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"Intimate?" The word echoed in my head, mocking. "It's an act, Arnold. Theater of the mind." My hands shook, but I clasped them together, trying to appear calm.
"An act?" His voice rose, a touch of incredulity breaking through. "How can you say that when you pour so much into it?"
"Because that's what it takes to be good at it!" I shot back, my voice louder than intended. Heat crept up my neck; my skin flushed with frustration.
He paced, short strides filled with nervous energy. "I can't help picturing it—your sultry tone, the breathy whispers..."
"Stop!" I cut him off. "Just stop. It's not real. What do we have? That's real. You're who I want, not some faceless guy on the line."
"Then why does it feel like you're slipping through my fingers every time you pick up the phone?" His voice cracked, raw emotion spilling over. "May I remind you, I was a faceless guy on the line. I was the guy you talk to every night."
I stood, too, our gazes locked in a silent battle. We were both lost, stumbling through a minefield of insecurity and desire. He was right. How could I convince him that he's the only one I've ever done this with? I don't think he'd believe me even if I tried.
My chest heaved, the air thick with tension. I could see Arnold's jaw clench, his eyes searching for something in mine that wasn't there.
"Arnold, this is me." My voice broke through the silence, each word like a brick in the wall I was building. "This job, my career—it's part of who I am."
He blinked, his eyes clouded with confusion and hurt. He looked like someone trying to decipher a foreign language without a dictionary.
"If you can't accept that," I continued, the words tumbling out faster now, "maybe we're not meant to be." The room spun slightly as I let the ultimatum hang between us.
His lips parted, but no sound came out. A battle waged behind those glasses, a storm of emotions he couldn't quite quell. His hand ran through sandy hair again, the gesture a mix of frustration and disbelief.
Regret flickered across his face suddenly, like a shadow passing over the sun. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the stillness.
"Agatha, I—" He stopped short, the sentence unfinished, hanging in the air like a promise unkept.
I watched him struggle; his whole body tensed as if preparing to sprint away from whatever monster lurked inside his head.
"Angel..." It was barely a whisper, my professional name slipping out from his lips like a plea for the persona he fell for, not the real, awkward woman standing before him.
"Angel's not here, Arnold." I bit down on my lip, fighting the tremble in my voice. "It's just Agatha. Clumsy, ordinary Agatha."
His gaze dropped to the floor, and his hands found his pockets, a sanctuary from the turmoil. He took a step back, the distance between us a chasm now. Silence filled the room, suffocating, as the weight of his jealousy and insecurity bore down on him.
"Sorry," he murmured to the ground. The word hung in the air.
My heart clenched, twisted up in a mess of affection and exasperation. I wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap, but my arms stayed glued to my sides. Arnold was lost in thought, a man coming to terms with his own shadows.
He needed time. We both did.
Cheeks red, eyes darting away from mine, Arnold fumbled with the words tumbling out of him.
"Agatha, I... I'm sorry."
His hand raked through sandy hair, movements jerky and uncoordinated as he backed toward my front door. The apology hung awkwardly between us, a bandage over a wound too deep.
"Arnold, wait—"
The plea died on my lips. He twisted the knob, a quick glance thrown my way, his face contorted in pain. And just like that, he was gone, out into the dim light of my apartment hallway.
I stood there, feet glued to the spot, heart pounding against my ribcage. The door clicked shut, and the silence screamed. I moved then, shuffling forward, peering through the peephole.
I caught the tail end of his retreat, lanky frame disappearing around the corner. His head was down, hands shoved deep into his pockets, the very image of defeat.
"Damn it." My voice bounced off the walls, empty and alone.
My back met the cool wood of the door, and I slid down. Knees to my chest, arms wrapped tight around them. I buried my face in my arms, breaths coming out in short huffs.
