The Tales of a Future Hockey Wife

Chapter 22: Brutal Honesty (part 1)

~Eleanor~

I can see in his eyes that he told himself the same thing I did ever since he walked out of the door before his game: "what will happen when we have to face each other again?" It wasn't meant to be today. If I hadn't decided to skip school today, he would have come home to an empty apartment, we wouldn't have had enough time to resolve our issues before it was time for me to leave for work, it would have been the same way tomorrow and Thursday. In the end, we would have probably never really talked about it like we are about to. We would have just moved on without realizing that neither of us is completely okay with what happened and with what had been said. But now, we are facing each other. I am sitting on the couch and he is standing up in the entrance with his hockey bag and suitcase at his feet. My book is still open in my hands and the TV is on mute. I stare at him and he stares at me. No matter what I keep telling myself about us, the second my eyes meet his, it's like everything else disappears. Every fight, every harsh word, every disappointment, every compromise, it all disappears from my mind only leaving deep green eyes and a sweet smile. It stays gone until he looks away from me, it then comes rushing right back. I know what it means, Ben is ready to get into his argument mode. He won't look me in the eyes until we have resolved our issues, or I end up crying on the floor. He will then come to my rescue, letting me cry in his arms until I have cried every tear in my body. I will probably fall asleep, and when I'll wake up, we will be in our bed, he will be holding me as tight as he can his face buried in the crook of my neck. We will both apologize, and we will back where we began, nowhere near resolving our issues.

To get the conversation going, I turn off the TV, close my book, and unwrap myself from the blanket we leave on the couch. He disappeared in the bedroom probably to drop his bags on the floor without putting his clothes where they belong which is either the closest or the hamper. Another thing I add to the list of things I want to talk to him about. When he comes back to the living room, I realize that neither of us has said a word. His eyes meet mine for a second before slipping away before I have a chance to smile at him. We are both playing the delaying game. We both know that when one of us starts to speak, shit will go down. As much as I don't want to fight with him, the continuing silence is oppressing me more than the anxiety I feel about our conversation.

"Ben," I say to get his attention. "I know neither of us wants to, but we really need to talk especially about Saturday." He made his way to the kitchen, and he nods, his face buried in our almost empty fridge. I repeat his name, but it doesn't change much. If he is trying to anger me, it's working. I wanted to stay calm, so we could resolve as much as we could before I start crying, but if he wants to play dirty than so will I. I say his name once again, my tone a lot harsher than the last time. He turns around, his eyes closed. If I didn't know him so well, I would have said he was tired or just hungry, but I do. I know him better than he knows himself. He is not just tired by a lack of sleep. He is tired of fighting, and so am I.

"Ben, it doesn't have to end in a screaming match. We can talk like adults, right? Cause that's what we are." He sits on the living room small table where my feet were resting only moments ago. We are barely a meter away from one another. It's the closest we've been since Saturday morning. My heart is thorn between wanting to give him the biggest hug and wanting to back away.

"Let's talk, El," he says, his voice flat. "How about we start with Saturday?" I nod, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice.

"I understand that you weren't happy with your rankings, but that doesn't give you the right to take it out on me Ben." It lasted only for a second, but I am sure I saw him roll his eyes. "Don't do that. I saw you." He knows I hate when he rolls his eyes when we're in a fight. It makes me feel like he diminishes my feelings and I hate that.

"I didn't take it out on you. You're the one who took it personal when it clearly wasn't." His voice is flat, almost emotionless. Does he not care? I just want to slap him right now. Maybe that'll get feelings out of him.

"I took it personal because you said you had nothing apart from hockey. Can you just admit that it hurt?" He sighs, closing his eyes again. When he opens his eyes again, the absence of feeling has been replaced by what I identify as anger.

"You very well know I love you, Eleanor," he spits. I hate when he uses my full name against me like that. "I was talking about my professional future, not our future." He just keeps repeating the same sentences over and over again. We are going nowhere.

"So, you're thinking about the future, our future? That's great, Ben, really great. What will our future be? How about you enlighten me since I have no fucking clue about what we'll do next year." I raise my voice hoping to get a reaction out of him. It works, he gets up, rubs his hands on his face, and pulls at strands of his hair.

"We'll move wherever I get drafted, and we'll see from there. You get a job and stuff." And stuff. That's what he has planned for me. Stuff. I nod, looking directly at him, but like I predicted, he avoids eye contact.

I chuckle. "Well that's just great. You'll live your dream, and I'll do stuff. How great will my life be?" He stops pacing to point his finger at me.

"Stop," he says angrily. "I said stuff because you can do anything you want not because I want to diminish you." That's it. We found the source of what is really upsetting him. On any other day, I would have reasoned with him, telling him that it's not too late for him to do whatever he wants, but not today. After everything that happened during the last two weeks, I just want to put it all on the table.

"You decided to drop out. You could have easily finished high school. You could have chosen to play for a university. That was your choice Ben. Don't put it on me, it was decided way before I entered your life." I put emphasis on the you in each sentence by raising my voice and pointing my index in his direction. I don't know at what point in the conversation I got up from the couch, but I am now standing up merely inches away from his face.

"Why do you think I work so hard every fucking day? I am trying to make it worth it. Every day I get up at four, every hour I spend at the gym or at the arena or even on that stupid bus, it's all so I can make it up to you. So, you finally have the life you deserve with the big house, the fancy cars, designer clothes, and all sorts of things you want." Normally, this would have made my heart melt, but if I thinks that it's what I want than he doesn't know me at all.

"I don't care about any of that Ben! I just want you to be here. I want you to care about what I do, I want you to be interested. I won't be happier with a big house if my boyfriend doesn't give two shits about what I do!" To put the final nail in his coffin, I add: "I won by the way. The analogy contest, I won. $300 and a paid trip to London for the final, and I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't react the way I wanted you to. I didn't want to see the fake excitement on your face or hear you say that you can't come to the final because your game is way more important than this, so I kept it to myself." There is no more anger on his face. Any trace left disappeared the second he heard me say "fake excitement." Sadness now covers his beautiful features. I almost added the part where I told a perfect stranger but retained myself at the last second. It would have been too mean even for this conversation.

He lowers his eyes, but it's not to avoid mine anymore. It's to try and hide his feelings from me. "I'm sorry, El." So, we're back to El now. "I don't want you to feel like that." I continue my tirade.

"But I do. I do every time you tell me you can't or don't want to come to stuff Blair's boyfriend of a month is more than happy to come to or when you don't want to come to dinner with me when I mention that Blair and Vivienne will be there." Bair texted me last night to ask me if Charles could come to London this weekend. I said yes with a pinch in my chest, knowing mine would never want to come.

"I'm sorry. I really am, El." His voice is soft now, almost like a whisper. I close my eyes, forcing myself to calm down. I very well know that I cannot throw him everything that is wrong in our relationship tonight. It will break us, and I don't want that. I don't want that at all. I just want him to see that not everything is about him.

"I'll be more careful, I promise." For the first time in a very long time, I believe him. I believe every word that just came out of his mouth. I walk up to him to wrap my arms around his small waist. I bury my nose in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him. Like always, feeling his arms wrap around me calms me down. My heart slows down, and so does my brain. We worked on enough for tonight. I kiss his chest softly and feel him relax against me. I can't say that I completely forgave him, but it's ok for tonight. We'll see what happens tomorrow.