Page 9 of The Time It Takes

I told myself after—as I was shoving some final items into my luggage, to head out the door—that I shouldn't be so fickle. I hadn't wanted her to fight to stay together, had I? I hadn't wanted her to get angry and throw things. A few words shouldn't hurt so much, especially when it was clear we were actually on the same page for ending things, and in fact overdue.

No, I guess what hurt is that it had clearly been over for a while now, and I'd only recently figured it out. Some part of me—a small part of me—must still want to fight for this relationship, to get back what we once had. I couldn't hate her, but she hated me, and that hurt. I'd spent years of my life with this woman, and thought I might spend the rest of them with her. Somewhere along the way, we'd quit fitting together properly. I'd resented her double standards. And she'd stopped liking me at all.

So no, she didn't break any of my things. Just my heart, a little. Whatever size piece I'd still had all for her.

Funny how you think there's nothing left to break, but somehow there still is. Funny how you think nothing else can disappoint you or hurt you, and then it does.

I walked out and didn't look back. I wanted to feel like I had my self respect, my freedom, my fresh start. But I didn't. I just felt like shit.

#

You okay bud?

I stared at the text from Arlie. I didn't want to answer, but he'd worry if I didn't. I made myself type a response.

Sure.

I'm here if you need to talk. Or anything else.

I didn't respond.

Think about moving in with me and the pack? You don't have to, but it's an option.

An option that felt like giving up, like proving just how weak and unmanly I was, that I couldn't even take care of myself while getting over a breakup.

Then again, Arlie had never looked down on me or even hinted that he thought I should be more manly and independent. If anything, he got his feelings a little hurt if I didn't let him look after me or check in about how I was doing. This was literally the man who pulled me onto his lap at the bowling alley in front of everybody. So if I didn't let him be there for me now, it was really only for my own pride, not because I thought he'd look down on me or think less of me. He didn't, and wouldn't.

But yeah, my pride was hurt. Both by everything about the relationship, including how it had ended, and by my partner thinking I couldn't handle it on my own. I mean. Maybe I couldn't. But I didn't like him thinking that.

Still, this issue was about my feelings and not him doing something wrong or judging me. He just cared. I didn't want to take out my prickly feelings on him. Besides, if I turned him down now, and ended up having to crawl back and ask for help later, wouldn't that be twice as embarrassing?

I'm thinking about it, I texted him.Not sure how well that would work.

My phone rang. He was calling me. I debated for longer than I probably should have and then picked up.

"I don't want to be talked into anything," I told him, rather grumpily, even though I hadn't wanted to be grumpy with him.

"No, of course. It's just easier to talk than text."

Yeah. I knew that about him. He struggled with the tiny symbols on his phone and his big fingers. He also struggled a bit with spelling and getting letters and words mixed up. My partner was quite smart, but it wasn't always the kind of intelligence that worked well with tests and texts.

Between one thing and another—learning differences, discrimination, and poor access to education—a lot of shifters didn't find reading and writing easy. Much less filling out forms, navigating complicated tech systems, or sometimes even texting. My partner did his best. He still found talking easier than texting.

"Listen," said Arlie, "you don't seem comfortable with the idea of moving in with me and the pack. That's okay, if you need your space. We can find you somewhere else, if you haven't found a place already. I just don't want to leave you hanging if you're having trouble, okay?"

I let out my breath. "Okay." I sagged, looking around at the small hotel room. It wasn't much, and I wasn't going to enjoy staying here.

I thought of the breakfasts and cheerful friendliness of the pack. I always felt welcome there. If I stayed there, it might be awkward, but it would be pretty convenient, too. Good meals. Fewer responsibilities. Arlie and I could commute together for work. I could basically play life on easy mode for a few months till I got my shit together.

It wasn't like I needed privacy to date, not right away. Hell, maybe not for a while. I didn't know when I'd feel ready to tackle those waters again. Right now I didn't feel like I'd ever be ready, but I'd probably feel differently when the breakup wasn't so fresh.

Well, what the hell?

"How would we manage it?"I asked, sounding more uncertain and maybe even nervous than I meant to. "Would I move in to your room?"

"No, no, you'd have your own room. Privacy. Nobody's going to bug you. Near my room, though. If you needed me."

God, he was being weird. He must really be worried about me.