Tempting - Lucian Alex (книги бесплатно .TXT) 📗
I hope to see you in class tomorrow. I called you again, and didn’t receive a reply to my email on Friday. I don’t blame you for being upset, I was callous and patronizing. My shock at seeing you with the ring on isn’t what did it, and someday I hope to tell you why you changing your major affected me so much. But not here. Not like this. Right now, I’m hoping you’ll at least read an email from me.
And when I say this, it’s not because I’m angry about it anymore, but I believe you still had the ring on when you left my house. Above anything else it may have been, it was a gift from my grandmother on my mom’s side, and she was one the few family members I had a truly close relationship with. I’d appreciate it if you could bring it to class with you tomorrow.
My brain hasn’t stopped moving, Adele, not since you slammed the door and left. I don’t think it’s slowed in the last 72 hours. I know it certainly hasn’t allowed me to sleep. Please, just let me know you’ve at least seen these.
Sincerely,
Nathan
(I’m hoping that my formality will appeal to you. I’m not trying to be a pretentious prick.)
• • •
To: Alice Carroll
Date: Monday, November 23, 2015 02:16 PM
From: Nathaniel Easton
Subject: (no subject)
While the return of the ring is something that I’m appreciative of, it was sorely tempered by your empty chair mocking me during class today. I can feel you still punishing me for what I did, in the way that you didn’t even write my name on the envelope, how the only item sandwiched in between the plain white paper was the ring itself. No note, nothing. Maybe you didn’t intend for it to hurt as much as it did, but let me assure you if that was your goal, I felt it like you’d hammered a single, rusty nail into my heart. In fact, I was late to class for the first time all semester, because it took me ten fucking minutes before I could even take the ring out of the envelope. Maybe that seems strange to you, but to me, it felt like I was accepting your goodbye in doing so. By the time I arrived, only half the class was there, and the remaining students who filled the seats barely paid attention, their heads already on break, already back home.
But you and I? We don’t count down to moments like that, do we? I don’t know what your house looks like, or how many siblings you have. I don’t know if there are friends that you will connect with while you’re in town, but God, Adele, I want to know those things. There’s a possibility in relationships such as ours, to know someone on a bone-deep level, to recognize the soul of the other person, but not have a single notion of what the ins and outs of their life is. Let me know both sides of you. Please?
Nathan
• • •
To: Alice Carroll
Date: Tuesday, November 24, 2015 09:59 PM
From: Nathaniel Easton
Subject: (no subject)
Every day, I wake up and I think, maybe she wrote me back today. Can you believe that I actually thought that I could give you space? Not email you, let you breathe without me begging for scraps.
Every morning that I’ve ended up sending you some woefully inadequate words, I’ve started the day with resolve. Women need space sometimes. And that’s okay. If I were you, I’d have a hard time forgiving me too. But I’m weaker than that, Adele. I can’t make it through the waking hours with an ache like that, the one sitting like an anvil in my stomach that I carry around with me all day long. And it doesn’t abate until I try, just one more time.
Most cordially,
Nathaniel Robert Easton
(I wish I knew your middle name, will you please tell me? That’s all you need to put in an email. Just your middle name in the subject line, and I might be able to breathe again.)
(Also, I’m trying very hard not to drink every day that I don’t hear from you. It doesn’t always work, so if that happens, I’ll most likely try to call you again. Could you please pick up this time?)
• • •
To: Alice Carroll
Date: Wednesday, November 25, 2015 10:15 PM
From: Nathaniel Easton
Subject: (no subject)
I forgot to include this in my email yesterday: What did you switch your major to? I can’t even fathom that I forgot to ask that. And as much as I’ll try not to sound like a boring professor by saying this, I’m sure it will come out that way. You’re so talented, Adele. I hope you don’t give up writing, because that would be a tragedy.
And as much as I thought I’d be able to abstain tonight, this topic of discussion and the thought of spending the day with my family tomorrow has me pouring myself some whiskey. I’ll try not to call you too many times, but I can’t make any promises. When my defenses are down, you’re always the first thing I want. Unapologetically.
N
• • •
To: Alice Carroll
Date: Thursday, November 26, 2015 01:16 AM
From: Nathaniel Easton
Subject: (no subject)
YOu never answer my phone callsd. and I cann’t even be mad. Because I was suuuuuuch a fucking dick. Can you beleive that I’ve never been SUCH A DICK to anyone before?
I don’t know why. Maybe I do. Maaybe it’s because you’re you. You are so far under my fucking skin, adele, and I’m glad. I like you there. Please don’t try to remove yourslef.
BUT I had to try a couple tiems, just to be sure you weren’t going away. Dont go away, please.
please
please
please
and Ive never asked someone so nicely to taslk to me again. You’ve turned me intlo a pussy. I miss you. A fucking lot. So it’s okay.
• • •
To: Alice Carroll
Date: Thursday, November 26, 2015 10:16 AM
From: Nathaniel Easton
Subject: The mortification of a hangover. And another apology.
I woke this morning, wanting to die in my bed, yet still wishing I could roll over and see your face. Apparently even the mother of all hangovers doesn’t erase that particular desire.
It seems as though I need to apologize to you for yet another set of embarrassing actions. Only instead of anger and inexcusable vitriol, I must beg your forgiveness for my behavior last night. Upon looking at my phone, I see that I attempted to call you just about a dozen times and wrote you an email that includes misspellings, grammar and punctuation errors that make me want to stab myself in the eye (they really should revoke my status as a professor of the English language after that).
I just can’t move on from this, it appears. I’m starting to hate myself for how much I must have hurt you. But you know what else I’ve learned about you from this extended, awful silence? I’ve learned just precisely how strong of a woman you are. I knew it before, but knowing something in theory, and then experiencing that steel, being held at bay with it, is another thing entirely.
Any woman worth her salt should make a man beg and grovel and work harder than he’s ever worked before in his life to gain her forgiveness, especially if he’s spoken to her the way that I did to you.
So I will. I’m about to leave for my parents' house. The only one I’m looking forward to seeing is their giant Schnauzer, Randall. And that’s because he’s probably the only one who will greet me with happiness.
• • •
To: Alice Carroll
Date: Thursday, November 26, 2015 05:42 PM
From: Nathaniel Easton
Subject: The ghost of Thanksgiving Past
Maybe Charles Dickens wrote that story for the wrong holiday, because there’s no fucking way I could’ve waited until Christmas to learn this lesson.
I know that I’m not Ebenezer Scrooge in the literal sense, but he and I share many similarities. In fact, it truly didn’t hit me until I was driving home from my parents' cold and empty mansion. My car was so quiet, since I tend to not want to listen to music when I’m driving in the snow, and hand over my heart, I heard someone speak to me.
