Interfering Past

Beating the beans of coffee with a spoon, the sound echoing in the mug, I found myself pondering over something that had lost its true meaning to me years ago. Breaking those oaths, promises, and limits I had set for myself, I began treading a path I once loathed in the earlier period of my life.

My mind kept drifting back to a moment neither of us wanted, yet both of us found ourselves drawn to.

"I'm sorry," his voice echoed in my ears, leaving me gaping at him. Was he even in his senses? Why was he apologizing to me? For kissing me? But why?

It took me a while to snap out of my daze and even longer to figure out how to respond to his unwanted, unexpected apology.

Had anyone in the world ever apologized to a girl for kissing her? If so, how did they respond? Because right now, I was utterly lost. Words failed me, and my thoughts were scattered.

Should I tell him, "it's okay"?

When it really wasn't okay, I needed to tell him he shouldn't be sorry for kissing me. But would it be too bold of me?

I blinked as he shook my shoulders. "Hey! You there?"

"Yeah," I finally blurted out.

He let go of my shoulders and turned his attention back to the TV, but I kept looking at him.

Eventually, I realized he didn't expect a response from me. So, I didn't bother giving him one and instead focused on the chasing game of Tom and Jerry playing on the screen.

We sat there in silence, our eyes fixed on the TV, the room filled with the noise from the show but an awkward silence engulfing us. Neither of us attempted to break it, perhaps because we were too absorbed in trying to understand it.

Suddenly, my phone beeped, and I retrieved it from my purse. Carl's text appeared on the screen.

"I'm home. Are you still at Arthur's place?"

"Yes, just waiting for you. I'll be there soon," I typed quickly, pulling the strap of my purse over my shoulder as I stood up from my seat.

"Carl's home. I think I should head out now," I said to him.

"Okay," he replied, rising to his feet.

I walked ahead, and he followed me to the door.

"Thanks for this favor. I owe you one now," I said over my shoulder as he lingered behind me.

He chuckled.

I stopped, turning slightly to face him, eyebrows creased.

"Carl must be waiting for you," he remarked, subtly gesturing towards the door with his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," I responded, not taking it too seriously because his expression halted any brewing anger inside me. It seemed to say, 'Hold on, Grace, I'm just kidding.'

I turned around and walked out the door, heading for the elevator, aware of his eyes following me until the doors shut.

A smile lingered on my lips before reality pulled me back to my kitchen, where Carl was sitting on the sofa, his tired voice calling out to me.

"Where are you lost, Hun?" he asked, noticing my distraction.

"Nowhere," I replied from the kitchen.

"Bring the coffee, I'm wrecked," he added, his voice already reflecting his exhaustion.

"Wait a minute. It'll take some time," I assured him, preparing to brew the coffee.

"As I'm alone here, brewing two mugs of coffee, have some mercy on me," I joked, trying to lift his mood.

He remained silent, seemingly absorbed in the football game, likely caught up in a recent goal.

Placing his mug on the table, I settled beside him on the sofa. He tilted his head slightly in my direction before returning his gaze to the screen.

"How's your day?" he asked, detaching himself from the sofa and reaching for his coffee.

"It's been good. Although, I'm still struggling to adjust to this early morning routine. But I'm confident I'll get used to it soon," I replied, attempting to convey my enthusiasm for my new job. However, I could sense his disapproval despite my efforts.

He hummed in response and took a sip of his coffee.

A tension began to build between us, prompting me to change the subject to alleviate it. Yet, it seemed Carl wanted to address the topic I always avoided, no matter how much it affected him.

"Arthur is actually a good man. I had some misconceptions about him, but he really helped me a lot today," I said, smiling, trying to ease the atmosphere.

Carl responded with a lopsided grin and a noncommittal hum.

I leaned in closer, my expression now more concerned. "What's wrong with you, Carl?" I rested my hand on his shoulder, seeking answers.

He remained silent, his attention still fixed on the screen. I gently turned his face towards me, making him meet my gaze. "Would you mind telling me?" I asked, my tone firm.

"Why are you so merciless on yourself, Grace?" he pleaded.

"What makes you say that?" I questioned, although I knew exactly what he was referring to. I tried to deflect, pretending I didn't understand, signaling him to stop right there. I wasn't ready to engage in this discussion or any argument on the topic. Our history showed that whenever we broached it, we ended up quarreling. Carl was well aware of this, yet he always initiated these conversations, knowing I wouldn't agree and would eventually relent to his desires.

"It's impossible," I had told him before.

"But we can make it happen," he'd responded optimistically.

"Carl, it's better if we don't talk about it," I'd insisted.

"Why not?" he persisted.

"Because I don't want to unearth the events of the past," I groaned, leaving his room.

Today, he was doing it again. "Like you don't know," he huffed.

"Look, Carl, whatever it is, whether I know it or not, just make it clear—I'm not interested," I stated bluntly.

Carl locked eyes with me, a flicker of frustration evident. I knew where this was heading. We were going to end up like this.

I grabbed my mug and retreated to my room, slamming the door behind me.