And Love Said No
Part Ten
Esme’s eyes blinked several times, trying to clear the fatigue that washed over her. The duvet provided a lot of warmth, but her stomach turned at the thought of having to get out of bed to be productive today. She clutched her head and massaged her temples. She lay there for a few minutes, hoping the peace would magically cure her hangover. When sheer willpower didn’t work, much to her chagrin, she tossed to find a comfortable position so she could go back to sleep. As Esme readjusted her arms under her head, her body froze when she saw the bookshelves on the opposite wall; this wasn't Jussi's place. Her body shot up in panic not knowing where she was, but she quickly recognized the black curtains and paintings on the wall. There were few characters in her life with that eccentric taste in art. Suddenly, Esme suspected, though she couldn't be sure, that she would have preferred waking up in a stranger's bed than here.
“Shit.” She muttered.
She eased out of bed, and her feet hit the mahogany hardwood; the cold touch made her reflexively retreat a minute, but she tousled her hair and decided that there was nothing to gain by delaying this interaction further. Esme tugged nervously at the hem of her dress as she left the guest bedroom in search of Ville.
As she walked down the stairs, she heard soft classical music--she didn’t recognize the composer, Brahms, maybe?--coming from the second floor. Esme stopped at the foot of the stairs, transfixed by Poe’s eyes so beautifully adorning Ville’s back. When he turned with a fresh mug of coffee, she was boring a hole through the space he stood, searching for the right words she needed to greet him. Ville offered a small smile, encouraging her that all was well, but she didn’t notice. He waited, trying to figure out what she was thinking, what she was feeling.
She took in a sharp breath and nearly whispered in her raspy morning voice. “I'm sorry.”
He raised his brows. “For what?”
She cleared her throat. “I shouldn't have come here last night. It--we… I don't know where we are but our first interaction since… well, it shouldn't have been whatever I said last night.”
“You don't remember.” It wasn't a question, but it was like Ville was thinking aloud whether or not he should remind her. “Coffee?”
“What happened?” Her curiosity was piqued by his evasive behavior.
He turned to get another mug and began pouring coffee. “We just talked. Jonna had said things that were tugging at your conscience. Something about how you two were the same and that you had broken things up with--”
“That part’s clear, V.”
“Right. Um, well, you came here riding on that, trying to sort it all out, you know, but I assured you that she was full of shit. She’s just playing games with you, that’s what she does. I don't know if you believed me, I think you wanted to, judging by that kiss--I mean, nothing happened.” He hadn't meant to alarm her, and he certainly wasn't bragging that he knew he still had a chance. Ville was was trying to figure out how she felt, now that she was sober. He was hoping to reconcile; they were both able to admit their mistakes, even though Esme was a little more stubborn about it. They couldn’t take this to the breaking point, not when they had been taking steps to mend it.
Esme, however, reverted to the panic she initially felt when she realized she was in the tower. He was telling the truth; she knew that. But it scared her to think that she was so vulnerable around him. She didn’t want to succumb to her heart, which was eating her resolve by reminding her how much he meant to her. Maybe adamantly so, but she wanted to listen to her head, which was cautioning her to retreat from the moments to be betrayed again.
“I'm moving out.” She didn't even feel like she had said the words. They spilled from her lips before she could contain them, but as soon as they’d been uttered, Esme knew that she was digging herself into a hole.
His heart sank. “Ha-have you already found a place or are you gonna stay with Jus?”
“Um, no… No, I’m moving to LA. I’m still looking for apartments there, but I'll get my stuff out of your way.”
“You’re moving out of Finland?!” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah, the publisher is there, and I have to fly out there for so many meetings, it just… It makes more sense to be there. It’s easier this way.” Her hands were fidgeting with the banister, alternating between drumming a coherent beat and tapping to keep themselves busy while her eyes studied the man across the room.
Esme had only seen Ville angry a handful of times. When he was drunk, his temper was a short fuse, but otherwise he was good about keeping his anger at bay. There was one time when the airline had overbooked his flight, and he wouldn’t be able to make it home in time for her birthday; he called from Vancouver and vented to Esme, fearing that he would be arrested for telling half the insults running through his mind to the flight attendant. The worst of it was when Jonna and Ville broke up for the last time, and he faced the wrath of bridezilla while holding his own ground. This wasn’t nearly as bad, though he sounded more desperate now.
“You only go through all that stuff when you’re releasing a book. You’re gonna move all the way over there, away from your family and your friends, the home you’ve grown up in and the life you’ve had… be-because of what happened to us?”
“No, no, it’s not that. I’ve always thought about moving--”
“Bullshit.” His tone remained firm, and his jaw was clenched. “You’re being ridiculous, Esmeralda.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say or how you want me to make this sound better, but this is what I want to do.” She tried her best to sound convincing, but it was hard to do when she didn’t even believe her position.
“You’ve forgiven me, at least you say that you have. What more do you want?” The words themselves sounded pleas, but his tone proved that he was past the point of negotiating. It was no longer him asking what he could do to change things and how he could show her he meant his apology. Now it was what she wanted. He wasn’t asking to please her but rather to know how outlandish her desires were. The problem was that Esme herself didn’t know what she expected. She was fighting to stay committed to her initial position: she was done with this.
She stopped chewing a hole through her cheek long enough to deflect. “I know you’ll be busy with Helldone for a couple of days, but I’ll come by after New Year’s and pack up my stuff.”
“You can’t be serious.” He asked as he followed Esme down to the first floor. She looked around the living room, partly to avoid his eyes and partly in search of her coat. “Are you really gonna leave things like this?”
She grabbed her coat from the couch and pulled it on, patting the pockets to check for her wallet and keys. With her hand on the doorknob, she paused to reply. “I don’t know what you mean, Ville. Things are… exactly how they would be when you break up with someone.” When she turned to get one last look at Ville, she saw the mix of disappointment, frustration, and desperation that colored his face. It only made her feel worse. “Bye, V.”
After the door closed behind her, he whispered to himself, “But we don’t want to stay broken up.”
“Shit.” She muttered.
She eased out of bed, and her feet hit the mahogany hardwood; the cold touch made her reflexively retreat a minute, but she tousled her hair and decided that there was nothing to gain by delaying this interaction further. Esme tugged nervously at the hem of her dress as she left the guest bedroom in search of Ville.
As she walked down the stairs, she heard soft classical music--she didn’t recognize the composer, Brahms, maybe?--coming from the second floor. Esme stopped at the foot of the stairs, transfixed by Poe’s eyes so beautifully adorning Ville’s back. When he turned with a fresh mug of coffee, she was boring a hole through the space he stood, searching for the right words she needed to greet him. Ville offered a small smile, encouraging her that all was well, but she didn’t notice. He waited, trying to figure out what she was thinking, what she was feeling.
She took in a sharp breath and nearly whispered in her raspy morning voice. “I'm sorry.”
He raised his brows. “For what?”
She cleared her throat. “I shouldn't have come here last night. It--we… I don't know where we are but our first interaction since… well, it shouldn't have been whatever I said last night.”
“You don't remember.” It wasn't a question, but it was like Ville was thinking aloud whether or not he should remind her. “Coffee?”
“What happened?” Her curiosity was piqued by his evasive behavior.
He turned to get another mug and began pouring coffee. “We just talked. Jonna had said things that were tugging at your conscience. Something about how you two were the same and that you had broken things up with--”
“That part’s clear, V.”
“Right. Um, well, you came here riding on that, trying to sort it all out, you know, but I assured you that she was full of shit. She’s just playing games with you, that’s what she does. I don't know if you believed me, I think you wanted to, judging by that kiss--I mean, nothing happened.” He hadn't meant to alarm her, and he certainly wasn't bragging that he knew he still had a chance. Ville was was trying to figure out how she felt, now that she was sober. He was hoping to reconcile; they were both able to admit their mistakes, even though Esme was a little more stubborn about it. They couldn’t take this to the breaking point, not when they had been taking steps to mend it.
Esme, however, reverted to the panic she initially felt when she realized she was in the tower. He was telling the truth; she knew that. But it scared her to think that she was so vulnerable around him. She didn’t want to succumb to her heart, which was eating her resolve by reminding her how much he meant to her. Maybe adamantly so, but she wanted to listen to her head, which was cautioning her to retreat from the moments to be betrayed again.
“I'm moving out.” She didn't even feel like she had said the words. They spilled from her lips before she could contain them, but as soon as they’d been uttered, Esme knew that she was digging herself into a hole.
His heart sank. “Ha-have you already found a place or are you gonna stay with Jus?”
“Um, no… No, I’m moving to LA. I’m still looking for apartments there, but I'll get my stuff out of your way.”
“You’re moving out of Finland?!” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah, the publisher is there, and I have to fly out there for so many meetings, it just… It makes more sense to be there. It’s easier this way.” Her hands were fidgeting with the banister, alternating between drumming a coherent beat and tapping to keep themselves busy while her eyes studied the man across the room.
Esme had only seen Ville angry a handful of times. When he was drunk, his temper was a short fuse, but otherwise he was good about keeping his anger at bay. There was one time when the airline had overbooked his flight, and he wouldn’t be able to make it home in time for her birthday; he called from Vancouver and vented to Esme, fearing that he would be arrested for telling half the insults running through his mind to the flight attendant. The worst of it was when Jonna and Ville broke up for the last time, and he faced the wrath of bridezilla while holding his own ground. This wasn’t nearly as bad, though he sounded more desperate now.
“You only go through all that stuff when you’re releasing a book. You’re gonna move all the way over there, away from your family and your friends, the home you’ve grown up in and the life you’ve had… be-because of what happened to us?”
“No, no, it’s not that. I’ve always thought about moving--”
“Bullshit.” His tone remained firm, and his jaw was clenched. “You’re being ridiculous, Esmeralda.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say or how you want me to make this sound better, but this is what I want to do.” She tried her best to sound convincing, but it was hard to do when she didn’t even believe her position.
“You’ve forgiven me, at least you say that you have. What more do you want?” The words themselves sounded pleas, but his tone proved that he was past the point of negotiating. It was no longer him asking what he could do to change things and how he could show her he meant his apology. Now it was what she wanted. He wasn’t asking to please her but rather to know how outlandish her desires were. The problem was that Esme herself didn’t know what she expected. She was fighting to stay committed to her initial position: she was done with this.
She stopped chewing a hole through her cheek long enough to deflect. “I know you’ll be busy with Helldone for a couple of days, but I’ll come by after New Year’s and pack up my stuff.”
“You can’t be serious.” He asked as he followed Esme down to the first floor. She looked around the living room, partly to avoid his eyes and partly in search of her coat. “Are you really gonna leave things like this?”
She grabbed her coat from the couch and pulled it on, patting the pockets to check for her wallet and keys. With her hand on the doorknob, she paused to reply. “I don’t know what you mean, Ville. Things are… exactly how they would be when you break up with someone.” When she turned to get one last look at Ville, she saw the mix of disappointment, frustration, and desperation that colored his face. It only made her feel worse. “Bye, V.”
After the door closed behind her, he whispered to himself, “But we don’t want to stay broken up.”