Free Lovely Trigger by R. K. Lilley

with Tristan again at the end of the evening, as he purchased two of Bianca’s paintings.   Unbelievably, and infuriatingly, one of them was the small still-life I’d become obsessed with.  
    “You have great taste,” I told him as I entered his data into the system.   I had other people to do this, but I always handled the really big ticket items myself.   It made me nervous to let anyone else do it.   My control issues were in full swing.
    “I always have.”
    I made sure he saw me roll my eyes.   He grinned at me as though I’d just given him a present, which hadn’t been my intent.  
    “Listen, I’m sorry I came on too strong earlier, but I really think it’s time we start to talk again.”  
    “I told you, I’m with someone.”  
    “Yes, I know.   I’m not talking about him.   I’m talking about us hanging out again.   Just as friends.   You live in Vegas again; we work in the same building.   It would be ridiculous if we didn’t go out for coffee every once in a while.   Catch up a bit.   That’s all.”  
    I had to work to keep from losing my temper.   “You want to catch up?   You want to hear how many hours I spent in physical therapy after our breakup?”   He visibly winced, but I kept going.   “What else would you like to catch up on, exactly?   What about Milton having a girlfriend, that you had to know about, but who you didn’t bother to mention when you gave me that crazy warning to stay away from him?”
    “Hey now, I had no idea he had a girlfriend—“
    “It doesn’t matter.”   Though I did feel a tiny stab of relief that he hadn’t known either, and I couldn’t even have said why.   “What matters is that the only things we have to catch up on are things I have no desire in the world to talk about.   Not ever again.   And certainly not with you.   Your paintings will arrive at your house within the next few days, following the verification of your credit card, etcetera.   Have a good night, Tristan.”   I strode away before I said anything else I’d regret later.  
    When it came to Tristan and I, there were never any winners to be had.    

     
      

    TRISTAN
    I went to bed that night angry and upset.   So agitated that, even at rest, my heart was pounding hard.    
    I tossed and turned for hours before I fell into a restless sleep.  
    I was having my morning coffee when I felt something strange move in my chest.    
    It felt good, but foreign, and it took me a long time to place it.
    What was this feeling?   I had to think for a long time to figure it out, but I grasped it after a time.  
    A freak streak of optimism had just entered my body.
    Hope.   I felt the tiniest stirring of hope.   But why?   She’d been as vehement as ever.   She didn’t want anything to do with me.   Nothing had changed.   But my mind had this one little thing to focus on, this smallest of contact, and so I hadn’t forgotten even one detail.  
    On the contrary, I’d been memorizing every second of that brief confrontation.  
    Every last twitch.  
    Every time she’d blinked, or licked her lips, or swallowed with nervousness.  
    She’d done such a good job of showing me nothing but indifference for the last few years, I’d had no choice but to believe that was how she genuinely felt, and I’d just fucking bought it, giving her the space she needed.  
    She deserved that much.   She deserved so much more than I could ever give her, because I’d taken so much from her, and so I’d left her in peace.  
    But something about last night, perhaps it was the way her hands trembled when she pushed mine away, or the fact that she’d shown me her rare temper with just the slightest bit of prodding.  
    And the bit where she’d said, “Please!   You stopped trying to call me years ago.   I haven’t heard a word from you since right after rehab when you went on your repentance tour.”   That bit fascinated me.   Had she wanted me to call her?