She bit her lower lip as she studied me.
“So I guess it’s mine alone…” I continued. “…and it always will be. You’ll always be my Hell. And I like that.”
She nodded subtly.
“Good night,” I said quietly.
She didn’t move for a few seconds. She just stood there, staring at me. She finally gave me an awkward nod, turned, and walked away.
I didn’t bother with the T.V. or food, but I did get lost in a photo album she kept on the bottom shelf of the coffee table. It was her life from the moment of her birth to nearly this very day, and there were parts that intersected with my life too. The five or so childhood pictures that included me proved it. We were swinging on a tire swing in a couple, swimming in the creek that ran behind both my father’s house and her childhood home as well. And then there were a few from high school too. Pictures of us at the gas station, posing like idiots behind the counter.
We’d been playful with each other. We’d goofed around constantly. In a way it was just how we flirted. It was easier to flirt with her that way, because in truth it was always a far heavier thing with her than any other girl I’d dated, fucked around with, or just plain fucked. She was my friend first and foremost and had been since we were children, and that apparently meant something to even me.
By two in the morning, I was still wide awake, and I’d looked at the album so many times I had it memorized. She’d always had a far more blessed life than me, but I’d never resented her for it. Her baby pictures, or the fact they even existed, proved that much. I’d been tearing apart my father’s home for months now, and I’d yet to find a single picture of me, let alone any from my infancy. And a mother… that wasn’t something I’d had either after I was about a year old.
I finally gave up on the album, stood, and walked down the hall to the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror. The side of my lip was swollen and red. My cheek was bandaged, but the skin around the bandage was pink and puffy. I looked like hell.
Her bedroom light was still on when I walked back out of the bathroom, and I ignored it for a second, taking a step toward the living room, but I didn’t make it more than that one step before I turned and headed back toward her bedroom.
Her door was cracked, and when I peeked into the room, she was sound asleep, her glasses still on, her laptop still open, her lamp lit, and books spread out around her. I walked in and gathered the books and stacked them on a small chair that sat in the corner of the room. When I took the glasses from her face, she murmured and wiggled her nose. But she didn’t wake. I picked up the laptop, and when my thumb accidentally brushed over the mouse pad, the screen woke up. It was open to her email.
This email was certainly not meant for my eyes. It was from a man by the name of Brian Campbell, and the subject line said nothing more than, “I’m sorry.” Not reading it wasn’t an option after that. It was dated a little more than a month and a half prior.
Helene,
I’m sorry. Ending our relationship wasn’t how I saw our weekend going. You took the time to come visit me in the city, and I will always be the asshole who then broke up with you.
I knew a long distance relationship would be difficult. I did. But there’s more to it than that. You asked why. I’m going to tell you, and please understand I have an enormous amount of respect for you and nothing I say now is meant to hurt you. It is, in fact, this very respect that compels me to be honest with you.
I’ll say it again. I knew a long distance relationship would be difficult. What I never expected was for it to be so easy. It shouldn’t have been. I need intimacy. I need warmth. I need to be touched, and yes, I need sex. None of those things were ever high on your priority list, and I’m not going to lie, I felt unimportant to you as a result.
I don’t like the word frigid, because I don’t think it’s ever used in any constructive way, but I don’t know how else to describe you. You’re this beautiful, intelligent, insightful woman who just feels … cold. And so when you went away, I didn’t miss the intimacy or the warmth. Because it had never existed.
I hope you meet the man who can warm you some day, who can touch you, reach you, get close to you. And I’m very sorry I’m not that man.
Take care,
Brian
I stared at the words on the screen as I held the laptop in my hands. When I glanced over at Hell, she was still sound asleep. I finally closed the laptop, sighing as I set it on top of the books. And then I turned to walk out, but like the hallway before … I just didn’t quite make it. Instead, I turned the lamp off and crawled into bed next to her. She rolled toward my body, and she hummed as she snuggled up to me. I wrapped my arms around her, and I kissed her forehead.
Her body and the way she pulled herself close to me didn’t feel at all frigid. It felt warm. It felt intimate. I closed my eyes, and I was finally out.