you this,” I said. “The way things are between us now—do you want to live like that for the rest of your life?”
“Of course not. But we can fix this.”
“We’ve tried. Our entire relationship for at least the last year has been fighting, working out whatever we were fighting about, and walking on eggshells so we don’t fight again.” I sighed heavily. “I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“So, that’s it? You’re checking out instead of putting in the effort to fix it?”
I shrugged even though she couldn’t see me. “I just don’t think we can fix it. And with as miserable as things have been for the last, like, year or so?” I cringed a little, then finally admitted, “I really don’t want to.”
Silence fell again. Then she muttered, “Fuck you, Armin.”
And the call ended.
I put the phone aside and lay back across the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, I tried to make sense of the flurry of emotions crashing through me right then. Deep down, I believed she understood. That she knew as well as I did that we’d come to a crossroads, and we could either go on miserably together, or we could separate and… I mean, we wouldn’t suddenly be happy now that we’d split up, but we’d each have a chance of being happy. On our own, with someone new, whatever—just not together, because together, we were a hot mess.
And now we weren’t together anymore.
I rubbed my eyes and sighed. On some level, I’d known for a while now that this was coming. With all that tension between us, something had to give, and tonight, it finally had. I’d been afraid of dropping the hammer on it. Now that I had? God, why had I waited so long? It was like we’d been on life support all this time, neither of us willing to pull the plug, and now that we had, the relief was mind-blowing. All that pressure was gone. All that stress and worry over how to get us back on the rails and keep us there—gone. As soon as the metaphorical monitors had flatlined, it was like I wasn’t torturing myself anymore, and the only reason I wanted to cry right now was because the miserable part was over. It was done. I was free.
I felt guilty as fuck for that, and I genuinely felt bad for hurting Tanya, but it was what it was. Instead of regretfully letting go of someone I loved, it was more like I’d cut away anchor chains, and we could both swim to the surface and breathe again.
And…now what?
I kind of wanted to knock on Marques’s door and see if he wanted to go find something to eat. There were some chain restaurants nearby, and I was pretty sure most of them served alcohol. Some food, some company, and some booze? Oh, yeah, that sounded good.
Except…
Fuck.
If I went running to Marques before my relationship with Tanya was even cold in the grave, wasn’t I doing exactly what she’d suspected I would? Not that Marques and I would end up in bed or anything, but it didn’t seem…right.
I closed my eyes and thought about him. About the gorgeous man who’d alternated between driving and riding shotgun today. The laidback, chill guy who’d made those long, miserable hours so much more bearable.
And…fuck.
I’d never denied that I found him attractive, but now that I was unattached? Now that Tanya and I had finally put our relationship out of its misery? Oh my God. Spending the rest of the evening with Marques sounded like a really bad idea because just thinking about him was stirring up all those thoughts I’d tried to put on ice in the name of being faithful to my girlfriend. Letting my mind go there would be an exercise in frustration since he wasn’t available.
I swore into the silence. Had to let him go, didn’t I? Back when I’d had a shot with him?
Okay, so we were both younger then, and we probably would’ve found a way to screw up a relationship and take our friendship with it. Right now, though, as I was lying here in an otherwise empty bed, knowing he was separated from me by a single wall, I indulged in some irrational pining for what might have been. Would this be easier now if all we’d done was flirt a little? Because that one frantic make-out session in the old gallery’s back room had given me just enough of a taste