Aside from wanting her physically, there was this constant need to make her happy. I got off on it. I noticed Nina changing the more time we spent together. Her eyes started to transform. Light replaced the darkness, and I wondered if I had put it there. She always looked at me like no one ever had and was so attentive; she ate up every word I said. I made her laugh, and she comforted me. I wanted to be around her all of the time like a fucking bee on honey.
The way I saw it, we were two fractured souls that fit together like the last two missing pieces in a “fucked up life” puzzle. When we were together, life finally made sense; it wasn’t all work, obligation, guilt and fear. It was just amazing to be alive. She needed me to help her, but she didn’t realize I needed her so much more.
The first time I knew I was really in trouble was when she cut her finger that night trying to make me dessert. I physically felt the pain—a shooting pain—when I saw her blood. I had never experienced anyone else’s pain before. It felt like she was an extension of me. That was when I began to suspect that I might have been falling in love with her.
The moment I absolutely knew I loved her, though, was in Chicago. I was telling her things I hadn’t ever told anyone, like the story about my father and the moon. On the plane ride home, when we were holding hands and I watched her with her eyes closed, I had wished that the plane were taking us somewhere far away, where I could spend the rest of my life just being with her, making love to her and not worrying about anything else. I knew it was selfish, but I would have given anything for that.
I hadn’t even planned to take her to Chicago initially. My original idea had been a helicopter ride over Manhattan, but she kept getting A’s and putting it off. During that time, we became closer, and I wanted to share more of myself with her. Maybe it was to make up for not letting her in on the most important piece of information. Something she had every right to know, even as my friend.
Over Christmas, I had missed her so much that it was like going through withdrawal. I realized that staying in the friend zone just wasn’t working for me. I needed her. The only way I could be with her was to tell her the truth and hope that she would understand. She promised that nothing could make her leave me, but would that really still be the case once she found out about Ivy? Maybe I was kidding myself.
If she didn’t want to be with me after I told her the truth, I’d move out and walk away, because living under the same roof with her would be like strapping a bottle of vodka to an alcoholic.
I wished she had just let me get it off my chest last night, because the truth was, there was never really going to be a right time to explain my fucked up situation to her. But she convinced me to wait a day to have the talk.
When I realized she wanted me as much as I wanted her, I became like a caged animal unleashed for the first time; I wanted to ravage her so badly that I gave in and waited to say anything. If all else failed, last night will stay with me for as long as I live, and nothing could ever take it away.
Now, I needed to figure out how to explain my sudden disappearing act and everything else, the second I get back to New York.
How exactly was I supposed to tell the person I love that I’m married to another woman I may never be able to leave?
***
The halls were eerily quiet as a nurse led me to her room. Ivy was sitting up in bed staring at the clock on the wall. That was a habit she developed about a year ago. She just watches the hands go by. It seemed to calm her.
“Ivy?” I said as I slowly approached the bed. She wasn’t in the middle of a delusion, but she also didn’t seem to be affected by my being there one way or the other. She looked at me and then looked right back at the clock.
She winced when I grabbed her hand. She didn’t like to be touched, but she gave in and let me hold it. I was just relieved she wasn’t telling me to go away this time or accusing me of trying to kill her. That one was the worst.
I squeezed her hand lightly. “Are you okay?”
She nodded repeatedly in quick motions without making eye contact with me then said, “Did they call you?”
“Yes. They said you—”
“Well, I didn’t. They’re lying. They shouldn’t have called you.”
I didn’t want to argue with her. The truth was, only she really knew whether she meant to take her own life or whether it was a misunderstanding. She never admitted to intentionally trying to commit suicide the past few times something like this happened.
“What did you do, Ivy?”
“I was just trying to get some air.”
“They thought you tried to jump out a window?”