La Douleur Exquise

Forty-Four

Have you ever seen anyone's perfectly built wall fall down? There's something rather intimate about it, watching as the layers slip away and their vulnerability show through. Darcie Scott had always seemed so tough but as she sat out on the front porch of the cabin, knees up to her chest and tequila bottle in hand, I saw a new side of her and I wasn't sure if I liked this version of her. 

"Darcie?" I called out her name as I opened the cabin door and walked out into the warm August evening. I take small, careful strides, approaching her almost like she was a creature that was easily spooked and was about to bolt. When she didn't move- not even a flinch at the sound of my voice- I took that as some form of permission to join her. "We should probably talk about... this."

I awkwardly move my hand in the space between us. I wasn't entirely sure what there was to discuss because when it's broken down into its simplest form, Darcie is in love with me and I'm in love with Mia. I wince at this thought and drop my head into my hands, hating the fact that I was going to break Darcie's heart. It was a horrible position to be in.

"What's there to say, Nix?" She says in a voice void of emotions. It was robotic, like she'd switched off her feelings. "I love you, you love Mia. I'm not a complete moron. I know that you don't want to be with me and that's ok because I do not want to be a second fucking choice. Not to her, not to Mia."

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I'd been panicking about having to break her heart while the whole time, she was already doing a perfectly good job of it herself. Why would she put herself through all that pain? Voluntarily! It made no sense to want to be that masochistic. 

"You don't have to say it, you know," she continues to speak in between gulps of alcohol. 

I frown. "Say what?"

"Anything!" Darcie groans. After another sip of tequila, she finally turns to look at me but I can't make out what's going on in her head. Usually, I knew just by looking at her what she was thinking, although, on reflection, I knew jack shit about what Darcie thought about. Still, this look she passed over me was undecipherable. She sighs heavily and shakes her head. "I shouldn't have told you. Whose idea was it to bring tequila?"

"Owen's." When Darcie lifts the bottle to her lips, my hand automatically goes to take it from her. "I think that's enough for you. I think we still need to talk, Darce."

Wincing, she looks away and shakes her head. "I hate it when you call me that."

"Why?"

"Because," she says while trying to avoid really answering me. When the silence lingers, Darcie turns back at me and for the first time since her revelation, I can read the emotions on her face. Pain. "When you call me Darce, it makes me feel like you give a damn and for the briefest moment, I think that maybe... but then I remember. You're you, I'm me and we are never going to be an 'us.' So, please, stop torturing me, Nixon, because I don't think I can take it much longer. Please, just stop."