Page 75 of Sunrises & Salvation
I never said critical thinking skills were my strong suit, because at one point in my life, they were. I would have put two and two together and been able to explain how the math works behind the scenes.
So, when I stumbled across the bookstore, I would have been smart enough to make the connection, and I could haveprevented this whole ordeal. Instead, I’m sitting across from and staring into the brown eyes of the man I’ve been in love with for over eight years while he sits next to my best friend.
I sit at the table waiting for them to show up, and my world stops as Hunter entered the restaurant. The light gray slacks artfully molding to his legs, showing off the definition he’s gained over the years. His shirt is plain and black, but his beauty outshines anyone in the restaurant.
I stand up, knocking the chair I’m sitting in backwards, and sending it to the floor with a loud thunk. Hunter’s eyes catch mine and immediately narrow into slits, with his dark eyebrows creasing across his forehead.
His name is on my lips until Trent walks in behind him. My eyes dropp down to their intertwined hands. His hand. In Trent’s.
Agony flows over me like a tidal wave, dragging me into the depths of the ocean and drowning me in despair.
Hunter is Trent’s.
Not mine.
I snap out of the horrible flashback as the waiter stops by our table.
And it went downhill from there, the awkward conversation where Trent tried to get me and Hunter to talk to each other. I avoid eye contact, and Hunter answers with one-word sentences. Did I mention that the “date” Trent set up for me canceled at the last minute?
Really, life is going great for me. If I suddenly came down with the black plague, I think I would tell the rat thank you and give him a piece of expensive cheese off the charcuterie platter that is currently decorating our dinner table.
“Hunter likes to read. Maybe you could suggest a book or two to him, Adam. The collection you have on your bookshelves is insane.” The stacks of books in alphabetical order arecarefully positioned against the wall beside my TV. He doesn’t acknowledge that they’re all romances, let alone with two men instead of traditionallystraightbooks. If he knew that the only reason I have those books is because they’re books that Hunter recommends, I doubt he would be bringing it up.
“I’m okay, Trent. He doesn’t have to—” I clench my fists under the table and relax the muscles in my jaw while I watch him lovingly stroke Trent’s arm, trailing his long, boney fingers across the bare flesh of Trent’s tattoo.
My heart thumps pitifully in my chest, begging me to reach out and take Hunter for myself. To surround him, so all he sees is me.
The rest of the date is painfully silent while Trent eats, and Hunter pushes his food around his plate distractedly, never once looking at me.
My mouth is dry while I eat the overpriced and overly salty chicken breast the waitress set in front of me. When I ordered a water bottle, she brought it out already cracked and poured it into the cup in front of me. It’s still sitting there, untouched.
That’s something my therapist and I have yet to overcome: my aversion to drinks. We’ve tried everything, and no matter what we try to do to convince my mind that I’m safe, even after all these years, I can’t do it.
I cough into my elbow, trying to clear my throat and help soothe the dryness. It doesn’t work, and by now I just want this day to be over. I want to go back to my empty house and mope while I watchThe Office. Which sounds pathetic, but it wasourthing. One of the many things I still do to remind me of him. There are so many things I wish we could have done, could have experienced together.
But that’s not my job now, my job is to cheer for them on the sidelines. And let the two of them be happy, even if it feels like it’s ripping my heart right out of my chest.
Hunter’s hand enters my peripheral, and I keep my eyes focused on the food so I don’t draw his attention to me watching him.
He grabs my water cup and takes a generous swig. I watch his Adam’s apple bob with the movement, the same Adam’s apple that I would press kisses to while we cuddled up together on the couch in my dorm room while he would tell me about his day.
Wait…
I can’t keep my eyes off him as he places my cup closer to my hand now, his fingers barely ghosting across mine and leaving a burning fire in their wake.
He… remembered. He remembered how much I struggled to drink anything that I hadn’t opened myself.
He’s making sure that I know the water is safe to drink.
It’s too much. I can’t sit here, not with them being a happy couple while Hunter still goes out of his way to take care of me. That’s what Hunter does, he’s a nurturer by nature, he takes care of everyone. Even the people he hates, and that’s the category I fall into.
“Excuse me,” I say politely, excusing myself from the table. Breathing deeply and calmly, walking away, even though every atom in my body is yelling at me to run.
“Adam—” Hunter’s voice cuts across the restaurant, but I’m already at the door. My heart wars with my mind, to glance over my shoulder and get a glance of him. Just one last glance like I’m an addict, and he’s my drug of choice. I’m cracking under the pressure for one last hit, one last feeling like I’m floating across the clouds. But the crash back to the ground is enough to break me, and I won’t survive it.
I don’t turn around; I open the door and step out into the night, letting the black sky engulf me in darkness and swallow me in all its anguish.
Trent is alreadyat the office as soon as I drag myself in. The dark circles under my swollen eyes are deep enough to be considered craters, and the headache I feel throbbing in the back of my head can be linked to the copious amount of alcohol that I consumed last night when I finally stumbled in my front door.
