Free True by Gwendolyn Grace Page B

glass.
    “Drink.” He commands. So I do. I can’t tell what it is. It’s kind of gross but for some reason I don't stop drinking. So I sit there, sip and study him.
    “What are you doing here, Justin?”
    “Checking on you.”
    “No, really. Why are you here?”
    His eyes move to me, and he stares at me but doesn’t say a word.
    “Where have you been?” I finally ask in a whisper, breaking the silence. I hate how needy my voice sounds. He inhales and exhales before saying.
    “Trying to stay away from you.”
    “Why?”
    “Because, Courtney.” He runs a hand through his hair and steps away from the counter and walks into the living room, and I follow. “Because of him. You’re another man’s wife. I have no business feeling the things I do when I’m around you, but I can’t help wishing you were mine.” He slaps his hand against the wall before continuing. “What pisses me off the most is that he,” He points to our wedding picture “has all of this,” He gestures around the room, “and you. The lucky son of a bitch is never here to appreciate it. He doesn’t appreciate you. He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice loses some of the anger and exchanges it for anguish.
    “Justin! That’s enough. I think you’d better…”
    “No Courtney. No. You know I’m right. You told me yourself. He hardly ever calls when he’s away. What kind of man does that? What kind of woman stands for that? You said that when he is here, you argue and then he sleeps on the couch. He doesn’t deserve you. I would never choose to sleep on the couch knowing you were waiting in my bed every night. Never.”
    I have no idea why I shared those things with him. Up until the recital he was pretty much at the office every day and spent the majority of his time talking to me, eating lunch with me, and I thought, just being my friend. I didn't know he thought this was anything more than a flirty friendship. God, I feel stupid.
    “Justin, you don’t know the whole story…”
    “Tell me he makes you happy.”
    “Justin--”
    “Tell me that you don’t want more. Tell me you don’t deserve more.”
    Silence.
    “Have you talked to him today?
    “No.” I should have lied.
    “Yesterday?”
    “Well, no but I…” Shut up, Court.
    “The day before that?”
    “He texted me…” I knew I wasn't doing myself any favors with these answers. I hated how pathetic I sounded as I helped him prove his point.
    “Fuck.” Justin shook his head and walked past me to the front door.
    “Where are you going?” I asked running behind him.
    “To get my tool box, so I can fix that knocker and anything else that needs it around here. Then I’m going to mow your fuckin’ lawn!” He answers over his shoulder seething but never broke his stride. My steps stopped, and I froze. I shouldn’t let him do any of that. I knew Alex would be so angry, but the little voice in my head didn't care.
    Well Alex isn’t here is he? And hasn’t called to make sure everything at the house is okay, so who cares what he thinks.
    I decided that the best course of action was to put some distance between Justin me and so I went upstairs and took a shower. I actually did feel better after drinking Justin’s concoction. While standing in the bathroom drying myself off, I let myself imagine what I would do if when I stepped into my bedroom, and Justin was sitting on my bed waiting for me. My first thought was that I would be shocked and angry and that I would make him leave. Or would I let him throw me back on the bed and... Stop it, Court!
    Gripping the towel tightly around me, I cautiously step out of the en-suite bathroom and feel relief and disappointment that my bedroom is empty. Only the whirring sound of a power drill could be heard from downstairs.
    Justin had me point out everything in the house that needed to be fixed, tightened and junked. After spending the rest of the afternoon upstairs cleaning, doing laundry and ge nerally staying away from him it