Like You to Me

Embarrassment, shame, and regret were the only words I could’ve used to describe myself as soon as Mike got up from the couch, headed in the direction of the bathroom only a few feet away. It didn’t take long before I threw my clothes back on, not even caring that I obviously reeked of sex. I was certain my contempt smelled much worse. The thought of fleeing the scene entered my mind a few times before I decided against it. If I wanted to feel any better about what had just happened, running away from it altogether was not going to get me there. I wanted to, though. I wanted to get as far away from that office as I could and never go back -- at least not until I knew Mike was gone. Long gone, preferably... like on a plane to another continent, although I wouldn’t place money on that making me feel any better, either.

I rushed around the small confines of the office, trying to find a mirror so I could at least fix my hair. The feeling of him running his hands through it still lingered, tingling my scalp to the point where I wanted to rip out every strand of hair I had. The blame couldn’t be placed entirely on him, though. I was just as angry with myself as I was with him. There wasn’t even anything to be mad about -- just something to regret. And I regretted it, all right. I’d never regretted anything more. Sleeping with Mike wasn’t single-handedly what I had a problem with. The aftermath was, because if anyone knew Mike’s track record when it came to women, it was me. Expecting a friendship to outlast the alluring facade of sex, whenever and wherever, was simply unrealistic. Regardless, as I stared at my reflection in the small mirror that hung on the wall, I knew I’d sunk to a level of disastrous proportions. Things were never going to be the same between Mike and I, no matter how badly I wanted them to be.

The sound of the bathroom door opening ripped me out of my trance. In all the time I spent wallowing in self-pity I hadn’t thought of what I was going to say to him. He had much more practice when it came to situations like the one in which I found myself, while I was a rookie. I’d never just slept with someone before, and I’d never slept with someone I considered my best friend. Nausea was all I could feel; it replaced the numbness, the guilt, the self-hatred. I held it together, though, as I figured making my disgust obvious would just make everything worse. I didn’t want Mike to think it was anything personal, that I was repulsed by him as a person and that I wished I’d just had sex with anyone but him. How I could explain all of that to him while on the verge of tears was beyond me.

He found me sitting against the wall with my knees clutched to my chest like an abandoned child. I’m sure he was wondering what on earth I was doing but, for my sake, he didn’t ask questions. As the tears welled up behind my eyes, I all but expected him to leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he knelt down in front of me and placed one hand underneath my chin, tilting it upwards until our eyes met. There was nothing readable in his expression, leaving me to fill in the blanks with my tattered imagination. He didn’t say anything and I found myself longing for just a few words. At that point I didn’t care what they were. I would’ve been fine with him telling me to fuck off and die so long as he just said something. The silence was too much to bear.

“Say something,” I choked out. The tears had finally emerged, so forceful I couldn’t stop them. They spilled over my eyelids and down my cheeks before forming tiny droplets at my chin and falling to the floor, dissolving into the carpet as if they never existed at all.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he replied. His voice was soft and quiet, like he was trying so fucking hard not to break my heart.

“I - I should go.” Mike dropped his hand from my chin and moved out of the way. This gave me a clear path to the door but I was frozen. Leaving right then was just as bad as running away. Nothing had been solved -- and that was exactly how I didn’t want to leave things.

So I just sat in the same spot I’d been in. Mike was hovering above me; it felt like he was ten feet tall. From my spot on the floor he seemed miles away. Too far to reach out to, too far away to realize what I really needed. He was standing right in front of me but he was more distant than he’d ever been. As was typically the case when it came to me and my selfishness, I wanted to put all of the blame on him so he would be forced to make the next move. I wanted to be relieved of the situation completely, yet I knew I’d never be able to wash my hands of what had happened between us. We’d ventured to the point of no return, and it wasn’t named so for no reason.

When I finally got to my feet, my knees felt so weak Mike had to steady me. Another wave of nausea ripped through me when our skin made contact for the umpteenth time that night. The way I ripped my arm out of his grasp was hostile and offensive. There was a hint of sadness present in Mike’s eyes and I immediately felt guilty. I wanted to apologize but the words wouldn’t come out. There was some kind of barrier between my mouth and my words that simply wouldn’t let me so I just kept on walking. I walked out of the office and into the chilly night air, immediately wishing I’d remembered a sweatshirt of some kind. I would’ve settled for my car keys as well, since they were still sitting in my desk drawer, where I always kept them. I let out a string of curse words as I leaned my elbows against the roof of my car. My head followed suit soon after.

“You forgot these,” I heard from behind me. I turned around slowly, knowing exactly who it was and what he was going to hand me.

“Thanks,” I replied shortly as I retrieved my keys from his grasp. Pulling away proved difficult as Mike took hold of my hand firmly and kept it in place. “Mike, what are you-”

“We need to talk, Shea.”

“No we don’t.”

“Really?” He laughed sarcastically. The bitter tone was obvious and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to wish him away. “Because if there really wasn’t anything to talk about you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

My eyes snapped open, wider than they’d ever been, as flames ignited behind them. “And you would know?” I yelled. “What, you think just because every other girl you fuck wants another go after you’re done with her that I’m the same way?”

“What the fuck-”

“You need to get out of my sight,” I spat. “This-” I made some kind of back and forth pointing gesture between the two of us “-was a mistake. A big one.”

Mike’s face screamed bewilderment. I’d never exploded in front of him, and he was certainly never the cause. Even the night at my office party when he told me to go fuck myself, I never uttered a word in my own defense. I just let him say what he needed to say and that was the end of it. There was no rebuttal, no derogatory terms thrown at his back as he walked away. I just let him go, because even though I cared about him more than anyone, I wasn’t going to stoop to the level of chasing him. I had more respect for myself than that. But as he stood in front of me, an obvious inner war raging inside of him, I knew I would’ve gone to the end of the world for him if he asked.

“A mistake?” He asked, incredulous. “A mistake? That’s all it was is a mistake?”

“Why would it mean anything more to you? Didn’t you get what you’ve been wanting since the day you met me?”

If I would’ve been anyone other than who I was, I would not have gotten away with that comment. It was completely unintentional; the devastated expression on Mike’s face only poured salt in the wound. I wanted to die. I wanted to do a lot of things other than stand in front of him after just ripping his heart to shreds. If I would’ve stopped for a few seconds to collect myself, I wouldn’t have been so brash and spontaneous with my words. Tact was never a word I was familiar with -- neither was patience.

For the second time in my life, Mike mumbled a “go fuck yourself” before letting go of my arm and disappearing from sight. I could still feel his hand around my wrist and I was sure I’d have bruises to remind me in case the feeling eventually faded. I wanted them. I wanted that reminder just in case I ever found myself wondering how we fell apart. Then I would know exactly what happened: he tried to fix the things I only threw in his face. There was nothing more he could’ve done. Walking away was the smartest thing he could’ve done because I was on the fast track to making it worse.

Suddenly the keys that I held in my palm weren’t so important anymore. I would’ve given anything to have them return to my desk drawer and have Mike walk back outside with them in his hand. I would’ve given anything to have another chance at our last conversation. Hurting him killed me. I’d never been so blatantly rude to him in all the years I’d known him -- especially over something so personal and spiteful. I knew I’d eventually have to answer for what I’d done, whether it was to Mike or to someone else, but, at that moment, I was nearly passed out from exhaustion. All I wanted was a permanent vacation and the comfort of my bed.

The drive home was eerily quiet. There was barely anyone on the streets by the time I’d finally left the office and I opted out of listening to the radio. At that hour all I was guaranteed to hear were upbeat, happy songs. I didn’t want to hear them. I wanted to wallow in my guilt and depression. I needed it to hurt so I could feel as low as I’d made Mike feel. I needed to feel everything he was feeling -- I just needed to know. It wasn’t until I was walking up the stairs to my apartment that I realized I’d never truly know how he felt because I was the one who’d caused it. Self-inflicted pain would never hurt as badly as the pain I unintentionally caused to the one person I loved more than anyone else. All I could do was imagine, and my imagination would never be capable of such horrendous emotions.

Once I reached the landing, I took the first left turn and raised my eyebrows at the sight of someone leaning against the railing. I knew who it was without needing to ask. I knew what was coming; I should’ve expected it. Seeing Vic immediately following a disaster was almost too routine for me to have thought he would’ve skipped this round. I didn’t utter a word to him as I stuck the key in the lock and turned it. In turn, he didn’t say anything as the two of us wordlessly shuffled into my apartment. Darkness engulfed us as I felt around the wall for the light switch. As soon as I found it and flicked it upwards, Vic was on my case, drilling me like I was in the middle of some goddamned interrogation.

“Mike told me what happened.”

I rolled my eyes as I brushed passed him, into the kitchen. “Of course he did. He’s your brother.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him?” He pressed.

“I didn’t want to lie to him.”

“Bullshit,” he replied instantly. “The only reason you’re upset is because you think it meant more to you than it did to him.”

“Yeah, right, that’s exactly why I’m upset, Dr. Phil.” I didn’t look at him as I searched through my cabinets for a glass. I didn’t offer him a drink, either. “Why are you even here?”

“Look,” he snapped, “whatever happened between you and Mike is your business. Don’t take it out on me. I didn’t make it happen and I didn’t cause the aftermath. I’m only here to help, so you can either take it for what it’s worth or not.”

I wanted to accept his offer. I wanted to collapse into his arms and just cry because that’s all I felt like I had the strength to do. Vic was always so kind to me that it was torture just being around him whenever I felt low. When I was at such a point I just wanted to stay there. Suffering was something I always felt like I deserved, but Vic always tried to be my knight in shining armor. He wanted to fix me when all I wanted to do was stay broken. Most of the time it resulted in me pushing him away but he eventually caught on, rendering my defense useless.

“I’m sorry-”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” he huffed. He was still bitter about my previous attitude towards him, but I couldn’t blame him.

“Are you staying here or going home?” I asked, completely ignoring his implications.

“You really think I’d go home and be with Mike? Yeah right. He’s out of his fucking mind,” he ranted, “and so are you, but you’re more sane than he is right now so I’ll stay here.”

I nodded and told him he could take my bed. Sleep no longer called for me the way it had been previously. The exhaustion seemed to fade away once I was finally comfortable in my own home and it brought a sense of calm to my erratic nerves. With a defeated sigh, I pushed myself off of the counter I’d been sitting on and made my way into the living room. Everything was exactly how I’d left it the previous morning except Mike had folded the blanket I’d given him and neatly stacked the pillows on top of it. I smiled at the small gesture before taking a seat. Eventually I moved into a laying position and nearly threw up. The smell of Mike’s cologne was glued to everything around me: the pillows, the blanket, the couch itself.

For the final time that night, tears leaked out of my eyes as I silently cried myself to sleep. It was the only relief I was going to get for a while, and I basked in it.