Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

nose as if that will help stop the stench from clawing its way inside my nostrils.

“Not one phone call,” I say, feeling completely defeated. “Not even one text to let me know you’re okay.”

His head pops up, and those half open eyes regard me. “It was an accident, darling. I swear. The boys… They fucking kept me back and back and…” I can barely understand the rest of the gibberish that comes pouring out of his mouth. It’s sluggish and slurred. Except for the apology, of course. “I’m sorry, Ivy. So sorry.”

Ana said it to me once, a line that fits this moment to a tee: It’s easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.

And how absolutely true is that? I’ve told Derek no matter how things are between us to let me know he’s okay if he’s out. To stop getting so drunk and putting himself in dangerous situations. When he drinks, he gets aggressive and fights. I see the bruises along his arm right now. I see some cuts along his neck.

So, he’s done the crime then. Done what he’s vowed he wouldn’t do knowing I’ll have no choice but to forgive him. His body is tense, though. He’s waiting for my lash-out. But I just stand there. I don’t… feel anger. I don’t even feel anything, really. I’m just tired. Of everything. I don’t have it in me to argue, or shout, or even make a snide remark.

After almost kissing Aidan, I don’t even have a leg to stand on anymore.

“Go to bed,” I demand.

Even in his drunken stupor his surprise is inescapable. He stands up, and takes an eternity making his way to the bedroom. He bumps into the walls and uses them for support along the way. Just before he reaches the door, he hovers unsteadily on his feet, saying, “You want to climb into bed with me?”

“No.”

“Wish you were a little looser,” he slurs. “You used to jump into bed with me –”

“When I used to drink with you.” When I used to act a fucking fool with you.

“Well, I miss that.”

“I don’t.”

He swings his gaze to me. His eyes are bloodshot, his eyelids heavy. “You’re not angry.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Are you going to flee again? Is that why you don’t care?”

I don’t answer. I just stand there, mute.

He lets out a long exhale. “When you came back, you never acknowledged us.”

“Acknowledged what?”

“That you came back to be with me. Are we…are we even together, Ivy? I’m confused.”

“I’ve already made that clear.”

“Be clear with me now.”

I sigh. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“Why not now?”

“You’re drunk?”

“So?”

“You get angry when you’re drunk, Derek.”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“You can’t hear the answer right now. Not when you’re like this.”

His face darkens. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Things aren’t the same. You know that.”

He swallows, frowning. “I don’t even remember fucking that girl, just so you know…”

My shoulders slump and I turn away. “Go to bed, Derek.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“How could I have cheated if I don’t even remember it?”

I’m not going to encourage this conversation from continuing. It’s so fucking absurd, I’d be wasting my breath. I simply look away from him, dismissing him. He’s pretty fucking cheeky for trying to remove fault about it, like not remembering makes any bit of difference. I remember those photos that girl posted – she was an acquaintance, too; she’d even said, “Sorry for your loss, Ivy” in a message – and Derek didn’t look drunk out of his mind. His eyes weren’t bloodshot like they are now. They were clear and excited, and I’m a fucking idiot for coming back to this apartment.

Where else would you have gone, Ivy?

“Fine, we’ll talk about it in the morning,” he says. He disappears inside the bedroom, and I hear his body collapse into the mattress.

I walk to the front door and shut it. Then I stand there for minutes and minutes on end. For a while I don’t think about anything. I’m just in some sort of void, floating outside of my body, watching myself and waiting for something to happen. Like maybe the anger will slowly inch its way inside. Maybe the smell will get to me and I’ll cuss and slam something and drown for hours in my rage. Maybe I’ll internally ravage Derek while he’s sleeping, telling myself how much I hate him.

But I don’t do any of it. My will has died. And it slowly dawns on me why that is.

I’ve stopped caring.

I really am done with Derek – have been done for so long, I can’t even remember the moment I realized it – and I don’t hate him either. This chapter is closing, and it frightens me – god, it frightens me – but excites me all at once.

It doesn’t take long before his snores sound out. I shut the door to the bedroom to muffle it out and move back to the couch, to my safe little space at night. I make my bed and change into my comfy clothes. I turn on the television and settle on a random channel. I raise the volume so the snoring can’t be heard, and then I lay back down. I grab my phone to check the time. It’s two in the morning.

Like clockwork, I check my Facebook. To my surprise, there’s a message sitting in my inbox.

A.W.: I’m sorry about tonight, Ivy.

That’s all he says, but it’s enough.

Enough for me to know he’s not shutting me out forever.

*

“Am I losing you already?” Derek asks the next day.

I’m nursing a latte I picked up from my favorite coffee shop nearby and sipping it on the balcony chair. He’s standing by the screen door in just his boxers, looking like hangover roadkill.

“Good morning to you too,” I mutter quietly, staring straight ahead.

“Ivy,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I didn’t think I’d stay back so long. I should have come back sooner.”

I don’t respond.

He steps out now and takes a