Castles in the Sand (Stephen Colbert)

Chapter 13

I was startled by a loud knock on my door, I must have drifted off. I didn't move, I wasn't going to answer it. A minute or so later it happened again, except louder and more urgent. Perhaps I'd drunkenly ordered food. I grumbled and got up, idling over to the door where the knocking began again, though now it sounded more like a full-fisted thumping.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming." I croaked

After a week of solid crying and yelling, my voice sounded rough, I could probably even pass as a person who had actually been sick. I fiddled with the deadbolt in a groggy haze and finally pulled the door open, wallet in hand, expecting to see a slightly annoyed food delivery guy.

The look on Stephen's face shifted from concerned to mortified once he registered the state I was in. God only knew what I looked like, self care had not been part of my routine.

"You!?" My voice a shocked whisper.

I quickly tried to slam the door. I didn't want to see him and I didn't want him to see me, especially like this. He braced himself against it, easily resisting me as I pushed with everything I had. My eyes welled with frustration at my ever weakening attempts to shut him out, finally slumping to the floor in defeat.

He shuffled silently inside and closed the door behind him, but I didn't look up. He was in front of me, I stared blankly at his trousers and shoes with a furrowed brow, willing him to leave.

"I wanted to give you space," he said gently, his words laced with suppressed sorrow, "but I also refuse to leave things so.. unresolved." That voice was a sound I'd almost forgotten, and when the hair on the back of my neck bristled pleasantly, I wished it had stayed forgotten.

I said nothing, but shivered where I sat on the polished concrete floor. His feet paced away a few steps over to my bed and came back. A blanket was wrapped tenderly around my shoulders, then he was crouched in front of me. My eyes darted up to look at his face, despite my best effort to avoid doing so. He was half smiling, though the same thread of pain I heard in his voice, I also saw in his expression.

"I guess you didn't get my message?"

I looked over at my desk and back to him; it must have been the one I didn't check. I shook my head.

"That was lucky I suppose, you might not have opened the door at all."

He was smiling, actually smiling at me. Beautiful and bright and in an instant, the undoing of all I'd tried to achieve that week.

"Please stop, Stephen," I wavered on the verge of tears, "you shouldn't be here."

His smile faded, "Y-you can't think I'm just going to leave you like this?"

It seemed to be a question but the tone was closer to "please, don't make me leave you like this." He wasn't crying openly but his eyes were glassy and full, I'd never seen that and I instantly hated it. His suffering hung like a weight on my heart. In my mind I saw myself reaching out to hold him, felt the love in his arms around me.. but I didn't move, didn't say a word, just stared at him.