Casual Affair

“What are you doing here?” I asked again. Was he really here leaning on my doorframe or was I having some weird kind of illusion?

He sighed and gestured towards my door. “Can we talk inside?”

I narrowed my eyes, torn between yelling at him to leave and curiosity of what had brought him to my door. So, against my better judgment, I nodded and let him inside.

As soon as the door was closed behind us, I resumed my questioning. “Why are you here?” I asked again.

Again, he ignored me. “Could I get some water? Or do you have anything heavier?” He wandered away in the direction of the kitchen. I could hear the clinking of glass as he dug around in my cabinets.

“I don’t really have anything,” I lied. There was some scotch hidden in the cabinet over the fridge, but I doubted he would find it. True to form, he rounded the corner back into the living room, two tumblers in one hand, and the bottle of scotch in the other.

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re still a terrible liar,” he said.

“I hate you,” I replied.

He smiled and sat down on the couch. “Like I said, a terrible liar.”

I looked down at my feet as he poured out the drinks. I was suddenly very aware of how rumpled my shirt was and the tangles I had missed earlier in my hair. “Brendon, please tell me what you’re doing here,” I said.

He lifted one of the glasses to his lips, took a long sip, and sighed contently. “Louis called me,” he said.

I looked up at him, seeing him watch me over the rim of his glass. “Why would he do that?”

He shrugged and picked up the other glass, holding it out in offering to me. I hesitated, then walked forward to take it from him, sitting on the chair opposite him. “He knew you would talk to me,” he said simply, taking another pleased sip from his drink.

I laughed, and the sound frightened me. “Well that’s not fair,” I said.

Brendon just raised his eyebrows again and pursed his lips, shaking his glass and watching the ice and liquid swirl around. “So what’s wrong?” he asked.

I scoffed. “What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’? Nothing’s wrong.”

He shrugged and drained the remainder of his glass. It clinked against the coffee table when he placed it on the wood, and the couch creaked under his weight when he sat back and placed his hands in his lap. He looked at me, hard, and repeated, “What’s wrong?”

Instinct and years of bottling up emotions told me to continue playing my game of saying nothing, getting us nowhere. But those eyes of his, those god-damned eyes, saw right through me without me even saying anything. They softened when they locked with mine, and I knew he wasn’t being malicious in his presence there. He was concerned.

“I hate you,” I said again. He opened his mouth to protest at my lie, but I pressed on. “I can’t fucking stand Avery. I’m livid with myself for starting things up with him again. I’m pissed off at Matt for acting like he knows so much better than me.” I put my glass down on the table and stood up, too irritated to sit.

“You know after our last show, you know what he did?” I asked, turning to look back at him during my pacing. He shook his head. “Talked shit about me, that’s what. He told people I was off my rocker.”

Brendon chuckled. “All he said was that you were overwhelmed, Elizabeth,” he said. He held up his hands when I turned on him. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

I narrowed my eyes and resumed my pacing, ignoring his defense of my band mate. “Yeah, well, he’s an ass. Greg can suck a dick. Louis is fine though.”

“Yeah, Louis is cool.”

“Yeah.”

Brendon cleared his throat. “What else?”

“I hate you.”

He chuckled as I plopped back down onto my chair. “Yeah, you mentioned that,” he said.

I grumbled and crossed my arms. “Doesn’t make it not true.”

Brendon laughed and sat back on the couch again, observing me. “You know,” he said after a moment’s silence, “you’ve never admitted it.”

"Admitted what?" I asked.

"That you love me," he said softly.

I choked on the air. “Why would I say a stupid thing like that?” I asked. I wouldn’t admit it. He couldn’t make me.

He just smiled, soft and sweet like a lover. “Because you know it’s true,” he whispered. He was moving, slowly, gliding over towards me in stop-motion. “Because you don’t want to feel weak.”

Suddenly he was kneeling in front of me and gripping my hands. “Because I love you, too.”

I slapped his hands away and tried hiding in the chair. “Stop it.”

He didn’t wince, but simply sat back on his heels in front of me, ducking to avoid my feet as I tugged my knees to my chest. “I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear it, but I’m not going to stop saying it,” he said, quietly. “I love you.”

“That’s not fair,” I snapped, cowering deeper into the cushion of the chair. “Not right.”

There was true fury in Brendon’s eyes when he looked up at me, a lividness I could never imagine as he stood up and stormed away. “Don’t you think I know that?” he yelled. He walked towards the kitchen again, stopping short at the door and spinning around. “You don’t think I hate myself for what I’m doing? What I’m putting you and Sarah through?”

My heart hurt at the mention of her name, the reminder that while she was absent, she still stood between us.

Brendon continued pacing, accentuating his words with wide hand gestures. “If there was a way to just split myself in half—so the part of me that loved Sarah could be with her and the part that loved you could be with you—I would in a heartbeat.”

By the pain on his face, I knew he meant it. “Brendon, it doesn’t work like that,” I said quietly. I laughed again, this time harsher than before. “Besides, I’m shit at sharing.” I looked at the hands he had outstretched. “Where’s your ring?”

He clenched his hands into fists and brought them to his sides. “I don’t like wearing it around you. It doesn’t feel right.”

I shook my head and pressed deeper into the chair cushion. “That makes me feel dirty.”

He was sad when he kneeled in front of me again. “Why?”

“It’s like, the typical sign of an affair. I’m a no-good mistress.”

“Oh, Elizabeth,” he sighed. He moved up and sat on the chair next to me, despite the lack of space and my protests. He gripped my hands when I tried slapping him away and pressed them to his chest, looking deep into my eyes. “You know you are much more than that.”

My throat felt raw, and I knew tears were brewing behind my eyes. I tried swallowing, to keep the mucus off my tongue. “Am I?”

“Yes!” He lifted me off the chair, readjusting us so I was sitting in his lap, my face pressed into his neck as he cradled me in his embrace. “You silly girl, yes, of course you are. I said I love you, didn’t I?”

“You love her, too,” I wept into his shoulder. I felt his hug tighten around me and he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“She’s my wife,” he moaned. “Of course I do.”

“You can’t have us both,” I whined. I could feel the spit in my mouth thickening and choking me, but I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. “You can’t split in half.”

“I know,” he whispered.

He held me like that, for only God knows how long, pressing kisses into my hair as he stroked out the tangles, holding me tighter when my crying became overwhelming. The sun went down outside, and the apartment grew dark as neither of us moved to turn on any lights. I shivered in Brendon’s embrace, and it seemed to wake him out of a trance.

“It’s late,” he whispered, as if his voice would break the peace of the room. He shifted beneath me, groaning as he stretched out his legs. “I probably need to head out.”

“Oh. Right.” I disentangled myself from his hug and backed away past the coffee table so he could stand up. “Where are you staying?”

“Hmm?” He stretched his arms over his head and waited for that reassuring pop. “Oh. The Marriott down the street.”

“Are the guys here?” Or Sarah? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t dare.

He picked up on it though. “No, it’s just me. I just…had some stuff I had to do here.” He nudged his toe into the carpet. “I’ll probably only be here til the end of the week or so.”

“Oh.” I wrapped my arms around myself. Fuck it, I thought. Fuck it all. Let it all fall to shit later, but I was finished with being pitiful and near breaking point. I took a tentative step towards him, eyes level with his chest. “Maybe I’ll see you again while you’re here?”

He smiled, so quick I almost missed it, and cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Brendon turned to leave, but I had to ask. “Brendon?” I called. He turned back to look at me. “Why did you really come?”

He sighed and cracked his knuckles. “I was worried about you, Elizabeth,” he said. “I just…wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Do you think I am?” I asked. I ignored the way my voice broke.

He tilted his head and smiled. “No,” he said softly. He reached his hand forward, and gently ran the back of his fingers over my cheek is a gentle caress. “But I’m here to help you be okay.”