Kristen Ashley - Breathe

Trane read this and moved to his wife, murmuring, “It’s late, love. They should be making their way.”

Her voice was rising to the point there was a hint of hysteria in it when she returned, “Fifteen minutes! That’s all I ask. Fifteen minutes with my family all together.”

“Fuck,” Chace clipped under his breath.

He’d helped me on with my coat so I was unfortunately free again to forge into the breach.

“It really is late and it’s also a long drive. I’ve had to work today, your food was delicious but with that, work, wonderful wine but lots of it and good company, I’m afraid I’m dead on my feet. I’ll probably fall asleep in the car.” I smiled at her. “Not to mention, it’s past Chace’s bedtime. So, to be safe, we should be getting home. It really was so lovely meeting you and,” I turned my eyes to Trane, “having the chance to meet you too.” I looked back at Valerie. “And I hope you take Chace up on coming to spend the weekend. I can show you my library and make you dinner.”

Her face moved like she was fighting tears, Trane shifted into her and slid his arm along her waist, this seeming to give her the strength to fight the tears back and nod.

“Of course, you’re right, Faye. It is late and you and Chace should be on your way,” she whispered with clear disappointment.

I approached her and took her hand. “I hope to see you again soon.”

“Yes,” she agreed, her hand limp in mine but I still gave it a squeeze.

“Faye,” Chace called shortly, I looked over my shoulder at him and nodded.

I looked back at Valerie, letting my eyes move through Trane and I said, “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“My pleasure,” she muttered, her eyes beyond me on Chace, her melancholy obvious, extreme and alarming.

Chace ignored this, claimed me by grabbing my hand and his only farewell was, “Ma. I’ll call.”

He didn’t say one word or even look at his father.

Then we were out the door, down the steps and hoofing it to the Yukon. Chace bleeped the locks, walked me to my door, yanked it open and practically picked me up to plant me in the passenger seat.

I barely cleared my feet from the door when it was slammed and Chace was prowling around the hood.

I looked to the front door, saw Valerie and Trane there, his arm around her shoulders, her look despondent, his blank. I lifted my hand and gave them a happy wave that I hoped didn’t look stupid or, worse, forced.

Chace angled in, started up the Yukon and executed a tight turn in the large space of the front drive and we were on our way.

He, incidentally, didn’t wave. He didn’t even glance at his parents.

I gave it time and when we were close to hitting Aspen proper, I whispered, “Chace –”

“I hate him, you know that,” he cut me off to say curtly. “I love her, you know that too. You wanna sleep on the way home, sleep. But I do not wanna talk so if you’re not sleepin’, do me a favor and give me quiet.”

I bit my lip.

Then I gave him quiet.

And I endured his heavy mood all the way home without sleep not having any idea the worst was yet to come.

It was very late when we hit my apartment, after one in the morning.

The drive had been silent, Chace’s mood not lifting, not in the slightest.

The very much shorter walk up my stairs to my apartment had been silent too.

I was wandering the space, turning on lights, trying to decide what to do, what to say and wishing I could go to the bathroom and call Laurie, Lexie, Krys or Twyla to ask when Chace spoke.

“Headin’ home.”

I was standing on my side of the bed, turning on the light but at his words, like a shot, my back went straight and my eyes cut to him standing in his coat by the door.

Since the night he took my virginity, we never slept apart. Not once. We never even went to bed without the other.

Not once.

I didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“What?” I whispered.

He didn’t repeat himself.

Instead, he said, “You go on to your folks tomorrow without me. I’ll call you Monday. Maybe Tuesday.”

Monday?

Maybe Tuesday?

A chill slid over my skin even though I still had my coat on but I didn’t move a muscle and stared at him.

He finished, “Later, Faye.”

Later, Faye?

No kiss. No touch. No darlin’, honey or baby.

Just later, Faye.

He was at the door when I called on a stammer, “I… you… Chace, what’s going on?”

He turned at the door and leveled his eyes on me. “Need space, you do too. This is happening fast. Too fast for me, where I am. Too fast for you, this bein’ your first relationship. Just slowin’ us down, givin’ us time, takin’ that time to sort my head.”

Sort his head?

What was there to sort?

My heart started pumping so hard, I could actually feel it.

“I… I don’t… it doesn’t feel fast,” I told him cautiously.

“Well, it is,” he told me firmly then he was done and I knew it when he started to turn back to the door, muttering, “Call you Tuesday.”

He didn’t move in slow motion but it felt like he did as thoughts collided in my brain.

Lots of them.

Too many.

Weeks of them.

And they did this so fast it felt like my head was going to explode.

Then I felt my shoulders square with a snap and I stated, “You’ll call me Tuesday.”

He looked back at me and, sounding impatient, he confirmed, “Yeah. That’s what I said. I’ll call you Tuesday.”

“I’ve seen you every day, slept beside you every night for weeks and all of a sudden I not only won’t see you but I won’t hear from you for two days.”

“Right,” he replied.

“You told me I wouldn’t sleep without you,” I reminded him and finished, “Ever. Now you’re saying I won’t sleep with you for two days?”

A muscle worked in his jaw but he didn’t speak.

My heart started racing.

I changed tactics.

“What if I don’t want to wait until Tuesday?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Faye, it’s late. I’m wiped. We’ll talk Tuesday.”

“Would it matter to you that I’d rather you didn’t leave right now but we either talk about whatever’s obviously seriously bothering you or you allow me to see to you in other ways?”

“No, it wouldn’t because I’m tired. I been thinkin’ on the way home and I’m tellin’ you the way you can see to me is to give me space. So, you’ll give me space and we’ll talk Tuesday.”

I’d give him space. He decided and that was it.

It hit me just then that Chace decided a lot and that was it.

And it also hit me that whenever my girlfriends told me their boyfriends needed space, they didn’t need space, as such, they needed something else entirely.

So I made a decision, my first in our relationship.

“No we won’t,” I announced and his brows drew together.

Then he took in a calming breath, clearly tamping down his irritation that he was dealing with his inexperienced girlfriend and he explained, “When I say I need space, Faye, when anyone wants space, it’s important to give it to them.”

Oh no.

Frak no.

He might be my first pretty much everything but I wasn’t seventeen and exploring the ways of the world. I was twenty-fraking-nine, not stupid, I had my own opinions, my own desires, my own needs and they were just as valid as his.

Last, I was suddenly so over this I could scream.

I didn’t scream.

I invited, shrugging off my coat, “Great, take a lot of it.”

He turned fully away from the door and asked, “What?”

“Take a lot of it,” I repeated, moving and tossing my coat on a stool as I made my way to the kitchen. “You want it. You have it. But don’t bother calling me on Tuesday.”

His barely there patience slipped when he declared, “Jesus, Faye, it’s fuckin’ late, I’m fuckin’ tired. I’m tellin’ you what I need so you can read into that what I don’t need is a fuckin’ drama.”

“No drama,” I pulled open a cupboard to nab a wineglass. I closed the cupboard, turned to him but didn’t look at him as I reached for the bottle of wine on my counter, finishing, “Just giving you space. Plenty of it.”

“Fine,” he stated as I squeezed the plastic thingie Chace had shoved into the bottle last night and pumped the air out of so the wine would keep, heartbreakingly sad I was doing that because Chace had done it like he always did it and my earlier decision meant Chace would never do it again.

“But don’t call Wednesday,” I told the wine.

“Jesus.” I heard him clip.

“Or Thursday.” I kept at it as I poured my wine.

“Fuckin’ hell, Faye.”

“Or Friday,” I went on as I turned the bottle in my hand to stop the flow without it dripping.

“Faye, this isn’t a big deal.”

Not to him.

But it was to me.

Though he obviously didn’t care.

I set the bottle on the counter, lifted my eyes to him and concluded, “Or at all.”

His body went visibly solid and his mood again blanketed the room as his eyes locked on mine.

I kept talking.

“You’re right, you didn’t say it but I get it. I’m inexperienced. I need guidance in this relationship business. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.” I took a sip of wine, held his gaze as I did, lowered my glass and swallowed. “But you don’t have to know about relationships to know that no matter how wonderful a man may seem, how he makes you feel, it is not okay for him to keep things from you. It is not okay that, even though he’s going through serious stuff in his head, he lashes out and rips you to shreds. It is not okay that, although he’s more experienced than you, he doesn’t guide the relationship but controls it with an iron fist. So you want time and I have no say in the matter? Take it. A lot of it.”