I’m certain I’ve been lying to myself in thinking I was trying to get on with my life after returning from Seattle. While my head tried to convince me that was the truth of it, my heart was still holding out hope for the chance to see him again. He’s here, now, and still within reach. He’s validated every feeling I had about us that I chastised and ridiculed myself for. He’s telling me he missed me. Telling me he wants more, that he wants us to be real, and I’m once again forcing the door closed on us.
Shadows that weren’t present yesterday darken his features as I remember the light in his eyes when he picked me up, the ease in his posture, and the easy smiles he so freely gave.
God, was that just yesterday?
With no traces of that Easton to be seen, I mourn that loss more than anything and turn down the radio. “I’ve spent so much time thinking about you,” I deliver my admission that feels much too late as his face remains like granite, his eyes fixed on the road. “The days I’ve spent with you are some of the most unforgettable days of my life, Easton, but my stance hasn’t changed, and it’s only because I can’t hurt my father this way. I know that’s not a good enough reason for you, and I wish, so much, that I could make you understand.”
He bites his lip, his features tensing as his phone rings and Joel’s name flashes on the screen from where it buzzes in the console. I lift it within reach for Easton to answer, and he takes it from my hands and tosses it on my floorboard. It’s then I know the fight is over for him, and my words are useless. I’ve lost him. Dread settles in my chest as I speak up one last time. “I’ll see myself home after the show.”
STAY （Faraway, So Close!）
U2
Natalie
The auditorium grows mostly silent with palpable anticipation as sweat glides down my back. The distance between us when we parted today at the hotel making the concert a bittersweet experience, knowing goodbye is just on the other side. If I’m granted that. Easton didn’t so much as utter a word to me, other than he’d see me later, exiting the SUV before quietly closing the door. His indifference as he walked into the hotel without a glance back stung worse than his anger. I’d briefly entertained leaving early, but Joel had once again shown up on his white horse to summon and chaperone me to the show uplifting my spirits enough to get me here.
Under Joel’s watchful eye—who stands like a sentry to the left of me—I stand partially cloaked on our side of the cleared stage. The rest of the security are lined at the foot of it to keep the screaming fans at bay. This arena hosts thousands more than the last, and it seems not a single seat went unclaimed tonight. Every so often, I feel Joel inching closer in silent support but also on guard as if Easton ordered him to protect me, while my focus remains glued to the man where he performs feet away. A man currently strapping his guitar around his body as he walks back toward the mic and away from the piano he’s occupied the last four songs. Songs where he continually bruised my battered heart and stole valuable breaths without apology. Even if this is goodbye, the experience of seeing him perform one last time has been worth it.
At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.
I’ve been standing in the same place the whole show waiting for any recognition from Easton—which he hasn’t granted, his grudge clear. Since the concert began, he hasn’t so much as glanced in this direction, and despite my resolve, it stings like a bitch. Even as he played what I now consider our song, I got absolutely nothing.
As thousands of his newly acquired fans start to scream for him again as he approaches the mic, I feel just as desperate for an ounce of his attention. He’s hurting me purposely, giving me a taste of what it’s like to be nothing more than a spectator in his life, and he’s driving his point home with a sledgehammer.
For the whole of our time together, he’s been subtly and not so subtly reminding me what we started in Seattle is worth the risk, but it seems he’s done trying and I can’t blame him. I should be relieved. Instead, Easton’s cold shoulder feels like a thousand needles digging into my chest all at once.
Even with him a few feet away, it’s the broken connection that has me stalking his every move for any sign that I’m not already a part of his past. Determined not to cower away from the fact he’s acting like an ass—and his A-side is most definitely running the show tonight—I decide to try and reason with him once more before heading home, or at the very least to attempt to part from him on speaking terms.