The Muse's Undoing

“Matty, I swear I didn’t come here to throw anybody under the bus, but Maggie and our parents said some rough shit to me. They scared me.”

“So you figured you’d ghost me?” I ask.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” I say. “Not exactly where I thought we were at, considering…”

“It’s fucking inexcusable.”

“I don’t know.” Honestly, I’m resigned to a shitty outcome. “If it’s between me and Vaughn, the choice is obvious.”

“There shouldn’t have to be a choice,” he says.

“But if there is—if this is what it’s gonna come down to, at least have the decency to break it off in person.”

“I don’t want to break it off. I never wanted that.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

“I fucked up. I was trying to protect you, and I fucked it up.”

I sigh heavily, the weight of his choice pressing down on my shoulders. I wish I knew how to live without him. I wish I could find some peace in all this. Offer him some, too. How magnanimous am I feeling right now, though? “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“Quit fucking apologizing.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?” he asks, a desperate edge to his words. “I’d get down on my knees if I thought I physically could. You didn’t deserve any of this. I was careless with you and you mean everything to me. I love you so fucking much?—”

“Please stop,” I say, unable to bear this. “Quit dragging this out and say what you came here to say. Is it over?”

“No!”

“Then what?” I ask, my voice breaking.

“Forgive me, Matthew. Please. I had no intention of leaving you. None. I was trying to figure out how to keep us safe without dragging you into the middle of the mess I made with Nicole. That’s all this was, and I see now I should have involved you in that. We should have been together—I could have fucking called, but it hurt. I wasn’t sure I could hear you hurting without making everything worse.”

I chew on my lower lip and try to keep the tears from surging. I know him well enough to believe what he’s saying—it isn’t that. Forgiving him doesn’t take much. It’s losing him that’s the real threat. “You can’t do this again, Fischer. You can’t leave me hanging like this again.”

“I know. I swear to God?—”

“Don’t.” I stop him again. He’s drunk. I don’t need drunken promises tonight.

“You know, you didn’t call me either,” he says sharply.

I feel the accusation like a slap. I glare at him. “You need to sleep this shit off.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I need us to work this out.”

Fine. I’ll play. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you were finally taking the out.”

“Well, that’s a shitty thing to think.”

“You never called, you never showed…”