April Showers [Unfaithful Rewritten]

11 | blurred lines

11
blurred lines

The stakes were raised in a game that hinged on the pretense of safety. Dinner was an invitation to the trenches of the heart, an unmistakable landmark that, while traipsing along the path of a relationship, you came across more than once. Dinner was the generous host of pivotal moments, epiphanies, the ending of a journey between crossroads, and when Nate asked me to go to one — I said yes.

It crossed my lips before I could even think, and then everything was deliberate and too quick — Nate leading me inside, through our tainted bedroom, into the closet. He looked at me carefully.

"Lily — "

"You should go." I mumbled. "I'll be out in a few."

He was reluctant to leave me there, but he listened, his head lowering as he walked out. The door shut softly behind him.

Sighing, I walked deeper into the closet, my eyes wandering over the clothes. They saw, straight through the clothes and into the bedroom left behind. It was like a black hole, its gravity pulling me in and past the point of letting go. The memory of what happened there was impossible to forget, and standing in front of it now — I felt significantly less brave.

My heart refused to cooperate when I looked away. It tore itself apart, ripping relentlessly until it was no more. The numbness had no trouble spreading and patching every empty space where emotions had once boiled. Heartlessly, I supposed, was the only way to let go as I told Angela I would.

I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand. There were plenty of nice clothes begging to be worn. I ran my fingers over them, absentmindedly.

They paused on a certain dress, recognizing it even before my eyes and brain. It felt supple and delicate, something like marble if marble were a fabric. It was a rosy blush color, stopped just above the knee, and was given to me as a gift. By who else, than Nate.

"You don't have to give me this, Nate," I felt ashamed of how he splurged on me. "Really, I don't need it."

"I know," He smiled, "You don't need to be ashamed, sweetheart. I just wish that you could accept my gifts without protesting, though."

"It-it just doesn't make me feel good, I guess," My cheeks flushed. "I don't like you spending a lot of money on me."

"Sweetheart - look at me," He was suddenly stern. "Don't ever think about yourself that way. I know what you're thinking, and I won't have it. You deserve every gift, and every bit of love that I have and can give you. I love you, Lily, so so much."

Things had drastically changed since then, a long eleven years before. I'd been shy, unaccustomed to affection, and blind to his flaws. I was a different person now, and so was he, not in the way that was expected by simply growing older.

I shut my eyes, drowning out the thoughts that frantically swarmed my mind. Back pedaling wasn't an option — I had to try, I promised myself I would. When the going was tougher than expected, I didn't retrace my footsteps.

Ever so slowly, I let go of the dress.

* * *

We went to our favorite restaurant — Masa — in the city. It was a Japanese restaurant, something that claimed ownership over every aspect of it, from the cuisine to the vast open spaces to the nearly completely wooden structure. The only thing untraditional about it was its distinctly un-minimalistic interior. The seating area was surrounded by four mismatched walls: inky blue, tan wooden panels, dark wooden panels, and one that was purely glass and overlooked a spacious courtyard of well-tended plants. From the ceiling hung an accordion-shaped strip of steel, and down from that strip rained a multitude of linear rods which had small light bulbs dangling from their tips. The glow from the light bulbs was soft white, cast across our faces as we sat opposite each other on low, cream colored, leather chairs. We each had a menu in our hands, not that we were studying them with any new consideration.