Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) by Crystal Cierlak

a deep breath at his confession, trying to remain impassive and not scout through the layers of complexity. This all started with a text.
    “What do you want from me?” I ask, and at least to my credit I sound as even tempered and objective as humanly possible given the circumstances.
    The fire is back in his eyes and he’s just staring at me. The moments tick by and I’m starting to lose the even temperament. The combination of things - the scent of him on my borrowed shift, the way his eyes are penetrating mine, the way he is breathing through parted lips, and the memory of his arms supporting me last night - is becoming unbearable.
    “Will you let me take you out for your birthday tonight?” he asks finally.
    “ That’s why you’re here?” I ask him incredulously.
    “No,” he answers solemnly. “Nonetheless, will you let me?”
    “Nick,” I breathe his name. “I have things I need to do today. Plans. Decisions to make.”
    “Tonight?” he says again, stressing the singular word.
    “I already have plans tonight,” I lie. “I’m meeting a friend for a birthday drink.” My mind goes to the man I met two nights ago, Eric Jacobson. I could make plans with him. I could text him when Nick is no longer around to try to make some sort of plan. Or I could sit in my room and Nick would be none the wiser.
    “Afterwards? Late dinner?” he asks.
    “Can’t you just tell me now?” I ask, and even I can hear the strain in my voice.
    “No,” he says firmly, an eyebrow arching as he casts his eyes downward momentarily. “Please, Layla. I flew all the way out here to see you.”
    “Don’t put this on me, Nick,” I shake my head at him. “I didn’t ask you to come. I haven’t spoken to you since the divorce. Why all this now?”
    His arms are moving across the table and before I can think to move my hands he’s taken them in his and is holding them tight. For an instant I think he might hurt me, but quickly realize the sensation only is because he’s desperately trying to get through to me.
    “I have been alone for four years. I barely survived Tyler and the divorce and I was a broken man. I nearly tried to kill myself. More than once.” His eyes are burning like blue fire and his voice is barely above a whisper. But his fingers are digging in to mine and I can feel the plaintive plea in his words, see them in the intensity of his face. “But I made it through and,” he trails off. He swallows to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. Finally, he looks back up at me. “I’m asking you for this. Just let me see you tonight. Please, Layla.”
    It’s the first time I’ve really been confronted with Nick’s grief, and the image of him somewhere in the world trying to take his own life guts me unimaginably. In my darkest days I wished for death but never had the strength to try to take my own life. Never in my lifetime would I think of Nick making the attempt.
    Suddenly my lie about drinks with Eric Jacobson seems silly and pedestrian.
    “Okay. Yes,” I acquiesce. “But please give me this afternoon to myself. I don’t feel like running and I don’t want to be chased.”
    He nods without saying a word and a moment later removes his hands from mine.
    “Pick me up at my room tonight. I’ll be ready.”
    “Thanks, Lay,” he whispers, and I can see his chest rise and fall as he breathes in a great amount of oxygen, as though his lungs had been emptied of it.
     
     
     
    ‘I have been alone for four years.’
    I can’t seem to shake Nick’s words from my head. Throughout most of our relationship his fidelity was an issue. It wasn’t that millions of girls around the globe wanted him, but that I couldn’t trust him not to want them back. At least, not always. There was always an opportunity for him to cheat, and plenty of girls rumored to have been with him. Not to mention the morning I walked in and found one of them in his bed with him. People might have cut him a little bit of slack