“Is caring about you enough? Can we share enough of ourselves, but not so much that we lose our grip on who we are?”
“Not all of ourselves?” I ask.
“Not everything.”
“Jem, if we don’t give all of ourselves, we can’t commit. And if we can’t commit, there’s nothing to cement this. I think the problem is neither of us wants a relationship.”
“Commit.” He wrinkles his nose and drops his hands from my face. “I can commit to you that I won’t touch another woman while you’re in my life. Is that what you want?”
His definition of commitment is what I’d expect of him. Jem can give himself to me physically, but keep an important part to himself.
“What I want from you is something I’m not prepared to give you myself,” I tell him.
“What do you want?”
“Your heart.”
Wide-eyed shock slaps Jem’s face and he turns away rubbing his neck. The link I felt to him snaps. “Shit, Ruby.”
“That’s the issue here,” I say hoarsely.
Jem bumps his rear onto the bottom step. The light from the tiny window casts across the hallway, the dust in the sunbeams like stars in the sky. The silence tells me everything I need to know. How could this ever work if we constantly push each other away? I can’t have another relationship where I doubt my worth, where somebody takes but won’t give. Realistically, I shouldn’t get into a new relationship at all.
“I didn’t think I had a heart,” he says, quietly. “But you found mine and pushed life in.” Jem looks up. “You already took my heart, Ruby.”
Mine stutters at his unexpected words. “I didn’t, Jem. I haven’t tried to make you love me.”
“I never said I love you. I said you’ve taken my heart.” Jem mumbles his admission to the floor, not me.
“Explain what you mean.”
He shakes his head and looks up. “I’m a guy. I don’t talk about this shit.”
“Guess what? You need to or I’m walking out of the door.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say!”
I swallow. “I need you to explain what ‘this’ is. Then at least we both know and we can stop the second-guessing and confusion. Then we can decide what to do.Ican decide what to do.”
Jem taps the wooden step next to him, the sound echoing in the small space. He obviously can’t or refuses to do what’s needed to stop our merry-go-round of confusion. One tiny admission is all I’m getting, I guess.
I turn to the door.
“Ruby, I can’t explain what I don’t understand,” he blurts.
Turning back, I meet his stressed look. “I’ll tell you what you make me feel and then if you recognise any of the symptoms, just let me know.”
“Sure,” he says with a small laugh. “Might help.”
I’ve lain myself open to people before and ended up shredded to pieces, and the longer I wait before I tell someone what’s hidden, the harder I fall when I discover I’m alone in my feelings. This time I’ll admit everything and if Jem can’t tell me what I need to hear in return, I can end this before my need for love sees me making shit decisions again.
I cross my arms. “Well, there’s the stomach churning, breathlessness, and chest-aching I have right now which I’m sure isn’t the flu.”
“Yep. That’s what I was talking about before, but that’s not a good thing.”
“There’s the constant desire to be close to you I’ve had for weeks.”
He blinks. “Right.”