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 f**kin’ late, I’m f**kin’ tired. I’m tellin’ you what I need so you can read into that what I don’t need is a f**kin’ 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.”

His expression shifted and at the shift, I braced.

“You’re makin’ a bigger deal of this than it is, honey,” he said softly but didn’t move toward me. “After what happened tonight, I just need some time to get my head together.”

“What happened tonight?” I asked.

Chace didn’t answer.

When it was important, Chace never really answered.

“Right,” I muttered, my heart squeezing and it didn’t feel good at all. I took a sip of wine and didn’t get what women were always talking about in regards to drinking wine during heartbreak. It didn’t make me feel even a little bit better.

Maybe I needed more of it.

Like, a case.

Chace didn’t move.

“You aren’t leaving,” I prompted, pleased with myself that my voice didn’t crack because tears were rushing up my throat.

“I’ll call you Tuesday,” he whispered.

I lifted my wineglass his way and invited, “You do that.”

He didn’t move.

I took another sip of wine.

When I lowered my glass, reading me yet again, he noted, “You’re not gonna answer.”

“Nope,” I replied, sounding shockingly cavalier considering my insides were bleeding.

“Faye –” he started, taking a step toward me.

I shook my head and lifted a hand his way. “Unh-unh, no. Door’s the other way, Chace.”

He rocked to a halt, his chin jerked down and to the side in a motion that made it look like he’d been struck then he righted his head and reminded me, “You told me you’d never show me the door.”

“I changed my mind,” I fired back.

He studied me a moment while I hoped to all frak I gave nothing away then remarked, “You know my family’s f**ked up.”

“No. I know your mother is mentally ill and I know this is not in her control, it isn’t her choice. It’s an illness like any other illness and it’s nothing to get tense or be embarrassed about. If she had diabetes, cancer, it wouldn’t reflect on her in any way. But because she is how she is, you are how you are, thinking I’ll judge her or maybe both of you because of something out of either of your control. That’s not nice and I don’t like it.”

“Faye –”

I interrupted him. “And I don’t know about your father. You’ve told me some but not all, definitely not what would drive you to behave the way you did tonight. For your mother’s sake, it seems a not difficult thing to do, putting up with him for fifteen minutes to shield her from that emotion. He seemed capable of doing that for her. But obviously, whatever it is runs deeper. And obviously, you don’t intend to share it with me.”

“It is deeper,” he shared, just not much because he didn’t go on.

“No kidding?” I asked, hiding my despair behind sarcasm.

“Give me time,” he urged quietly.

“How much do you need, Chace? A year? Ten? Twenty?” I shot back, now hiding behind anger.

“It isn’t pleasant,” he whispered.

“So is a lot of stuff in life,” I replied. “Clue in, I am not your mother. Yes, I read. And yes, I do it a lot. And yes, I did it before you because life can suck and living in a fantasy world is a lot more fun than living in the real world sometimes. This was not a weak choice, it was an informed one. The cops in my town were dirty, my father was getting pulled over all the time because he didn’t like it and didn’t mind saying it but didn’t have the power to stop it. Innocent men like Ty Walker were being extradited states away to stand trial for murders they didn’t commit. Women who weren’t all that nice but still, that doesn’t matter, were being murdered. My friends got cheated on by their boyfriends or dumped after they slept with them or lied to or broken up with for what seemed no reason at all. You know I can go on. There’s not one thing wrong with saying, ‘To hell with that garbage,’ and immersing myself in worlds where happy ever afters are guaranteed or things are so fantastical, you know they’re not real, even the bad stuff. But that doesn’t mean I’m weak or fragile. It doesn’t mean I’m incapable of living my life. Everyone finds things they enjoy so they can escape. I’m not a freak. Even you do it with your sports. Part of me likes that you want to protect me from unpleasantness but part of me feels like it’s a slap in the face that you think I can’t cope when I can.”

He took another step toward me saying, “It’s worse than you could expect.”

“Okay,” I returned instantly. “Maybe it is. But you not sharing tells me you don’t trust me to be able to handle it. Which means you don’t trust me to hold up my side of the relationship. Which means we don’t actually have a relationship. I don’t have to have had one to know that both people in a relationship have responsibilities for keeping it strong and making it thrive and part of that is taking each other’s backs. You have mine but refuse to allow me to take yours. I’ve been cool. I’ve been patient. I’ve given you time. You want more, take it but don’t drag me with you as you struggle with this crap, Chace. Because the longer we’re together the more you should get to know me, come to the understanding I can handle it and trust me. You aren’t even close to that. That tells me you won’t be. So you want to keep your dark secrets, let them eat at you, fine. But don’t make me watch it happen.”

“So what you’re sayin’ is, hours ago, you told me you love me and now, I want a couple of days to get my head straight, you’re breakin’ up with me,” he said low, a warning. A warning I no longer gave a frak about.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Just like that?” he asked.

“No, it’s never happened to me before but I doubt after I fell head over heels in love with a wonderful man who kept important things from me, I’ll get over it just like that. I’ll drink with my girls and cry and wonder if I made the right decision. Then another man will come along, he won’t be as wonderful as my first love, but I suppose I’ll eventually get over it and move on.”

This was the way, way, way wrong thing to say and I knew it when the air went from smothering to stifling and Chace moved.

I tried to keep my cool as I watched him shrug off his coat and throw it over the footboard of my bed and I did this by sharing, “It’s cold, Chace, and the door’s the other way.”

His eyes sliced to me and he clipped, “Stop that shit.”

“What shit?” I asked

“The cold, remote Faye. It’s shit,” he answered.

“You’re right. It is. It’s a façade to hide the fact my heart is breaking. But, whatever. That isn’t your problem anymore. Now, can I point out, you told me you need space but you’re still fraking here?”

“Another man is not gonna come along,” he informed me and I stared.

Then I asked, “What?”

“You are not movin’ onto another guy,” he crossed his arms on his chest and finished, “Ever.”

“That choice is not yours.”

“Yeah it is,” he returned swiftly. “You can’t give away what’s mine.”

“You aren’t getting this, Chace, but just now, I took it back.”

“Can’t take back what’s mine either.

God! He wanted to go, why wouldn’t he just go?

I had to shut this down.

“I thought you were tired,” I reminded him.

“Thought of movin’ on,” he stated and I was back to staring.

Then I thought I got it, it hurt but whatever. I had wine and, tomorrow, I’d call the girls and then, in about fifty years, I’d get better so I invited, “There’s the door. Move on.”