Page 27 of Witch Please
“Of course not! Sebastian you’re upset right now, so I’m going to give you a pass on sounding like a prick right now. How do younotrealize she’s in love with you? She practically glows every time you look at her. Since the two of you finally started talking to one another and stopped dancing around your mutual attraction to one another through me, she laughs more. I can hear her smiles through the damn phone you make her so fucking happy.”
“Except today.”
I didn’t want to retrace the day to figure out how I’d taken such a massive misstep into thickheaded daft prick. Behind me, I heard the squish of shoes approaching in the wet grass and turned to see Imogen walking towards me.
“Patrick, I’ve got to call you back.”
Chapter 21
I’d watched him sit on the bench for a good thirty minutes on the phone. Obviously, I knew who he was talking to, since he’d hung up with me to speak with him. There were too many emotions inside of me. I was still really mad at him for causing a scene and embarrassing me in front of my students. Hurt he would immediately believe me capable, for the second time, of actively seeking to take him out. And while the story Patrick had told me explains why he has such a hard time trusting—the fact that we’d had a similar confrontation at the start of the semester hardened me to Patrick’s pleas instead of softening them.
“You should come inside. It’s cold out here with the rain—and surely your jeans are all wet.”
He looked up at me at the same time he tucked his phone in the breast pocket of his coat. His eyes spoke volumes of how lost he was in his emotions. They were ringed red, as if at some point he’d aggressively rubbed them with balled fists. He slumped on the bench as if he physically buckled under the weight of his emotions.
“Imogen.” He held out his hand, waiting for me to take it. He called me Imogen and not Geenie, but I didn’t know if it was because he was too upset to use the pet name or angry and refraining from its use on purpose. “I’m sorry that I caused a scene in your class this morning. It was a hundred percent out of line, and I know it embarrassed you. I hurt in the worst way, and I wanted to get to the truth of what happened, in a speed that satisfied my own adrenaline and panic.”
He rolled his lips, tucking them together in a tight frown. After a moment, he slid to the left of the bench, patting the dry area where he’d been sitting moments ago. Once situated, he took my hand again, turning so that he and I were locked eye to eye.
“Back when I was a post doc a professor betrayed me. It’s not an excuse. I just wanted to explain to you where the emotion from my outburst had been fed.”
When he caressed my face, and looked at me with such sadness in his eyes, for a moment I forgot all of the reasons I’d come out to talk with him. Over the course of our time together, my body had become drunk on all the feel good hormones he aided my body in releasing, and now every touch set my blood on fire and caused it to simmer in anticipation of better things to come. That part of me wanted to lean into his hand like a snuggle deprived puppy.
“Patrick told me what you said, to the reporters. How you defended me. Took them to task for criticizing me.”
He smiled at me, his hand still cradling my cheek when I felt the fire shoot up through my blood stream behind my eyes. The sensation registered in tandem with his smile wavering. His lips twitched in response to what he must have seen as the smile faded completely.
“It took Patrick telling you my truth in order for you to finally believe what I’ve been telling you for the last twelve weeks?”
Of all the emotions he’d made me feel—anger at him storming into my classroom with accusations, bewildered surprise when he’d said I stabbed him in the back, and soul crushing pain when he called me Brutus and told me I hurt him more than anyone else – it was that hurt that bled, howled, and cried. When I’d spoken with Patrick—some of that hurt had faded away. A hurt that I told myself would heal with an apology and some time. But it ripped through the thin layer my heart had begun to repair, bawling in total anguish at the realization of Sebastian’s words.
“Sebastian,” it came out like a whimper instead of an actual word, “what do you think it says about a relationship when you tell someone the only reason you are here, with an apology on your lips is because yourfriendconfirmedmytruth.” I stood up, allowing his hand to drop.
“Imogen, it came out wrong. Patrick and I were talking, and he explained what happened. People have witnesses all the time that corroborate events.”
“Strangers maybe,” I told him, “or when something is so fantastical you need someone else to say yes, I was there when that alligator came out of nowhere and took a dip in the swimming pool. Because it’s so out of the ordinary that you need someone else to say oh my god I saw it too! Not for believing the most basic truth about someone you have known for thirteen years, Sebastian. I have a track record. I’ve earned that trust and yet you still believe that I’m capable of acting in the worst ways with you.”
I didn’t want to fight. In fact standing here, rehashing the morning, trying to explain myself—it became too much. It felt as if my heart were pumping acid into my veins. My whole body burned with a pain I couldn’t tolerate.
“Imogen, please.” Sebastian rocketed off his seat, stepping in front of me and holding my face between his palms, “Please don’t go. I’m sorry, Imogen. I’m trying to tell you that I fucked up. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
“But you did, Sebastian. And you still do, you said so yourself.”
His eyes went wide, his whole face pulled tight with panic. I thought for a moment he was going to release my face and let me go back inside, but he seemingly changed his mind, pushing his lips to mine, kissing me soft but firm, just the way I loved it. This time instead of passion and desire exploding through my veins, it was heartbreak and bone level pain. I was sobbing against his mouth before the kiss even ended.
“Imogen, please don’t cry. We can fix this. I love you.”
I had to push him away. It was a matter of survival. I needed the distance to catch my breath, to gather my bearings.
“You don’t though, Sebastian.” I started walking toward the building, praying he wouldn’t follow me. I couldn’t talk anymore. I didn’t want to expel any more effort in this back and forth. He followed behind me though, refusing to cede.
“I do. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Imogen.”
“You think you love me, Sebastian. But you don’t trust me.” It was my turn to hold his face in my hand. “And if you can’t trust someone, there is no love.”
“I trust you with my life,” he replied, running his fingers through my hair.
“But not with your career, Sebastian. When I didn’t want to take your role, what did you do? You promised me that everything would be okay. That I wouldn’t be a laughing stock, and you’d help me in any way you could so that I didn’t fall flat on my face and do some kind of damage to my career. You held me up and I trusted you to keep me there. When I didn’t want to prance around half naked because I feared people would think less of me who did I trust with my biggest insecurity? You, Sebastian. I was petrified, but I put my trust in you. Because I loved you. I stood out on that stage, fear closing my throat, and knew that regardless of the outcome of my performance you would be there.”