The following day I send another text, this time a little stronger; a question, rather than a statement.
Why won’t you talk to me?
Another day of radio silence. I don’t take his lack of response to heart, though. In fact, I’m beginning to look forward to it, sending these texts, letting him know I’m still around. On the third day, I try a direct approach.
I miss you.
I regret that one as soon as I send it. It’s a bit too forthright. I decide that will be my final attempt—the last thing I want to do is come across as a stalker. But then, a few minutes later, my phone starts to ring. I’m shaking as I lift it up, seeing his name on the caller display, my throat constricted with nauseous anticipation.
“Hi,” I whisper. The silence that follows makes me think he hasn’t heard me. Just as I’m about to repeat the word, Niall starts to speak.
“Beth, are you there?”
I clear my throat. “I’m here.”
“Christ, why can’t you leave me alone? You’re the one who walked out, the one who pushed me away. Do you want to torture me, is that it?” He has a natural break in his voice, but it sounds stronger than normal. I try not to flinch at his vehemence.
“I’m sorry, Niall, I...” Is this what I wanted? To feel guilty and miserable all at once? My father once told me I’m my own worst enemy, and I’m starting to believe he was right. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought we were friends.”
“You definitely seemed friendly.” Sarcasm drips through his words. “What do you want from me, Beth?”
“I want us to go back to the way things were before.”
There’s silence on the other end. I wait for a response, my whole body on edge.
“Niall, did you hear me?”
“I heard you.” His voice is low, and I have to concentrate to hear him. “I just don’t understand why you’re telling me now.”
“Because I miss you.” The words tumble out of my mouth like they’re in a rush to be heard. “The kids miss you, too. It just isn’t the same without you in art class.”
“What do you want me to say? That I’ll be back tomorrow pretending like nothing happened? That we can laugh and joke and take the piss out of each other like that kiss was just my imagination?”
Is that what I really want? To forget that beautiful, sensual, amazing kiss? To obliterate the words his mum whispered to me? Forget about everything except our friendship?
“Cameron Gibbs made you a card. Cameron bloody Gibbs. The same kid who steals from art galleries and faces down coppers actually painted on a card to tell you he missed you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“Of course it does,” he replies, his voice thick. “You don’t think I miss them too?”
Do you miss me, though?
“Then come back. I promise not to do anything else to upset you. I don’t want to make you feel bad...”
“You think this is your fault?”
“Isn’t it? I’m the one who kissed you then ran away. I’m the married one. Of course it’s my fault.”
“You know nothing. From the moment I met you at the door, I knew I was going to kiss you. I didn’t care that you were married, in fact I still don’t give a shit. All I could think about was how you looked and the way I knew you’d feel in my arms.”
I hold my breath listening to him talk. I can almost feel the firmness of his biceps touching my sides. I remember the way he looked at me before he pressed his lips to mine. As if I was the eighth wonder.
“I kissed you back.” My voice is small. Between the two of us, I hold the most culpability here. “I shouldn’t have...”
“Jesus, Beth, don’t you get it? I wanted you to kiss me back. I still want you to. That’s why I can’t see you again.”
“You could do that?” I ask. “You could walk away and forget that anything happened?”
“I have walked away. I’m not the kind of guy that chases married women. I don’t see a thrill in pursuing something that’s not mine.” He sighs deeply. “I won’t be the one who ruins everything for you.”