(Now) Kinsley: The "Walking Out Type"

I realized that I left you guys with a hell of cliffhanger here, especially with my little blurb about Kinsley at happy hour in the last main storyline post.  There are also things I'd like to put in the next post, but this needs to be resolved first.  SO, here's a bonus for your Monday morning :)  You can expect one more regular storyline post this week, and I hope to still get the next Kinsley post in Friday (though now it might be Saturday.  But there will be one!)  

Also, if you haven't been around in a few days, make sure you scroll down.  I posted Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and I'd hate to have you miss anything, especially the Kinsley post that comes before this one.  Happy Monday!
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He'd told me he "wasn't really the walking out type."  That he'd "rather stay and sort it out than walk away, even just to take a break, and risk someone not coming back."  And now he'd walked out without sorting things out twice.  What was I supposed to think about that?

It was 3 days after he'd left me crying on the floor, and I hadn't heard from him.  I refused to believe he was never coming back.  He was not the kind of man that would walk out on me and not at least definitively end it.  He wouldn't leave me waiting and wondering.  Right?

I stared at my phone awhile longer and then tossed it to the side and stood.  I'd initiated our last contact, he could do the next one.  If there was a next one.  I shook my head and walked downstairs, planning to do some cleaning (again) to keep myself occupied.

Thursday's work day passed the same way the ones before it had: with me keeping my head down and staying as busy and focused on work as possible.  By the time I left work and headed towards the bar we were meeting at for happy hour, I was pissed that I hadn't gotten so much as a text from Damien.    So much for not being the "walking out type."

By the time I actually got to happy hour, I was determined to start the process of forgetting about him.  Finally, something I was good at.  I greeted Liv, Lauren, and Alex cheerfully.  So far they were the only ones there.  Liv asked how I was doing and I brushed the question off with a smile and a "Better, thanks!"  I enlisted her help to fill Lauren in, because I didn't feel like telling the story, and headed to the bar for a drink (because I didn't feel like hearing the story).

While waiting for my drink, a decently attractive man came up next to me.  He leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender to come take his order.  I saw him glance at me out of the corner of my eye, and I turned my face towards him and smiled brightly.  "Hi," I said.

"Hi," he replied warmly.  His smile was a little crooked, but it was kind of cute like that.  "Thank god it's almost the weekend, right?"

I laughed.  "Yes, definitely."  Except I was dreading the weekend.  Because the weekend would be way too much unstructured time for me to think, and thinking was pretty much the worst right now.

"Are you here with...?" he trailed off, clearly fishing for me to let him know if I was single or not.

"Just some friends," I replied.  By this point, the bartender had returned with my drink, and I paused while she took my new friend's order.  When she went away again, I angled my body towards him and said, "They're all coupled up though, and they can be kind of annoying about it."  I felt bad for a second about saying it, because it wasn't true, but I needed this guy to know, with absolute certainty, that I was not "coupled up."  Except, even I wasn't certain if I was or not.

His crooked smile grew a little.  "I know how that goes," he agreed.  "My name is Greg, by the way."

"Hi Greg," I replied, flashing my perfected flirting smile.  "Kinsley."  We stood at the bar chatting long after his drink was delivered and paid for.  Long enough that Lauren came over, looking confused.

"Hey Kins, what are you doing?" she asked casually, her eyes darting between me and Greg.

I shrugged.  "Just talking to my new friend, Greg," I answered.

"Oh," Lauren replied.

"I'll catch up with you in a couple minutes," Greg said, smiling sympathetically at me.  He wandered away from the bar and I sighed and raised an eyebrow at Lauren.

"Oh, don't you look at me like that!" she hissed.  "What are you doing?!"

"What does it matter?" I retorted.  "I don't have a boyfriend anymore."

Lauren closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, her face had softened.  "Do you know that for sure?"

"No, but I haven't heard from him 4 days, and the last time I talked to him, he told me he didn't want to try to make it work, so what am I supposed to assume?"

"I just don't want you to do something that you're going to regret," Lauren insisted.  "Just...whatever you're doing, make sure it's what you really want, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," I agreed, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

After Lauren wandered back to the table, Greg reappeared.  He looked at my empty glass.  "Get another, or get out of here?" he asked.

I didn't even have to think.  "Let's go," I said.

I'd gone home with enough random guys that I had a system for determining which ones were safe and which ones were not safe.  So far it hadn't let me down.  And I never, ever took them to my house.  Only theirs.  This one passed my mental checklist, so off we went.  I followed him to his apartment (which always felt safer than a house to me) and he held the door open for me to follow him into the building.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked, as he let us into his apartment.  "I have some beer, vodka, I might have a bottle of wine..."

"A beer is fine," I replied.  I looked around the apartment while I sat there.  It was sparsely decorated, but it was clean and he had nice furniture.  He reappeared in a couple minutes with two beers and a bottle opener.  He popped the cap off one of the bottles and handed it to me.  "Thanks," I said, taking a drink.  It was good beer, and I mentally added something else to my checklist: opens the drink in front of me.

We continued our conversation from the bar, and I was impressed that he wasn't trying to immediately get in my pants, even though we both knew that was exactly where this was headed.  When I finished my beer he took the empty bottle from me and set it on the coffee table next to his.  Then he scooted closer to me and brushed a piece of hair out of my face.  His hand lingered there, and his thumb brushed my cheek.  "You are seriously beautiful," he murmured, and I almost rolled my eyes.  But right as he was about to kiss me, my phone rang loudly from my purse, making us both jump.

"Sorry," I muttered, reaching down for my purse.  I pulled my phone out, meaning to silence it, but when I saw who was calling, I stood abruptly.  "I have to go," I said, without even taking my eyes off my phone.  I left without an apology or a look backwards, hurrying out of his apartment.

I answered my phone breathlessly when I was on the stairs.  "Hello?"

"Hi, Kinsley."  Damien's voice made my stomach clench.  "Can I come over?"

"I'm out," I replied, "But I can come to you."  He agreed, and I practically ran down the rest of the stairs and out to my car.  I had to consciously force myself not to speed or drive like an idiot--mostly out of nerves, since I had no idea where Damien's head was at right now.

When I got to Damien's house, I popped a piece of gum into my mouth, since I could still taste the beer.  I checked my hair and makeup in my visor mirror, took three deep breaths, and got out of the car.  He pulled his front door open before I even made it to the front step, and he immediately moved aside so I could come in...not the warmest welcome.

"Hi," I said anxiously.  "I...I missed you."  I could feel the tears welling already, and I blinked them back.

"Kinsley," he said softly.  He didn't tell me he missed me.  "Sit, please?"

I perched nervously on the edge of his couch and watched him pace twice before he sat down in the recliner.  He leaned forward and looked at me, and I burst into tears.  "Whoa," he said gently.  "I haven't even said anything."  I shook my head and tried to take a deep breath, but ended up coughing and crying harder.  He moved over to the couch and tentatively touched my arm.  When I didn't move away from his touch, he slid his hand to my back and began to rub it.  "Why are you crying?"

"Because," I hiccuped between sobs, "I just almost did something stupid but then you called and I left and came here but I wish I hadn't because you're just going to break up with me!"  His hand paused briefly before it continued on its path up and down my back.  He remained silent, which confirmed my suspicions.

When I had gotten it together a little bit, he asked, "Can I ask what you meant when you said you just almost did something stupid?"

I definitely would have preferred to lie, but there wasn't much of a point, especially if we really were breaking up.  "I left happy hour and went home with a guy," I replied, my voice a dull monotone.  I never met his eyes.  "Nothing happened."

"Jesus, Kinsley," Damien breathed, taking his hand off my back and leaning back against the back of the couch.  "Are you kidding me?"

"I hadn't heard from you in 4 days!" I exclaimed.  "The last thing of any substance you said to me was that you didn't want to figure things out.  So sorry for being confused about if I had a boyfriend or not."

"Regardless of whether or not you had a boyfriend--which you do, as far as I'm concerned--was that really a good idea?"

"Oh no," I snapped back, shaking my head.  "No.  You do not get to judge me.  Not right now."

He sighed.  "You're right," he replied.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just surprised.  I told you I needed some time, and you went out and... Look, I didn't ask you to come here so we could fight some more, believe it or not."  I snorted and had to close my eyes so they didn't roll right out of my head.  "Just listen to me, please."

"I'm listening," I replied.  I was so sure he was breaking up with me that I just wanted to get it over with.

"Kinsley, I've done a lot of thinking about all of this, and I just don't think this is fair to you," he started.

I cut him off, my voice strong again.  "You don't get to decide what's fair to me and what's not.  I do.  If you don't want to do this anymore, then be a man and admit that you don't want to, don't try to make it better by saying it's not fair to me."

"It's not that I don't want to do this anymore," he replied, shaking his head.  "It's just that I don't know how to do things differently so that we're both happy."

"And you don't want to try," I supplied.

"Why are you making this so hard?" he asked with exasperation.

"Because I am willing to do whatever it takes to make this work, which is obvious by how much time I've spent with your family in the past several months.  But you are a coward who is going to hide behind what's 'fair' and what's easy, and instead of putting in some effort to try to make things better for both of us, you'd rather just break up, pretending it's for my own sake.  Sorry, breaking up should be hard."

"I don't want to break up with you, Kinsley!" he exploded.  This is the most emotion I had ever seen from him.  Ever.  I actually almost enjoyed it, in a sick and twisted way.  "I love you, for fuck's sake.  But I don't feel like I can trust that you're going to be honest with me and tell me when there's too much family time happening.  And I can't go forward always wondering if you're secretly pissed off about it.  I've tried so hard to be patient and to be reasonable but I can't make you tell me how you feel about things, and I sure as hell can't read your mind."

He looked at me, almost desperately, and I got the distinct impression he was waiting for me to beg and say, "Please don't go, I promise I'll tell you how I feel, I promise I'll learn to communicate better!"  But I don't beg.

"Okay," I said simply.  "If you can't trust that I'll be honest with you and tell you how I feel, I understand.  And you're right.  Always wondering where I stand must be difficult, and it's certainly no way to live your life.  Ironically enough, I think that's the most honest thing you've said in a week.  Thank you for it.  It's a relief to be done wondering.  I love you, and I'll miss you.  And if you ever want to just have sex, you should give me a call, because I'll definitely miss that."  I leaned over, kissed him briefly on the lips, and stood up.

"Wait," he said, looking confused.  "You're just...done?"

I sighed and looked at him.  "You've been making me sweat this out for a week, Damien.  An entire fucking week.  I was a goddamned disaster for at least half of it.  In that time, I did what I had to do to keep myself from falling apart completely, and it happened to be that I prepared myself for you to break up with me.  I don't have the energy to drag my heart through the dirt again to sit here and promise you I'll do better, and listen to you promise me that I just have to tell you when enough is enough.  I can't promise I'll do better, because I don't know if I can do better."

He looked up at me, and he looked sad.  I almost laughed that it took a break up to make him show some emotion when we argued.  "I'm just not good at relationships, Damien."

"That's not true," he said softly.

"It is," I replied.  "Unlike you, I've always been the walking out type."

"Kins," he protested, standing as I walked towards the door.  When I got there, I raised my hand in an awkward wave, not quite able to bring myself to say goodbye out loud at that moment.  I opened the door, slipped out, and shut it quietly.

It wasn't until I was in my car that I was able to whisper to myself, "Goodbye, Damien."