let go of the counter, ready to fly… and sadly, stayed right on the ground.
So this is what it was like to blow an emotional circuit. Then flip the breaker and reboot the system. Weird. I’d have to look this shit up… and lock up my phone if it happened again. One thing for sure, I wasn’t going tell anybody about it.
#
I was going to have to get a new couch.
Tilting it up, the cracks were right there. It made me a little sad. Not the expense, but there were a lotta memories on this thing, from Lizzy… and earlier.
But lately… all Lizzy, if I dared to admit it.
Do you dare?
I almost didn’t. I was still a little freaked out about… whatever that was today. Emotional shock or something.
Glanced at my phone again. THAT woulda been dumb.
Never been engaged, but came close. There were those stories about somebody getting cold feet and calling it off. Maybe even breaking it off. I’ll bet emotional shock was mixed in there… along with doubt and regret, I’m sure.
I pushed the phone further away.
I was still waiting for those two to pop up: doubt and regret. If they hadn’t, after a pair of cheats…? Let’s face it: monogamy was not on my priority list.
Picked up the phone, then put it back down. What the fuck NOW?
The tiniest bit of fear in there. Fear that I’d let Lizzy know how much… I didn’t even want to say it. I’d said it, out loud, to her, already… I said it to her TODAY!
…But I didn’t want to say it now. To me. Fuck.
Yeah, she had cute lips and a killer ass, and big, warm brown eyes… and that’s what made it confusing. Right now, I missed her voice. I missed her laugh. I missed the way she took up space. She could be perfectly quiet in the other room and I could still feel her energy.
I was not ready for this.
Someday, we’d talk again. Maybe even in this lifetime.
Maybe we’d go couch shopping together.
#
Sun was down and I was in my boxers. Almost didn’t hear the phone over the hypnotic bass of the trance. It was her ring tone.
“Liz?”
“James!” she bubbled. “How are you feeling?”
“Average. Tired. Worked out more than I should’ve…” There, I’d been strong. Didn’t say anything stupid and pushed away a little, just to be safe.
“I, umm…” Her voice was almost wistful. “Am I a sap if I admit I’m missing you?”
Goddammit. Of all the wavelengths to share. Just be cool. “Did you want to go get a drink?”
“God, no. I want to eat popcorn and watch movies and hide under my comforter.”
“Aww, I can’t find you if you’re hiding.”
“There’s room for two under here.”
“Be right over.”
#
The call was late, I got there late; walking in around 10:30.
She answered the door in panties and an old race t-shirt. On her, sensible cotton panties were still sexy. Nature of the ass, I guess.
Her place was plain on the outside, but her apartment was an explosion of color. Between all the paintings and photographs, it was an art museum. A fucking awesome museum — and all of it was her own.
Her welcome kiss warmed me up, but holy shit, the A/C turned that place into a meat locker. She wasn’t kidding about hiding under her comforter.
A minute later, babbling through small talk, and we were comfortable under her duvet.
Since I’d come over, she offered to watch an action flick. She initially leaned into the war genre, but I did NOT need to see that. I steered her toward the MCU instead. Plenty of great fight scenes, plus superpowers.
Sex appeal. Did I mention sex appeal? Fuckin’ A, man, they knew how to cast. And they knew how to costume that cast. It was fun. Fucking ironic that it took superheroes to bring me back to the reality that I was laying next to a cute-monster.