Pebbles: A Collection of Short Stories

Behind the Door

An exterior door is one and three-quarters inches thick. He told me that once, as he spoke out the corner of his mouth, maintaining a grip on two screws with the other side. There was a pencil behind his ear. It was a stubby little thing that held back a clump of his dark hair. The eraser was hardly used; it fit with his confidence as he deftly hung the blaring red door.

My knock was pitiful; I'm still not sure how he even heard it, but it was followed by him ripping the door open quickly and absently. That's when his eyes fell on me. I listened to the sharp intake of his breath from the surprise.

"What are you doing here, Elle?" It was a gruff and unforgiving greeting.

"Hey, Nick." I met his eyes, timidly watching his anger softened slightly. Mad didn't suit his kind demeanor.

He continued to gaze at me for a long moment before shifting to the side in a silent offer to enter. His place looked the same. I'm not sure why I thought it would be different. The world had been frozen for 6-months due to the pandemic; everything felt both the same and starkly different at the same time.

"What are you doing here, Elle?" Nick's tone was still icy, sending a quiver through my body.

"I wanted to see you, to explain," I offered, my voice ending high with hope.

"You don't need to explain. You've been warning me forever. I just thought," he let out a vacant laugh. "Honestly, I don't know what I thought."

"Nick, I'm sorry." It was pitiful and lackluster.

"What exactly are you sorry for?" He slumped down on the couch.

"I know that it seemed like we were..."

"Seemed like." He let out another laugh. I bit my cheek to stifle my annoyance. "Don't do that." He added without even looking at me.

"Do what?" I struggled to keep my tone even.

"Hold back. You always hold yourself back." He refused to look at me; he was staring vacantly at his fireplace.

I wanted to respond. I wanted to admit that I was falling for him. I wanted to admit that I got scared and ran away. I wanted to admit that when I ran half a country away to think, I didn't know it would be for 6-months. But instead, I stayed silent. My voice was frozen by all the admissions swirling in my head.

"We were good, Elle. I thought we were." His eyes snapped to mine, pools of mossy green. "I've loved you from the first moment I saw you, but you always said that you sucked at relationships. I admit it, I settled for friendship, but I always loved you." His eyes were so broad as he gazed up at me, like a child trying to grapple with the size of space as he gazes up at the sky.

I had always known he was in love with me. I love him too, but I can't be in love. It's too out of control; it's too unpredictable.

"What happened? I thought things were good. We were happy." His eyes were boring into me, now craving an answer he already knew.

"We were." My voice came roughly from my dry throat.

"10-years. You were my best friend for 10-years. You finally noticed how much I loved you, how in love with you I was. It was the best year of my life. Until you left me." His voice was getting more challenging as he spoke. "You left me with a fucking note tacked to my goddamn refrigerator. The refrigerator Elle, like a fucking shopping note. We're out of milk, and oh yeah, I ran away."

"I'm sorry." I felt pathetic.

"I don't want you to be fucking sorry. I want you to tell me what the fuck happened."

It was fair; he deserved an explanation. "It won't make sense." I dropped my eyes from him.

"Try me." His voice was still fuming.

"I fell in love with you."

"What?" I knew he heard me. "Look at me." I lifted my eyes reluctantly to meet his. "Say it again."

"I fell in love with you; at least I started to..." It was no less painful the second time.

He let out an insane laugh. "You started to fall in love with me." His face was still twisted in a bitter smile as he sat back deeper into the couch.

"I'm sorry." I felt like a broken record.

"All I have wanted for so long is for you to be in love with me. Boy, was I wrong." His eyes were settling on the fireplace again.

"I got scared."

"I know. It's what you do." He shook his head to himself. "I was an idiot."

"What? Why? This is all my fault." I protested.

"Elle, you always run. You've been running since I met you since before I met you. I'm an idiot for thinking I would be different."

"I wanted you to be different. I wanted us to be different."

"And yet, here we are." There was a faint smile on his lips.

"Can we fix this? Be friends, at least?" The pleading saturated my voice. "When we started, we always agreed we'd stay friends."

"Friends?" He laughed again. "We were never friends." His eyes flashed to mine. They were vacant, though. "I was always in love with you. I don't know how to not be in love with you."

"Nick, please." I knew I was unfair.

His eyes softened as he gazed at me. "I can't, Elle."

"I know." I took one last look at him. "I love you, Nick. I wish..."

"Me too, Elle; me too." He didn't bother to see me out.

An exterior door is one and three-quarter inches thick. I heard it click softly behind me. I spent 10-minutes leaning against that red door mustering the strength to move my feet away. Part of me hoped he would rip it open again to stop me. I would tumble into his arms as he would brush the hair away from my face and kiss me. But I knew it wouldn't happen. The time for chasing me had passed months ago. I took a deep breath and pushed off from the red door one last time.