Daylight

When Bryan stopped, the waitress deposited his refill on the table.  He moved to take it, but I was faster.  Holding the glass out of his reach, I demanded, “What are you trying to do?  Drink yourself to death?”

“What do you care if I am?”

“Oh, that’s fucking great.”

“You don’t need me," Bryan retorted. "You don’t even want to see me.  How I choose to live my life shouldn’t make any difference to you.”

“That doesn’t mean I want you dead!”

“I’m dead to you now, anyway.”

Infuriated, I shot back, “If you are, it’s your own fault.”

“And let me assure you, I’ve beaten myself up for it far better than you ever could.”  He held out his hand.  “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like my fucking drink now.”

“You were the one who didn’t want me around anymore.”

“We all know what I said and did, Rachel.  I can’t keep begging for you to understand.  You’ve made your decision, and I’m sure no one would disagree with it.  Now let me make my own fucking decisions.”

“But all I want is to know why.  You can never tell me why.”

“I did tell you,” Bryan returned, and for the first time I noticed that his outstretched hand was shaking.  “Maybe you don’t understand this,” he said, “but I thought all I had become to you was some kind of fucking obstacle.  I’m sorry if this isn’t a good enough reason for you, or if it sounds trite, but I felt rejected, all right?  Like I meant nothing to the one person who meant everything to me.”  He lowered his eyes, his scowl now fixed on the table.  “I’ve been told I have some kind of abandonment complex because of what happened with my mother—that I don’t want to be left again, so I leave first.  If you can believe that recycled, fucked up psychoanalytical bull shit.”

I could believe it.  And because I did, I forgave him.

*Excerpt from my upcoming novel, The Last Confession of the Sun God.