Getting Through Italy

|17| Lumache

"You think I'm playing mind games or something?" I continued. "Yes, last night was different, but regardless of what we're going through, I still love you, Nathan. I still want you. And that's what messes with my head."

He rotated in my direction, screwing the lid onto the bottle. I waited for him to say something, but he didn't.

"This hasn't been easy for me, you know. It's been near enough torture. And last night was a lapse of self-control, not because I didn't want you, but because it's not fair on you. But to accuse me of tricking you, that's below the belt. Some of the things we did last night required me to have a huge amount of trust in you. And I could never have done that if I wasn't completely consumed with every single thing about you, from your body to your mind."

He sighed and rubbed at his head. "Likewise, Isobel. Likewise. Look, I'm going to go for a run because I really don't want to fight. I'm the one who got us in this mess, and I don't want either of us to make matters worse."

I didn't force him to stay. I refused to talk last night, and he didn't want to talk this morning. For this to work, we both needed to be in the right frame of mind. As he headed for the door, he swept up a notepad from the coffee table.

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He was gone for hours. I unpacked, took a shower, Skyped Jasmine and did a final bit of Christmas shopping. My mind never truly switched off, though. Nathan had been spending a lot of time working out recently, so maybe he did now take longer runs. However, the timing was off, and I felt like the run was more of an avoidance tactic than a fitness one.

It was gone midday when he returned. I'd been sifting through the cupboards for inspiration on a lunch I could cook, and was startled by the sound of the key in the lock. He staggered through, breathing heavily, t-shirt soaked and chest heaving.

"How was your run?"

He nodded and rested his hands on his hips, head tilted upwards as he closed his eyes to catch his breath.

"Good. I'm going for a shower."

I nodded in return and watched him cross towards the bathroom, dropping the same notebook onto the table from where he'd collected it. It intrigued me, not least because it was a strange object to take out on a run.

As soon as I heard the water running, I took a few steps towards the table, pausing at the last moment to reconsider. A few months ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about looking inside. We had no secrets, and he wasn't exactly trying to hide it from me. Now, though, it seemed intrusive.

From the outside, it looked like a premium quality notebook with a soft navy coating and elastic closure. I'd never seen him use a notebook before, and this looked like one he'd spent money on.

Turning my back on it, I retreated to the kitchen. I wasn't going to pry; I'd ask him about it instead.

Nathan seemed appreciative that I'd made lunch when he emerged from the shower, hair damp and wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt. Despite that, we ate in near silence. Painful silence. Awkward silence.

When he'd finished, he pushed his plate a few inches back and cleared his throat. I knew what that meant. That meant he was building up to saying something. Something prepared. Something he wasn't comfortable saying.

"This isn't an ideal situation," he said, glancing up to meet my eyes. "Even without what's happened, this is our first chance at having a decent amount of time together since you started your year abroad. And now it seems even more crucial that we take the time to sort things out in person."

"I agree."

He sighed. "But, Bella... I don't think it's going to work this way. If we go from not seeing each other for weeks, to spending every moment together, then the extremity of that is not going to help. Last night was a prime example. It's easy to slip back into old routines, but we can't do that. We both know we can't do that, and it's going to make living together difficult."

My heart dropped, anticipating what he was going to say.

"If you're comfortable with it, I'm going to spend some time at Louisa's. We'll meet up every couple of days, somewhere neutral, and we'll spend that time addressing what's going on."

"I don't think it's fair to put Louisa in the middle of this."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that you haven't talked to her about us at all?"

"Well, no, of course we spoke about it."

"Then she's already in the middle. I think it's more important that we're not asking her to pick sides."

I couldn't argue with that. "Okay, fine."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, casting his eyes towards the front door, but not really focusing on it.

"It kills me to have to do this, Bella, but I think it'll help in the long run."

"I know. We need to ease back into things. I get that."

"As for my work's Christmas party," he said, the delivery of the words being slow and considered, "it's entirely up to you whether you feel comfortable going. Or whether, you know, you'd rather I didn't go."

Although I appreciated the gesture, I was hardly going to stop him attending his own Christmas party. I thought back to the conversation with Louisa and her suggestion that presenting a united front would be more beneficial than skipping the evening. Did I really want to come face-to-face with Marie and see how beautiful she was in person? Not especially. Did I need to remind these colleagues that Nathan had a serious girlfriend despite not living in the same country? Definitely.

"I'll come," I told him. "I'm not going to avoid awkward situations. I want to make this work just as much as you."

Within an hour, he'd packed a bag and planted a kiss on my forehead before leaving the flat for Louisa's. A wave of loneliness washed over me. I was alone again, without even Jasmine for company now. This may be my own flat, but I'd only ever shared it with Nathan. After weeks of impatiently waiting for my return to England so we could spend every minute of every day together, here I was—back in England, still apart from Nathan.

I hadn't brought up the cigarettes; that was something we'd discuss in the neutral zone during one of the many conversations we needed to have.

Not knowing what possessed me to do it, I found myself back in the bedroom, staring at the drawer. With nothing to distract me, my mind went wild. Were they the same cigarettes from his night out, or had he been smoking more regularly and bought a new packet? Would he become addicted and suffer withdrawal? Were they helping him cope with our issues?

When I tugged open the drawer, I wasn't sure what answers I expected to find through simply examining the packet. What I did find, however, was an empty drawer. The cigarettes were gone. 

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Thank you for reading :) xx