(Now) Kinsley: Time

Here it is, your extra long bonus post!  Whew.  There will be another one from Kinsley's perspective, continuing this story...sometime next week, I imagine.  In case the timeline isn't super clear, the intro to this post occurs the Wednesday following the 4th of July, and then flashes "back" to that weekend.  The second post (later this week) will pick up on the Wednesday following the 4th of July.    
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"I just need more time."

Damien's words echoed in my head as I toyed with my phone.  He had given me all the time I needed to get over my hangups, why was it so hard for me to give him time right now?  Oh yeah, because the time he gave me was working towards having a relationship, but it felt like the time I was giving him was working towards not having a relationship.

At this point, it had been 3 days since I had heard anything from him.  My mind was spiraling quickly towards "this is the end."  And I was hurt.  I was pissed.  He'd known for awhile that family wasn't my thing.  He told me often how much he appreciated the time I spent with his family, because he knew family wasn't my thing.  I'd spent so much time saying "yes" to family events that I would have preferred to say "no" to, because I was terrified that saying "no" would lead to the demise of the only real relationship I'd ever had.  Turns out I was right.

I tapped my phone hard against my thigh as I thought back to where everything tipped from mostly perfect to out of control.  I'd wanted to go to Wisconsin for Liv and Brody's engagement party, because it had been so long since I'd spent much time with them, and I thought it was really cool that her parents were throwing this together on such short notice for them.  When I mentioned it to Damien, he reminded me of his sister's big 4th of July party that weekend.  And while it was simply that--a reminder--I was too nervous about what might happen if I said, "There's always next year for that.  This engagement party won't happen again.  I'll see you when I get back from Wisconsin."

And honestly?  I realize now, looking back, that if I'd just said that, it probably would have been fine.  I can't imagine Damien being upset for me wanting to make that choice.  I really can't.  But instead, I said "okay, never mind."  After that, the resentment started.  In the (less than!) two weeks between Lauren's phone call about the engagement party and the weekend of the 4th of July, Damien had invited me to two family dinners, one family outing to the zoo, and one family brunch.  I'd gone each time, and each time my resentment had grown.

By the time he'd suggested we have dinner with his mom on Friday night, the night before we'd been planning to spend the entire next day with his entire family and all his sister's wretched friends, I was so sick and tired of family things that I snapped.

"Do we have to?" I'd whined.

He looked at me in surprise.  "No, that's why I was asking," he replied mildly.  "We don't have to, but my mom asked me, so I thought I'd ask you."

In a way, it was almost worse than him insisting that we go.  Because in that moment, what I really wanted was for him to say, "You know what?  We've been spending so much time with my family lately, let's just have a nice evening to ourselves."  But he didn't say that.  Instead, he left the illusion of choice to me.  Because if I chose to go, he'd be happy and I'd be irritated.  But if I chose not to, I was choosing against his family.

"I don't want to," I snapped mulishly.

He raised his eyebrows.  "That's fine," he replied evenly.  "I'll see you after dinner then?"

I gaped at him.  "Seriously?" I asked, my voice rising to a pitch that brought me dangerously close to "shrieking" territory.

He narrowed his eyes briefly before rearranging his face into the placid, unreadable expression I knew so well.  "Yes, seriously.  You don't want to go.  I do.  So it makes sense that I go to dinner, and I'll see you afterwards.  Is that okay?"

"Do whatever the fuck you want," I muttered.  I wasn't even aware at the time that I was acting like a child.  Having never been in a real, somewhat healthy relationship, I'd never learned how to fight fair.  Damien and I rarely even argued...probably mostly because I agreed with things I didn't want to agree to in a desperate attempt to not upset the balance.

"Well, I'm not going to go if you're going to be pissed about it," he replied.  His calm demeanor was making me even more frustrated.  How could be so calm when I was so...not?  Did this not matter to him?

"No, instead you'll just stay here and resent me for making you do something you didn't want to do," I grumbled.

His face changed.  It went from stoically calm, to sudden understanding, to immense disappointment.  "Kinsley, is that how you feel about going to all my family things?" he asked softly.  "Resentful, because you think I'm making do you something you don't want to do?"

I considered lying.  Maybe I should have.  But sort-of-lying had gotten me into this mess, and it certainly couldn't improve it--even I knew enough about communication to know that.  "Yes," I murmured.  I couldn't meet his eyes when I said it.  I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, bracing myself for impact.

"Wow," Damien replied.  "Wow."  I risked a glance up at him, and I saw that he was truly surprised.  He'd had no idea how I felt about all the time we spent with his family.  I bit my lip, wondering if I could have prevented this by telling him sooner.  Probably.

We were both silent for a solid minute.  Then Damien said, "I can't believe you've felt like this, for how long?"

I shook my head.  "Not long, really.  It's mostly been since I told you about Liv and Brody's engagement party."

"Kinsley, I wouldn't have dreamed of stopping you from going."

"I didn't know that!" I exclaimed.  "I mean, look what you said tonight when I didn't want to go to the 6th family event in two weeks!  You were fine with it, but you were going anyway.  What if I wanted to just spend the evening with you?  What if I'd had something planned?"

"Did you?"

"No!  But that's not the point!"  I sucked in a ragged breath and swallowed hard against the lump in my throat.  I was not going to cry right now.

We launched into a two hour argument/discussion that covered the following topics: my inability to communicate effectively, the way his refusal to show emotion during these conversations made me crazy, why I felt the need to mindlessly agree to everything, and his (weird, in my opinion) desire to do everything with his family.

And then, after two hours had passed, he dropped this bombshell: "My family means everything to me, and I understand that you don't feel the same.  But this isn't something that's likely to change much, so if it's something that you're having a hard time with, maybe we don't make as much sense together as we thought we did."

All I could do was stare at him for a really long time.  When I finally tried to talk, I made an unintelligible squeak.  I cleared my throat and said, "But I want to make it work.  We do make sense."  I fought to keep the desperation out of my voice.  I looked at him, and he returned my gaze calmly.

"Kins, baby, I don't want you to be miserable and resentful of something that isn't going to change," he said gently.

That statement pushed me over the edge.  I stood up and yelled, "You don't get to decide if I'm miserable!  You don't get to decide if I'm going to be resentful!  What does it matter to you, if you're blissfully ignorant?  Which, by the way, you clearly are!  And also?  What makes me most mad is that you can sit there and tell me that 'maybe we don't make sense' with the same expression on your face that you'd have telling me that's 76 fucking degrees outside!"  And then, childishly, I stomped up the stairs and into my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.  I actually laughed out loud to myself about the irony: he hadn't ended up going to dinner with his mom after all, because he was too busy arguing with me about my resentment over dinner with his mom.  I threw myself on my bed, still fully clothed (shoes and all), and curled tightly around my pillow, my back to the door.

A couple minutes later there was a soft knock on my door.  "What?" I snapped.

The door creaked open slowly and then I heard footsteps approaching my bed.  I tensed as the mattress moved when Damien sat down.  I didn't move, laying there stubbornly with my back to him.  He stroked my hair, then ran his hand gently down my back.  "I'm going to go home," he said softly.  "I think we both need to take some time to decide what we want.  Can we check in in a couple days?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth.  I knew I was behaving like a teenager, and I didn't want to make it worse.  "Okay," he said.  He stroked my hair again, smoothing it out of my face, then kissed my cheek tenderly.  "Kinsley...I love you."

I bit my lip, wanting him to go so I could cry in peace.  "I love you too," I whispered.  His hand left my back, and the mattress moved once more as he stood.  His footsteps stopped, and I imagined him pausing in the doorway, watching me.  Then the door shut and his footsteps faded down the stairs.  As soon as the front door shut, a sob wracked my body, and I shuddered as I cried into my pillow.

I spent the entire next day in bed, crying off and on, and barely dragged myself out of bed to answer the door for the pizza I'd ordered.  The delivery guy took one look at me and rushed me through signing the credit card receipt.  I hadn't looked in a mirror, but I was sure I was simultaneously the most pathetic and horrifying thing he'd ever seen.  I ate my pizza in the dark, mentally beating myself up for fucking this all up with my lack of communication and childish temper tantrum.

I was back in bed by 8pm, drugged with Melatonin and Benedryl, hoping for a decent night's sleep.  When I woke up Sunday morning, I gave myself a silent pep talk and pulled myself together.  I scrubbed the remains of Friday's mascara off my cheeks (so gross), pulled my badly-in-need-of-washing hair into a ponytail, and headed to the gym.  I pushed myself through a brutal spin class and then impulsively decided to stay for the yoga class that happened after.  By the time I dragged myself home, I felt much more like myself.

After a long, scaldingly hot shower, I pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a flowy black sleeveless top.  I put some product in my hair and let it air dry with its natural waves, then put on some makeup.  Then I sat down on the edge of my bed and called Damien.

I was surprised when he answered.  "Hi," he said warmly.

I repeated his greeting hesitantly, then asked, "Can I see you today?"

"Yes," he agreed.  "Can you give me a couple hours?  How about 3:00ish?  Do you want me to come over, or...?"

"That works," I replied quickly.  We hung up, and I cleaned my already clean house to keep me occupied.

Damien rang my doorbell at 2:59, and it was quite possibly the first time I've ever been ready on time for something in my entire adult life.  When I opened the door, I hesitated, then threw my arms around him.  He hugged me back tightly, rubbing my back and breathing in the scent of my hair.  We stood there in the doorway for a long time, clinging to each other desperately.

After we sat down, we looked at each other for several seconds without saying anything, then we both started talking at the same time.  "Can I?" I asked, when we both stopped abruptly.  He nodded.  "I know your family is important to you, and that makes it important to me.  I want to make this work.  I know I need to do a better job of communicating what I want from you, and I'll try to do that.  And I'm sorry for acting like such a child on Friday night." I stopped and watched him.  He looked sad, and the knot that was already in my stomach tightened.

"Thank you," he started, and I thought that was an odd thing to say.  "I'm worried that we're going to trade off resenting each other forever," he admitted.  "I'm not willing to give up the time I spend with my family--"

"I'm not asking you to," I interrupted.

He held up a hand, silently asking me to wait.  "I know you're not.  But now that I know how you really feel, I'm going to feel internal pressure to do it.  I don't want to do that to you, and I don't want to do that to me."

"Damien..." I said softly, confused.  "Are you...?  What are you saying?  We can figure this out."

"Maybe we can," he replied.  "But I'm not sure I want to."

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.  "You don't want to?" I parroted back in disbelief.

"Not like that," he amended hurriedly.  "I want to in the sense that if there is truly a way to make this work, I want to do it.  But I'm worried that we're both going to make sacrifices and compromises in an attempt to put a band-aid on this, and that's all it will end up being in the end--a band-aid.  Not a sustainable solution.  Maybe...maybe I just need some more time to think."

I didn't want more time to think.  In fact, I didn't want to think at all.  I bit my lip as my eyes filled with tears, and I shut my eyes, not wanting to cry in front of him.  He moved over to the couch I was sitting on and put his arms around me, and without thinking I let myself relax against his chest.  How do I fix this? I thought desperately, as I sat there fighting my tears.

When I was sure that I could look at him without crying, I raised my head.  I was determined to remind him of one of the many reasons we made sense.  I pressed my lips to his, turning my body and pressing it against his.  He responded automatically, parting his lips for my tongue and running his hands down my back to my hips.  I shifted to straddle him, and I gripped the back of his neck with one hand and the front of his shirt with the other.  He kissed me back desperately until I began to move my hips against his.  Then he stopped, gently gripping my arms and shifting me slightly away from him.

"No, wait," he said, breathlessly.  "This isn't a good idea."

I shattered.  This was my last ditch effort.  It wasn't the most solid plan, but sex was the only way I knew how to fix things, how to get people to do what I wanted them to do.  And now, not only had my only plan not worked, but I was being rejected on top of it.  I stood up quickly, lost my balance, and sat down hard on the floor.  Then I started to cry.  "Kinsley," Damien said, kneeling down on the floor next to me and stroking my hair.  "I'm sorry, but I don't want to cloud either of our judgment with sex."

"Stop it," I snapped, swatting his hand away.

He withdrew his hand quickly from my hair and sat back on his heels, breathing out a frustrated sigh.  I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my forehead on them, no longer willing to fight for control.  "Kins," he said again.  "I just need more time."  I didn't respond.  I was gasping in sharp, shallow breaths between whole-body-shaking sobs, and it was all I could do to continue doing that.  There was no way words were happening.  "I'm sorry, Kinsley."

I still didn't respond; still couldn't respond.  He took my lack of response as a dismissal, and maybe it was.  Taking a chance, he smoothed his hand over my hair again, then kissed the top of my head.  Then he stood and--leaving me in a crying heap on my living room floor--he crossed to the front door and left.