DISTANCE
1238 Words
Three days.
It's been three days since Lola told me she loved me and I pushed her away. Three days since I've had a real conversation with her. Three days since I've seen her smile.
She's avoiding me. I know she is. And I don't blame her.
When we do cross paths in the house, she's polite. Distant. She says good morning and good night like I'm a stranger she's being forced to make small talk with. She doesn't meet my eyes. Doesn't linger in the same room as me.
It's like living with a ghost.
I hate it.
I'm in my office pretending to work but really I'm just staring at the same contract I've been staring at for the past hour without reading a single word. My mind keeps drifting to her. Wondering what she's doing. If she's okay. If she hates me now.
There's a soft knock on the door.
My heart jumps stupidly in my chest. Maybe it's her. Maybe she wants to talk.
"Come in."
It's Daniel. Not Lola. Of course it's not Lola.
"We need to go over the security schedules for next week," he says, walking in with a tablet.
"Right. Yeah. Let's do that."
We spend twenty minutes going over schedules and rotations and I'm only half paying attention. Daniel notices.
"Everything alright, boss?"
"Fine. Everything's fine."
He doesn't look convinced but he doesn't push. Just finishes the briefing and leaves.
I'm alone again. With my thoughts. With the memory of Lola's face when I rejected her.
I did the right thing. I keep telling myself that. She needs time to heal. She needs space to figure out who she is outside of trauma and fear. She'll realize eventually that what she felt wasn't real love. It was just gratitude for being saved. Attachment to the first person who showed her kindness.
She'll understand that I did this for her own good.
Won't she?
I get up and pour myself a drink even though it's barely noon. I've been drinking more these past three days than I have in months. Trying to numb the ache in my chest that won't go away.
The house feels empty even though Lola is somewhere in it. That's how much her absence affects me. She's here but she's not here. Not really.
I miss her.
God, I miss her so much it's like a physical pain.
I miss having dinner with her. Miss the way she talks about the books she's reading or the things Hannah told her that day. Miss how she laughs at my terrible jokes. Miss the way she looks at me like I'm someone worth looking at.
But this is necessary. The distance is necessary. She needs to move on from whatever she thought she felt. And I need to get my head straight and remember why this can never happen.
Even if every cell in my body is screaming at me that I made a mistake.
I'm at my desk going through emails when I hear voices in the hallway. Lola and Hannah. They're talking about going into town to do some shopping.
I find myself getting up. Walking to the door. Opening it.
They're at the front entrance. Lola has her coat on. She looks beautiful. She always looks beautiful.
"Lola."
She turns. For just a second, her face is open. Vulnerable. Then the walls go up and her expression becomes neutral. Polite.
"Yes?"
"Where are you going?"
"Hannah and I are going shopping. Just for a few hours."
"Take Ezra with you. For security."
"We will."
We stand there looking at each other. So much I want to say. So much I can't say.
"Have a good time," I finally manage.
"Thank you."
Then she's gone. Out the door with Hannah. And I'm standing in the hallway like an i***t.
This is what I wanted. Distance. Space. For her to move on.
So why does it feel so wrong?
I go back to my office. Try to work. Can't focus. End up staring out the window instead.
She'll be fine. She'll realize I was right. That what she felt was just confusion brought on by trauma. That I'm too old for her anyway. That we could never work.
She'll be fine.
And so will I.
Eventually.
That night, I'm in the kitchen getting water when Lola comes in. She stops when she sees me. Like she's considering turning around and leaving.
"Sorry. I didn't know you were in here."
"It's your kitchen too. You don't have to apologize."
"Right." She moves past me to the fridge. Gets out juice. Pours herself a glass.
We're three feet apart but it feels like miles.
"How was shopping?" I ask because I can't stand the silence.
"Fine. Good. We got some things."
"That's good."
This is painful. We used to talk for hours. Now we can barely string two sentences together.
"Lola—"
"I should go. I'm tired." She puts her glass in the sink without finishing it. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
She leaves. I stand there alone in the kitchen holding my water glass and feeling like I just lost something important.
But this is for the best. This distance. This space. She needs it.
I need it.
Even if it's killing me.
The next morning, I'm coming down for breakfast when I hear Lola laughing in the kitchen. Really laughing. The sound of it stops me on the stairs.
I haven't heard her laugh like that in days.
I walk in and see her with Hannah. They're making pancakes and apparently Hannah said something hilarious because Lola is doubled over laughing.
Then she sees me and the laughter dies. The smile fades.
"Good morning," she says. Back to polite. Back to distant.
"Morning."
I pour coffee. Try to think of something to say. Something that will bring back that smile.
But I can't. Because I'm the reason the smile is gone. I did that.
I take my coffee and leave. Can't stand to see the way she looks at me now. Like I'm someone she has to tolerate instead of someone she wants to be around.
This is necessary, I remind myself. She'll heal. She'll move on. She'll realize I was right.
But late that night, when I'm lying in bed unable to sleep, I can't stop thinking about her. About the way she looked when she told me she loved me. About the hurt in her eyes when I rejected her.
About how empty this house feels without her presence in it.
About how much I miss her even though she's right down the hall.
I tell myself it's for the best. That I'm protecting her. That she needs time and space and distance from me.
But there's a voice in the back of my head that sounds suspiciously like Lola calling me a coward. Telling me I'm scared. Telling me I'm lying to myself.
I ignore that voice. Push it down. Focus on the reasons why I did what I did.
Age gap. Trauma. Power dynamics. Her vulnerability.
All valid. All true. All reasons why this can't work.
Even if my heart is telling me something completely different.
Even if every instinct I have is screaming at me that I made the wrong choice.
I did the right thing.
She'll understand eventually.
We'll both be fine.
I just have to keep believing that.
Even if I don't.
- Writer
