Chapter Thirty

The nonchalance she tried to exhibit to Casey as she left faded as soon as she got in her car. She sat for a moment, holding the steering wheel, her mind spinning.

"My, God," she whispered.

Was it supposed to be that intense?

Without thinking, she shoved her hands between her legs, squeezing hard, her body still reeling from Casey's touch. She could feel the unfamiliar wetness between her legs, could still feel the heat, and her body cried out for release.

"Oh God," she groaned as she pressed the seam of her jeans tight against her. Stop!

She jerked her hands away, trying to calm herself. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing the look in her eyes.

"I want her," she whispered. Then she smiled. You don't say?

But her humor faded as she drove away. She had to tell Michael. How she was going to tell him, she had no idea. Because she had no desire to hurt him. But what man would understand this?

When she got home and found it quiet, she assumed he'd gone up to Jeff's. She hadn't called him. He would have had no idea it was an early night for her. Her hope that he was gone, giving her a chance to rehearse what she needed to tell him, was short-lived, however. She screamed as he grabbed her from behind and pulled her against him.

"Michael! You're wet."

"I just got out of the shower." He spun her around, kissing her hard. "And I'm feeling frisky. Come on, we haven't had sex in ages."

"Michael, what are you doing? Now?"

"Yes, now. Why not now?" He kissed her again. "Let's do it before you get a headache, or claim you're too tired, or any other excuse you can think of."

Leslie forcibly pushed him away. "I didn't know that I needed an excuse not to have sex. It's still a choice, right?" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, his bruising kiss replacing the soft touch of Casey's.

"Come on. You know what I mean. You always have some reason lately. The last time we did, you started crying." He leaned against the wall. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

This wasn't how she envisioned having this talk. Not with him wanting sex and her having to defend herself. She looked away for a second, remembering Casey's touch, her kiss. No, she couldn't put it off any longer.

"Michael, I don't want to have sex with you," she said quietly. "It just doesn't feel right to me."

"Right? What doesn't? Sex?"

She tucked her hands under her arms, not able to look at him. "Not just sex, Michael. Everything. Us. I'm having second thoughts about this," she said weakly, hating herself for not being able to just tell him.

"About the wedding?" He took a step closer. "Are you kidding me?"

"Michael, it's just not right with us. Can't you feel that?" She finally looked at him, meeting his eyes. "I mean, what are we doing here? I feel like we're just going through the motions."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about us, Michael. Can you name me one thing we have in common? Just one," she said. She watched as his brow furrowed and he wet his lips nervously.

Finally he smiled. "We both like movies."

" You like movies."

"All right. Well, we both like to go out to eat."

"Good Lord, Michael, that's because neither of us cooks." She grabbed his arm, squeezing hard as if that would make him understand. "The closest thing we have in common is when football season comes around and I like to watch the game with you. With you and Jeff and Miles and Russell, that is." She dropped her hand. "Don't you see, Michael? You love your games, your big TV, your season tickets, your friends. We're here in this apartment because Jeff and the guys live here. We could afford a house, but you didn't want to. Because you love it here."

"It's a nice apartment. I didn't see the need in rushing into a house."

"Oh, Michael, that's not the point. It's us. Do we even really know each other?" She raised her hands. "Do I want to have kids?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess."

She stared at him. "Do you?"

"Well, someday, yeah. I guess so."

She gave a sad smile. "Isn't it strange that we never talked about that? Who plans to get married and they don't even know if the other wants kids or not?"

"Leslie, I think you're blowing this a little out of proportion here, don't you?" His eyes narrowed. "Did you start your period again?"

"No, Michael, this isn't about my hormones." She took a deep breath. "I'm trying to tell you that I can't marry you." She knew he would be upset. She expected that. But the look of devastation that crossed his face was nearly too much for her. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You want to call off the wedding?" he asked quietly. "You want to... break up?"

She met his eyes. "Yes." And of course, his next question was not unexpected.

"You've met someone, haven't you?"

But she'd inflicted enough wounds for one night. There was no need to tell him about Casey or about the lie she'd been living. So she shook her head. "This has nothing to do with meeting someone else, Michael. It's just about us. And we just don't fit together."

He slammed his fist down on the counter. "And you've just now come to that conclusion? Just woke up one morning and it hit you?"

She deserved his anger, yes. But it was still shocking. He'd never once raised his voice with her. She kept her voice even, her gaze steady. "I think we should stop right here, Michael. Before either of us says something we'll regret."

He lowered his head. "I'm sorry. I just can't believe this," he whispered. "It's just out of the blue."

"Think about it, Michael. Is it really out of the blue? Think about it."

He rubbed his head, brushing the hair off of his forehead over and over again, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "Well, I...I can go stay with Jeff. You can stay here. We can--"

"No. This is your apartment, not mine. I'm just going to pack a few clothes and I'll get a room for the weekend. Next week, we'll talk. We'll see about our stuff," she said. God, how can breaking up be so civilized?

But no, it wasn't. Suddenly, the look in his eyes changed. He grabbed her arm tightly.

"I think we're just giving up too fast. We're not fighting for this. Let's go to counseling," he said, holding her in front of him. "We've got too much invested to just throw it away like this."

She stared at him. "No, Michael. Counseling will not help."

"Why not? Why won't you even try?" He dropped his hands from her, still staring at her. "I don't understand how you can just quit on this without trying? Don't you care even a little?"

"Michael--"

"I'll set us up an appointment. We can go to a couple of sessions, just see what we can do to change things. Come on," he pleaded.

"No. We can't change things."

"Yes, we can," he insisted. "We can. If we--"

"Michael, stop it!" she said, grabbing his arm. "Michael, we can't change, because...because I'm a lesbian."

Michael's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He stared at her, questions flooding his eyes. But the silence was too much.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No. You're just saying that. You're just using that as an excuse. You're no lesbian. My God, we've been living together, we're fucking engaged. Lesbians don't get engaged," he said loudly.

"No. I guess normally they wouldn't get engaged." She swallowed hard. "I take full responsibility, Michael. And all the blame. You have done nothing wrong."

"No! Lesbians don't have sex with men," he yelled. "I just can't believe you think you're gay." He laughed bitterly. "Is that the excuse you came up with to break up with me? That you're gay?" He ran his hands through his hair again. "Jesus, Leslie. How about you want to become a nun or something? I might believe that. But no, you're not fucking gay. " He pointed his finger at her. "And don't you dare tell any of our friends that. I won't let you make a joke out of me." He spun away, and she heard him in their bedroom, pulling on jeans and shoes. Soon, the sound of his keys jingling and the front door opening.

And then the slam.

She knew it was coming and she still jumped from the force of it. She took a deep breath, rubbing her face with her hands, trying to get rid of some of the tension. It didn't work.

"That didn't go well," she murmured. But she couldn't blame him. She would be just as shocked if he had announced he was gay.

But surely he could tell. Over the years, couldn't he tell that she wasn't as responsive to him as she should be? He'd slept with plenty of women before her. Surely he knew what it was supposed to be like? Surely he could tell she was faking it.

"Oh, God. " She felt like such a fraud. Which she was, of course. And he had every right to hate her. In reality, she'd just wasted nearly four years of his life.

And four years of yours.

No, truth be told, she'd wasted nearly fourteen years of her life, ever since she rejected Carol Ann and all that she stood for. Ever since she tried to hide under the heterosexual cloak and pretend she was perfectly happy. Ever since she ran from what she was and tried to be something she surely was not.

A straight woman.

So, without ceremony, she slipped his ring from her finger, clutching it in her palm for several long seconds before opening her hand, watching the light bounce off the diamond, mocking her. Strangely, just the simple act of removing the ring seemed to free her.

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