"The Lovers"

He doesn’t know I’m here, I thought. The winter chill seeped into my bones, even though I was bundled in a scarf, sitting in the warm lobby of the museum. I wondered if maybe I was betraying David’s trust by sitting here, waiting for someone else. We had made things official about a few months prior, but I wasn’t in love with him. There was nothing wrong with David – he knew all the right things to say, he did everything right. If anything, it was me. I had lost my softness, my ability to love without inhibition. My love used to be thick – it enveloped me along with whoever I gave it to. I couldn’t let it be that way anymore. That was how I lost everybody.

I looked up at the tall, long windows on the outside wall of the lobby. The sun filtered through in a lazy way, too tired to further warm the room. The trees on the sidewalk outside were coated with a light layer of frost that made their bare branches glitter in the sunlight. I took a deep breath and removed my gloves, anxiously fidgeting to pass the time. When I looked up, there was a slim silhouette blocking my view.

It was Lucas. I knew exactly why he was here, but I was startled anyway. He looked almost the same as he did the last time I saw him – his willowy posture and messy hair unchanged. Bundled in a big sweater and a fleece-lined jacket, I noticed that the tip of his nose was still pink from the cold. I smiled at the sight.

“Camilla. I wasn’t sure if you were going to show up,” Lucas looked down at the speckled floor.

“Getting a text from you about a year after we had broken up wasn’t the most predictable thing that’s happened to me lately,” I stood up, Lucas’s neck craning down a little bit less.

“Yeah, I know that must have been a surprise,” Lucas chuckled unassumingly. He ran his hand through his hair. I felt an urge to reach out and touch it.

“Maybe we should go inside,” I moved closer to the door to the gallery, a signal for him to follow me. I was afraid that if I offered him my hand, it would close the gap not only between us, but between me and who I used to be.

“Good idea,” he held the door to the gallery open, trailing in behind me. I smelled a hint of his old cologne, worn and familiar. My spine straightened in recognition.

We ended up side by side in front of an abstract piece, a red square floating in a sea of pure white. There was a stretch of silence, too long for the examination of what seemed like such a simple painting. A tension screamed in undisputed silence, and I could feel the air moving around his hand, so close to mine. I glanced at him, in a sort of glare that peeked through my lashes, “So, why did you ask me to meet here?”

Lucas laughed to himself, “Is it enough to say that I wanted to see you?”

“Not exactly the explanation I needed after a year of not speaking,” I wrinkled my nose and turned, facing the painting once again.

Lucas began to speak to me in the tone he used to use when I was upset, like how someone would speak to a wounded animal on its deathbed, “Camilla, I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk.” But I wasn’t upset. I was angry, probably more argumentative than he remembered me to be. He touched my shoulder. I took a sharp gust of air in.

I whispered more softly than I meant to, “What would you possibly have to talk to me about?”

He moved closer to me and leaned in as if telling me a secret, “Us, Camilla. I wanted to talk about us.” His eyes were full of pure admission, the high that came from finally saying what he’d wanted to say all along.

My shoulders melted in affection, and I was surprised to find that his hand was still resting on me. I let it stay there for a bit, enjoying the warmth of his touch, rebelling against every inch of my conscious mind and my moral compass. “Lucas,” a sigh escaped my lips. He looked at me and then in a chopped-up glance, looked down at my lips and then back up again. The distance between us grew smaller. I can’t let him do this to me again. Suddenly cold, I shook his grasp to go stand in front of another painting. I didn’t know if I should have told him that I was dating David. Would he have still leaned in the same way? Would I have?

He followed me. A year ago, I know he would have left me here to mope. “Camilla, just hear me out,” Lucas moved up against me. He shattered the space between us and grasped my hand. I turned to him and cocked my head. Pleading, he said,“I really have been thinking about us, and I really miss you. I miss us.”

“You never used to talk like this,” I said, snatching my hand back and pressing both into my jacket pockets. I knew I was meaner than I used to be – I guess we both had changed. I wondered if Lucas liked my newfound bitterness, the acrid sense I had acquired while he was gone. Mouth closed, waiting for his response, I grazed the tips of my canines with my tongue. Did he think they looked sharper than the last time he saw me?

“I mean it.” Lucas gazed at me with his brown eyes, muddled with a green shade that made them glow in the overhead lighting. He pleaded silently, waiting for a true answer.

“Lucas, you know why I’m having a hard time speaking about us.”

He nodded hesitantly.

“You drifted away, and I loved you so much,” I stuttered over the sentence. “And then I found out why you were drifting away. It wasn’t easy for me.”

“Camilla, I’m different now. I haven’t seen or talked to Amy in six months. I’ve changed, and I could do better if you give me the chance. Just give me another chance, please.”

“You kept seeing Amy after we ended things?” The gallery carried my voice in a subtle echo, repeating the newfound realization back to me. The shock pierced through me, the same way it did when I found out he had been sleeping with her for the first time. I tried to look into his eyes, to gain some semblance of anything real. Lucas avoided eye contact, glancing instead at the painting in front of us.

“Are you going to answer me?”

“Um, yeah. I did. I know it’s a mistake now, though. I never wanted to make you upset. I’m so sorry. For everything. Really.”

“I don’t know what you thought would happen, here, seriously. Did you want me to absolve you of your guilt?” My voice started rising. Lucas didn’t say anything. “Well, I’ll make it clear - I fucking forgive you, all right? And I guess I forgive you for continuing to see Amy even after I found out you were cheating on me with her. You know how destroyed I was when that happened. Do you remember how much I cried when I finally broke up with you? I looked like a goddamn mess in front of all of your roommates. I’ll never embarrass myself that much again.” My finger’s acrylic point dug into the soft fabric of his sweater. He didn’t move, seemingly accepting of the guilt - or the forgiveness. It was unclear.

“I know. I remember. I thought that, if I changed, if I promised you I could be better, maybe you would take me back.” He was standing down, holding himself accountable in a way I’d never seen before. For a second, I was almost convinced.

“Lucas, why did you and Amy break up? You said you haven’t seen her in six months.” My one doubt. He looked away again, refusing to answer.

“Why?” I asked again. Maybe he didn’t hear me - maybe he didn’t hear me.

He looked at me the same way he raised his head to me when I found out he had cheated, like a dog that’s gotten into the meat you left defrosting on the counter. I shook my head slightly, my eyes now filling with tears. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“It’s been six months since then,” he pleaded.

“She probably loved you too,” I shot back, my voice cracking like glass. “Do you know why you were able to cheat on me for so long?” I continued, “Because I loved you so much. So much. That I blamed everything on myself - your distance, your lack of care, your coldness, was my fault. It was all my fault. I had to have been doing something to deserve it. It could never have been your fault, because why would it be? I loved you too much to blame it on you. Thank God for my friends. I never would have left if it wasn’t for them. I would have kept hating myself. Fucking embarrassing.”

Lucas had nothing to say. We stood there for a bit, neither of us knowing what to do. In that moment, I realized that even if I had taken him back, it never would have been the same. All those months I longed for his shadow to be by mine in the sun-soaked pavement once again. For his toothbrush to be next to mine in the opaque jar on the sink. To fall asleep on his chest and just feel safe. But I would never be able to have him next to me in that same way, oblivious to the pain that he had put me through. I knew that I would never get what I wanted. I drank in the last bit of his presence, but it didn’t give me the same intoxicating feeling it used to. I just felt empty. The version of him I once loved was gone for good, a reality I was remiss to face until that very moment. Grabbing his hand, I squeezed it once more. It would have been too painful to look into his eyes. I finally dropped his hand, walking away to find an exit. This time, he let me walk away. I couldn’t go home yet, though. I didn’t want to go back to my empty apartment, lonely and cold, and frankly, I felt like I didn’t deserve to see David. What kind of girlfriend lies about going to see her ex? I didn’t deserve him. I wanted to love him, but couldn't let myself. His softness gnawed at my guilty conscience.

My wandering took me across galleries, up and down floors. I felt like I couldn’t stop walking. If I stopped walking, the thoughts would come back. When I finally slowed, I found myself in front of a Klimt. In that moment of stillness, my body regained its feeling. My legs ached. I found comfort on the bench in front of the piece, squinting at the information on the placard. It read, “The Lovers.” It was a sketch of a man and woman in embrace, faint graphite on aged, yellow paper. The woman’s face was pointed away from the man, her eyes closed. The man was holding her in what seemed like pure admiration, pure love - a grasp that allowed her the freedom to slip away, to leave him if she wished. His love would nevertheless remain. I sat there for about thirty minutes, staring at the sketch. The remnants of my love for Lucas no longer overwhelmed me. They were finally on the cusp of disappearing, letting myself shed my skin back into my old, loving self. There was still this aching tug, a string that pulled me back to the thought of David. How sad he might be when he realizes I’ve stopped myself from falling in love with him. How he’s given me everything no matter how many times I’ve pushed him away. How I might have the chance to repair what I had most definitely broken inside of him.

I knew what I needed to do, and I walked down to the warm womb of the lobby. I soon left it, after another pass through the metal detectors. It was dark outside, and the yellow hue the streetlights emitted resembled the familiar glow of candlelight. The cold nipped at my face, but I braved it.

I walked from the museum to David’s apartment. It took me an hour. I thought about the Klimt the whole way there. I hoped that he would forgive me for all I’ve done - today and all those little times before. When he opened the door, I embraced him. My walls didn’t seem to have a purpose anymore.

“I love you.”