Chapter 20
John
Days pass easily, each one bleeding into the next. She’s addictive. The sound of her soft voice and the even cadence when she tells me stories charm me.
But they’re about her and Jay. What her life was like before and after.
About missing him and how she could never forget what they went through.
What shreds me is her guilt, the way she describes moving on with her life as though it’s a confession. It shouldn’t be that way, but it doesn’t matter how many times I tell her. That pained look in her eyes only gets worse.
The fluorescent light above my head flickers, and I look up to watch it. These sessions aren’t moving things forward, and doing them in the basement is only aggravating me more and more.
“Is everything okay?” Robin’s soft voice calls to me from across the room. She’s on the bed as usual, her heels propped up as she hugs her legs, leaning back against a pillow with her head against the wall.
I clear my throat and glance at the camera, the red light blinking and wonder if Jay even watches. He doesn’t ask about them in the least.
“What do you want to gain from this, Robin?” I ask her, my heart rate climbing. It’s obvious she has no intention of leaving. What’s happened between her and Jay has touched them both deeply, but I’m a conflicting factor. Every day it gets harder to leave. Every day I grow jealous. I get angrier.
This isn’t the man I am. I need to get the fuck out of here.
“I want to know more about you, John,” she answers me after taking a moment. She seems nervous as she watches for my reaction.
She wants me. I can fucking feel it, and I want her too. It only makes the situation that much more fucked up.
“What do you want to know?” I ask her, crossing my ankle over my knee and rubbing the rough stubble on my jaw with my thumb.
“Tell me about growing up?” she asks. It’s an innocent question, but the look on her face is so serious. As if the answer will affect her deeply.
“There’s not much to me,” I tell her and sit back. “My story isn’t like yours or Jay’s.” A sigh leaves me as I rub the back of my neck and look at the door.
“Tell me about your parents,” Robin offers and my eyes flick to hers. I watch how she picks at the comforter as if her idle hands need to be taking notes. It makes me smile and reminds me there’s so much more to her than the past she has with Jay. It also reminds me that she’s probably used to this. Being the questioner and not the questionee.
“I was adopted when I was younger. And I was visiting the orphanage when I met Jay.” The hint of a smile on my face vanishes at the memory. “My parents were young and they did what they thought was best when they gave me up, but Jay…” I can’t finish the thought. He needed someone so badly. I saw how everyone looked at him. How they judged him.
I clear my throat and rub my palms on my jeans. “Anyway.” I tell her the basic rundown. “I did alright in school, B student mostly. I wasn’t really interested. I guess I was kind of quiet.”
“And you’re a mechanic?” Robin asks, and I nod my head.
“Yeah, I’ve always loved working on cars and bikes. It made sense.” I nod my head and remember the shop just sitting there, but the bills aren’t going away. “I enjoy working for myself but the downsides are the long hours and the lack of socializing.”
“Are you a social butterfly?” Robin asks with a bit of humor. A rough laugh rumbles up my chest as I shake my head.
“Never really been into crowds,” I answer her honestly.
“Not a lot of friends?” she asks.
“I’m not a loner like Jay,” I answer her, feeling defensive. “A few guys work for me at the shop and we hang out occasionally. I can take them or leave them. I guess I’m a bit of a loner after all.” I hadn’t realized it until she questioned me. The bartender at the local pub and Steve a mechanic looking for part-time work are my two closest friends. And of course Jay.
“I’m a loner,” Robin says, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m very much alone.” She gives me this sad smile.
“Why’s that?” I ask her. She shouldn’t be alone ever. I could talk to her for hours and hours every day and be content with nothing else. She’s the type of person you feel like you already know before she even lays eyes on you. She should definitely never be alone.
“I don’t know why,” she tells me and then looks down at the sheet. She stretches her back and then asks me, “Do you like to be alone at night?”
“Not in particular,” I answer without thinking about anything other than her company in the evening. “I wouldn’t mind company at night,” I say and my blood heats as she holds my gaze and fire sparks between us.
“Why do you leave at night?” she asks me like it’s a sin.
My brow furrows, and the pit of my stomach fills with guilt. “Do you want me to stay?” I ask her.
Her eyes search mine for a minute, as if she’s not sure of the right answer. It fucking guts me.
“You love Jay?” I ask her, changing the subject and putting the attention back onto her. I know she does. It’s why I can never have her. Why I feel compelled to carry on with this charade.
“I do,” she says and my blood turns to ice. It’s one more reason I need to leave. When I peek back up at her, she looks as though she’s going to cry. It happens almost every day. When she breaks down and holds back from me.
I hate it. It keeps me coming back to her because I want to be the one to help her. The one she leans on. The one she leaves with.
I know I should tell her that it’s okay. That it’s natural to love him. That he loves her, too. But those aren’t the words that come out of my mouth.
“I really hate that you get so upset. I just want to help you so you can move past this.” So she can get away from Jay. I keep the thought to myself, but it’s true. I want to keep her far away from him. But right now, she feels she needs him. She feels for him.
“Then help me, John,” she says with a strained voice. Like she’s so close, yet so far away.
“Tell me what you need,” I tell her. And I mean it. I don’t want her to be upset or hurt in any way. She’s a strong, beautiful woman who should be happy. The past is where it’s supposed to be, and she should know she deserves happiness.
“I need you to remember,” she whispers and stares deep into my eyes.
“Remember what?” I ask her, my heart beating slow and my body heating. It’s fear that keeps me still. Fear that I’m somehow involved in what happened all those years ago. I’ve tried so many times to think back to how I know this woman, but nothing comes to mind.
I must though, because she calls to me in a way I can’t deny.
She gives me a small smile, but it’s sad. Everything about her is a beautiful shade of sadness. “Can you tell me what you know of me again?” she asks me.
I sit back with slight relief, but the feeling that I’m failing her is so heavy on my chest I can’t speak. “Can you tell me how we first met?” she asks me. Pushing me.
I try to answer her, I try to think but my memory is so hazy.