Bliss

twenty two

There was a time when I couldn't bear to leave Spencer. Honestly, I'd physically recoil at the notion.

It drove Mum insane. She didn't understand the need to be with someone constantly. Didn't get why I felt like I couldn't breathe without him, or why I wore his faded jumpers religiously, and she especially didn't get why I'd call him before I went to bed, why I lay in the dark, giggling until I finally fell asleep.

She did, however, accept it. Begrudgingly, I'll admit, but acceptance is acceptance, and with Mum, you have to take whatever you can get.

But now, as Spencer and I approach the house, it's safe to say my obsessive need to be with him has come and passed. In fact, the thought of saying goodbye, of kissing him, holding him close, and then walking away makes me...dare I say, excited?

Okay, not excited, that's cruel, but not depressed either. It's more of a mellow hum of freedom.

No, not freedom, alone time.

Time I've never had before.

Time I've earned.

Time I deserve.

Because as much as I love Spencer, he can be a little exhausting.

We reach the rusted green gate. It swings in the breeze, squeaking through the movement. Spencer holds it open, ushers me inside and recaptures my hand as we amble down the cobbled path that leads to the midnight blue door. He pulls me into his chest as I reach for my keys and brushes his lips against my forehead.

"I really missed you," he murmurs.

"I missed you too." I laugh despite the dark urgency that clings to his words and slip out of his grasp.

"But I really, really missed you," he says. "The others aren't like you."

"Others?" He hasn't mentioned others. Then again, he rarely mentions anything.

"I think I should be asking you about others," he says, his face scrunching up unattractively as he deflects like a pro.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"What others?" I want to laugh; honestly, I do, but I know any show of ridicule is pretty much an admission of guilt. An admission I don't have to make.

"That guy at the gallery," he hisses.

I can't hold it in, not anymore, leaving my laughter to gush forth in tsunami-like waves. It floods the neat front garden, pooling beneath the hedges and falling through the cracks in the concrete path. Then I stop, and it dries, the soil rubble-like rather than muddy, the path dull rather than shiny. 

"I'm sorry," I say, "but Elliot Duke?"

"Yes." His indignation embeds itself into his pores, sinking in until it becomes part of him.

"I was complimenting his work, Spencer, not flirting with him."

"Okay." He runs a hand through his hair, the accusation waning a little. "What about Isaac?"

My eyes narrow, and I take a step back. "What about Isaac?"

"Don't lie to me, Lizzie," he mutters. "I know something happened between you."

"And so what if it did? You cheated on me, Spencer."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Are you fucking with me right now?"

He crosses his arms.

So he's not fucking with me; he's just a massive dickhead.

"You don't get to cheat on me," I hiss, taking a step towards him, "and then dictate what I do afterwards. Yes, I kissed Isaac, but I chose you, so stop acting like a jealous prick, and just be happy with us.