[Isaiah; Session 32 by Summer Walker]

FOUR: when love means saying i'm sorry.

"Isaiah."

He looked confused at first, eyes flickering down at the weight that smashed into his chest and he paused. It was silent as soon as his name left my mouth, the idea that he wasn't even phased by me running into him so abruptly, he hadn't moved much and that made me self-conscious.When he'd finally realized who I was, his arms had crossed, the muscle there jumping out at me. He'd always intimidated me and it didn't matter if he were behind a register or in Paul's house, "didn't know you were back."

If possible, my stomach dropped to my knees, I could feel them start to shake with the panic building in my body and I balled my hands into fists redirecting if for a while. Isaiah was angry now and I understood it more than I cared to... when you had Paul, you wanted to hold on, he was someone that deserved the world. Just that smile would have you hooked and I already felt the pain of losing him. I was stepping in and fucking this up too, Paul was happy.

I messed him up, I fucked him up and he was happy now. He was okay without me, he was better than okay; I shouldn't have came back.

Seeing me coming out of his room, of course I understood how this guy felt, I would've felt like the world caved in on itself. I would have retreated back into the hatred I knew all too well; I would've felt my heart break if it wasn't already there.

I didn't want to hurt anyone anymore. "Just for the weekend, i-it's my sister's birthday." My voice was weaker than I wanted it to be; locking my lips together, I tried to stop them from quivering. Only second later, Isaiah rolled his eyes, as if what I was saying didn't make any sense at all.

His teeth were gritted and in two months, he was probably in love with Paul. I was. "Why'd you bring Paul a present, then?" His voice had a laugh in it but I could tell from his face, he didn't mean that shit, he wasn't amused in the slightest and I felt dumber than ever.

Go away, go away, go away.

His eyes on me were unwavering and he was so confident, it made me uncomfortable. The idea that he was even here gave him leverage,  especially when my shirt was in my hands and in just a tee shirt, Isaiah was definitely more built than I was... and he went to art school, I was a college athlete and this guy looked so much better than me physically, it kind of made me sick.

I was stammering, pushing my shirt over my body, my eyes burning with unshed tears, maybe it was embarrassment but I could feel anger in my chest. I wasn't sure if I was mad at Isaiah or myself. Why did I believe him? Why?

Why the fuck did he say he loved me? He knew who we were, he knew what he was doing.

A body behind me nearly made me jump out my skin but his voice had me sinking back in, he calmed me. "Back off." I wasn't sure who he was talking to, not at first but Paul's cheeks were nearly as red as mine when he'd brushed past. His hand had curled around my wrist then, pulling me out of where I'd frozen and he didn't meet Isaiah's eyes.

The taller guy had done as requested, stepping back in one long stride, arms still crossed over his chest but at the adamancy in Paul's voice, his roommate -boyfriend, whatever- scoffed. "He was just leaving." Paul was looking at the floor now, eyes on his sweatpants that were so big they covered his stock-clad feet. It reminded me of past-Paul, the silhouette engulfing him up, his hair as ruffled as could be with the curls being so short, he was shifting uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand and he still hadn't let me go.

His voice was solid as he inched past Isaiah and that somewhat made me feel better. "I'll drive you."

But the way Isaiah stood where he was, his eyes downcast, it made me feel guilty. Here I was stumbling out of the room of the guy he lived with, the guy he slept with and there was no doubt in what was happening. No matter how hurt I felt, I knew he felt worse, he hadn't had a warning, none at all. "I'll call an Uber." I didn't want to complicate anything else, I wasn't sure why I said yes on going there in the first place, Paul wasn't my boyfriend anymore.

He wasn't my friend anymore, he was my ex, he didn't care about me... not in the way he made it seem.

I love you.

His voice was incredulous as he led me through his living room, opening the door and grabbing his keys as if I hadn't just made it clear that I didn't really want to be in a car with him.

"It's like two hours." It was one and a half.

"...At least let me walk you down." Maybe he thought that I'd change my mind, play this game that he was so desperate to referee. I wasn't going to be the one to hurt Isaiah because I knew how it felt to be in love with Paul.

And I knew what it was like to lose him.

"So Isaiah." His name felt heavy on my tongue and I didn't get to what I was hinting at until we'd been trapped in an elevator, it almost as small as the bathroom in my dorm. We were brushing shoulders and he was looking at me so intently, I felt cotton in my throat, words scratching around. "I thought he wasn't your boyfriend."

But he was different now, he wasn't the same guy so his shrug felt too cold for comfort. "He's not." It was nonchalant, his eyes focusing on the doors and I hadn't realized how far up we were until it was awkward silence in the inclosed space, he lived on the eighth floor and this elevator was way too small.

Maybe it was the fact that I felt so worn out that I wanted to sleep for maybe three days but I was so irritated then. Crossing my arms, I tried not to let what happened before put me so on edge but there wasn't any other option.

"He was obviously jealous and you obviously care."

His shrug seemed indifferent, as if nothing I'd said made any dent and Paul was really good at making me feel like my feelings were irrational, even if he wasn't trying. Paul was both great at making me feel loved and hiding his feelings even when he wore his heart on his sleeve and it was dangerous.

"He's handsome." I didn't know why I said it but the look he gave me after was so confused.

"...Okay?"

"And you live together." He still didn't see where I was going with that. Paul had a habit of living with the men he fucked. He had a habit of moving quickly with relationships too. "Do you like him?"

He laughed then, a bit too much, it was a stifled, awkward, snicker as if he couldn't believe I'd asked and it was obvious that he didn't know that answer himself but he still gave me an answer.

"No."

And he always tip-toed around my feelings, I hated that.

It was dangerous that I could feel my chest constrict at the thought of him being with someone else emotionally and he didn't even seem to care. "He likes me." Of course he does, of course he likes you, everyone does. "Told me a few days ago... I'm not gonna put him through unnecessary pain by bringing guys home when I just let him down." The elevator had still been moving and we were only just passing the sixth floor, maybe it felt slower because I wanted to leave.

"Let him down?" I wasn't sure why I felt like it was my fault for getting in the way. I knew it wasn't but that's how it seemed, it seemed like I stepped in and messed up what they had going and even if I didn't like it, I felt terrible. "You're still fucking him, Paul."

I didn't wanna be next to Paul, not when he was like this, not even when he kept his distance. Being this close to Paul in this much emotional distress was like playing soccer with a grenade.

Sleeping around was one thing but from what he said to me and from the way Isaiah looked at me, it didn't feel like the same guy. Paul was caring, he cared about your feelings even when he himself wasn't in the best state.

And Paul was a good person, he was always considerate even if it wasn't something I liked to hear. But him saying some guy as if he didn't spend two years making me feel like I was everything but, that hurt. Him having a live-in-whatever and still telling me he loved me?

He must've known that it was something deeper than what I'd said because at first he didn't even glance at me but now he was trying to catch my eyes. My hands were shaking by my sides. "Julian-"

"I didn't know I was just some guy." Was that all I was to him now? Nothing had prepared me for it, there was way too much imbedded in that sentence for my heart to stop racing and there were tears in my eyes then. My eyes were stinging and I wasn't sure what to say but I knew crying in front of him wasn't what I wanted to do.

I didn't want to cry in front of Paul, I couldn't let him see how much this was affecting me especially since he obviously didn't care. He didn't care about our relationship anymore, not as much as I did at least and there was too much evidence of him already moving on for me to show so much vulnerability.

But I was already and he looked so uncomfortable; I shouldn't have came here. I should've said no, I shouldn't have stayed.

I should not have slept with him.

"That's not what I meant."

But it was what he said and I felt stupid, so incredibly stupid because I was still in love with him. Paul was standing next to me, having to defend himself when I was the one that hurt him.

And I didn't want to talk anymore, not when I couldn't leave because the elevator was feeling too small and all of a sudden, I could feel the metal under my feet. The walls felt so close and he felt too close then it was just skin on skin running through my mind and I could feel the warmth compressed against me again. Paul was too much, I couldn't handle being too close to him not after seeing Isaiah. It was one thing to know that there was someone else but it was another thing to see it.

And seeing Isaiah living in the same house, acting like he had the authority to kick me out... he did. I kept forgetting that he did. Isaiah has the right to kick me out of his own place, Paul wasn't mine anymore and there was no way my presence was in any way a good thing, not to either of them.

He must've understood that, either that or the pain in my voice because almost instantly, he sighed. "You know I didn't plan this; I don't wanna hurt you." His voice was soft and that had to be the first flicker of normalcy since I'd seen him again. He was comforting me then, a look on his face that felt a bit too pleading and then I realized that he was trying not to look me in the eyes.

He'd looked down then, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth for a second, letting it go as if he remembered who he was now and that was a small glimpse of old-Paul.

Insecure-Paul, selfless-Paul, loving-Paul. I wasn't sure if he had actively tried to rid him or if it was just an after-effect of his growth but the man I fell in love with was peaking through again. And then he spoke softly. "Please don't cry." His voice was pleading, dripping with remorse and I witnessed his facade cracking ever-so-slightly. Maybe this all was an act, maybe the nonchalance was something he worked at, maybe he missed me as much as I did him.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I still love you." I know.

And he didn't respond to that but his face reiterated his previous statement and I knew it wasn't fair to say that. It wasn't fair to tell him I loved him, not when he was living with another man, not when I had broken his heart. Paul had loved me too long, too adamantly and too recklessly and I hadn't given him what he deserved in return, he was happy now and I was ruining it again.

It was silent for a few seconds, silent until the elevator doors had opened to his parking garage and he still hadn't spoken. Somehow, his silence spoke more than he could and it was so loud it was almost deafening. I found myself walking then, flight setting in as it was my instinct of response in traumatic situations and for some reason, I knew that staying would've resulted worse.

Paul didn't see that and before I could run, he'd caught my arm, he knew me too well. "I'm sorry-"

At the way my chest clenched, I found myself freezing, him releasing me and all I felt was anger then. I was angry at him for showing up, for inviting me over, for making it seem like he loved me again, for saying it. But mostly I was angry at myself.

I didn't want him to touch me, I wanted everything I'd felt in the past hour to wash away, I needed to get home. I needed to leave because I no longer felt that warmth with him, his fingertips were cold and I had no desire to relive the pain again. This wasn't Paul. "Y-you can't honestly tell me that you don't love me anymore..." but he didn't because if he loved me, if he truly loved me... he wouldn't have moved on so quick.

I was draining, being with me was as well and he knew that all too well; he was finally free of course he wouldn't want to go back to that prison. But him not loving me, that was a whole different thing because if he just didn't love me anymore, that meant that he never loved me the same way I loved him. When you loved someone the way I loved Paul, that was something you felt for a lifetime.

"You don't."

But he was hesitant, his eyes flickering over my face and despite how stupid I felt for seeping with him, him being this close to me now somehow felt worse and it was getting harder to suppress my emotions. I had been fighting back pleads, hoping he wouldn't stay long enough to see me that weak. "Jules..." He'd looked down again, this new Paul wasn't big on eye-contact. Maybe that was lost when his confidence in other areas had skyrocketed, I wasn't sure, but what I did know was he didn't want to meet my eyes.

His voice was soft when he'd spoken again, the same tiptoeing around my feelings and he'd been doing a lot of that especially but moreso, he was acting like my fragility was deeper than just the bedroom, "please don't make this harder for me." Then I realized he was.

He was keeping so much from me, maybe he'd gotten better at hiding it, we both had. Paul didn't want to fall back into the same thing so he stayed distant, and it was easy when it was just sex, he'd slept around before... But he was acting like these questions were so hard, like 'you don't love me anymore?' was unfair to ask of him.

He doesn't. He'd fallen out of love with me, probably way before we'd actually broken up, but actually acknowledging it was harder than just knowing. Paul didn't love me anymore, Paul had moved on and he was never one to backtrack. He always somehow knew what was good for me, he had to know that this wasn't, that I wasn't good enough for him either. He'd sacrificed too much of himself, spent too much time loving me and now he was preserving his own feelings, I wasn't good for him.

I didn't love him the right way, I didn't love him in a way that he needed. I wasn't good enough, I never was.

My voice was shaky, as was my own conviction, I knew that my argument was invalid at that point. I was the one who fucked up and his defense when I'd assumed he was sleeping around piercingly rang in my ears. What happened to being a one man kind of guy? I could say the same for you. "I-I don't deserve you, never have. I was always preparing myself for the day that you realized it yourself and I fucked up." I could say the same for you.

He doesn't love you, he doesn't love you, he doesn't fucking love you.

Crying in front of others wasn't something I'd been used to, not since moving to LA. In college, people didn't give a fuck about you and that was just how it was, no excuses. If you missed a class because of something personal, you missed that class, if you fucked up, you fucked up and if you weren't on your A-game, there was always another player with better training. There was always someone else, always, nobody gave a fuck about your tears. There's always someone else, Julian.

But Paul was there with open arms, ready to wipe my tears despite the fact that I hadn't been there to do the same for him. He'd wrinkled his brows, frown replacing the normally calm demeanor. He'd been so gentle with me, as if I'd break and he was looking at me the same way he soothed me through a panic, the same way he had to when it felt like my pills weren't working and I couldn't leave my bed. The summer after graduation, although it was the best time of my life, also contained the first of my fluctuated moods due to medication.

That summer, he'd ended up pulling me out of bed everyday for a straight week after I'd forgotten my pills and when I'd shut down, he'd just talk. He'd talk about everything, from little stories about his trips to Mexico with his family every summer until he was ten to the freckles that dotted the backs of my calves just anything to stay engaged with me so I didn't fall back into that hole. He cared enough that he would hold me even when I did him wrong... that he would sit with me in the bathtub and wash my hair even when I didn't have the energy to even speak to him.

He was also so good with me, taking care when I needed it the most and here he was again, wiping my tears and absolving me of sin, "hey..."

"I fucked up, Paul, and I'm so sorry." I was going to be physically sick, I disgusted myself when I thought of how hurt he must've been, how lucky I was and how he stayed with me for so long. Paul wasn't the best at everything but he was never bad at loving me, he'd forgotten that I loved him and I let him.

"I know."

But he didn't because if he did, he wouldn't be there. If Paul truly understood how much I fucked up, he wouldn't have slept with me. I was a liar, a big fucking liar. "I-I-I pushed you away because... because I knew that we weren't gonna end well, that I was gonna end up breaking your heart or you were gonna break mine a-and when you were so far away..." He was shaking is head, trying to calm me down but my heart beat was skyrocketing. I could feel the blood pumping and it was so loud, it was almost deafening. I was suffocating in my own skull, my head feeling so compressed even as it swam in emotions and I was struggling to catch my breath, "it was easier to ignore it then let it hurt me."

I couldn't let him go again, not on bad terms at least, I had to make this right. He needs to know that I didn't want to hurt him, that I regretted it everyday. You can't love someone the way we loved each other and get over it in a few months, I was sure I'd love him forever.

"And I hurt you." It was almost like I thought he'd forgive me once I explained myself, maybe I was convinced he'd hated me but Paul was looking at me as if he knew exactly what was going on inside my head.  "And I can't take back what I did, I can't take it back but what we have..." There was no way I had imagined all of it, he'd told me that he loved me. There was something, there had to be, "you know you felt it."

But I didn't have the right to do this to him, I shouldn't have put him in the situation, everything that went wrong was my fault, I couldn't act like it wasn't.

"I don't know what you want me to say-" He had stopped himself, voice cracking at the end and Paul looked defeated. I was putting him in a difficult situation again, making him choose between talking and watching me talk myself into a panic and he wasn't the type to be a bystander. Paul was always caring, always trying to stop me in my tracks before I fell too deep into my own head but he just didn't know how to respond. I hadn't given him much choice and it felt somewhat manipulative at that point, and again that made me worry that I was putting too much on his shoulders. But he said he loved me, he did.

"Say you miss me, that you wanna be us again." But he wouldn't.

"I haven't felt that with anyone else." And maybe if he stayed indifferent, it would've been easier to get over him but saying you loved someone, of course that held weight. He said he loved me. "Every date I've been on, everything, everything is so empty, Paul." It was, every time. I tried dating after him, tried actually going out with guys that hit on me and were decent enough for me to feel somewhat secure; I tried to get over him.

I just couldn't. I couldn't date because no one else clicked with me the way he did, no one else meant as much and I wasn't sure how to fix that, would I never be over Paul?

Maybe his indifference would've been easier to digest because he was standing here looking at me as if this decision hurt him and knowing that it hurt him and he still chose not to try, that was worse. "I can't." My voice was almost gone, I wasn't sure why I still tried.

But Paul must have understood my own actions even when I didn't because he still hadn't let me go. "We just have to..." his hands that were on my neck were now sliding down to grip my biceps in comfort. The warmth burned through my t-shirt and his voice had cracked, "we have to try harder." With a sad smile, I felt his fingertips brush my cheek again and he was looking into my eyes then, I could see how much he was holding back. "I can't... Everything you're saying, I can't do that to you, not again."

And he sighed, almost as if he were trying to catch his breath, I reveled in the feeling of his skin on mine. "But I don't want you to feel guilty, okay? You-you deserve everything you want in life." He was wrong though, I didn't deserve a damn thing besides him never wanting to see me again. I deserved nothing from him, nothing from life, and definitely not love because look how that turned out.

"I don't."

My voice had failed me on that and he didn't catch it. "What?" He had let me go by then and we were both just standing there. I hadn't called an uber yet, declining when he offered and ignoring any more questions about my state. Paul didn't need to worry about me, not anymore, not when he had a whole life to worry about.

A life with a live-in boyfriend and a job. Paul was chasing his dreams and he had everything he needed, I had to let this go.

So I could feel his ring in my and before I'd even realized I was pulling it off. My finger felt bare in the space it once was and I tried desperately to keep them still. He didn't need to see me shaking, not again, or he'd catch on.

Paul didn't need to worry about me.

I'd forced a smile then, connecting eyes with my ex boyfriend, my heart was beating wildly in my chest, my voice a stutter and I couldn't stop the sinking feeling in my chest. "H-here... Maybe this'll help me." And as I was holding the ring out, I swear Paul's smile faltered. He'd stayed still for a moment, confused -probably at my mood change, I had been- before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and he just stared at it.

Maybe he didn't expect it, maybe he found some sort of comfort in me still wearing it, maybe that's why he'd told me he loved me.

But I needed him to take it, I did.

"Oh?" He still hadn't moved and for some reason, it was getting exponentially harder to keep myself from crying. Something in me was breaking, the longer I had to stand there with my heart in my hands. I thought that I'd felt the deepest of this pain already, already been that low but the way he was looking at me was so calculated.

He was looking at me as if he were rethinking the last two years of his life and all I could see were all my mistakes. So when he reached over to take the ring from me, I exhaled shakily. I could feel his fingers grazing mine and all I could see was him over me. God, you're so beautiful.

I love you.

"You're not gonna take me back and I don't wanna lie to myself anymore." I don't deserve you.

Paul nodded, the conversation losing the little warmth it still had and he had the ring in his hand, tightly holding it. I'd looked at him then, maybe I was looking for any indication that he didn't want to take it, that he was willing to forget everything. Did I want him to? "Oh... So we're..." Why did I feel so empty?

"Yeah."

Almost as if we switched roles, Paul's brows had furrowed, I was going numb, the same as I had the last few months of our relationship. I felt too much, and then nothing at all. "Am I gonna see you again?" His voice was soft, like he didn't want me to get too much out of what he said, like he remembered everything all at once.

And I knew he did. I knew he was thinking about my lack of effort, especially at the way his plea instantly turned resolved and he wasn't looking at me then. I shrugged.

"I'm gonna miss you."

: : :

October 30, 2015

"Hey, sorry, I was with Danny at some party and things got a little crazy."  I'd spoken through the phone as soon as he picked up. My shirt was sticking uncomfortably to my skin and I felt too sweaty for comfort. Paul had called me and I missed it, he'd called me a few times but with how loud the music was, I told myself I'd call him later. "I should've texted you."

It was late where I was, he was only two hours ahead but I hadn't remembered that. I forgot so when he'd answered the facetime, him still awake, I hadn't realized that something was obviously wrong. It was 4 am in Chicago and his cheeks were flushed, Paul looked exhausted but he obviously hadn't planned on sleeping. Maybe I didn't realize because that was the same way he'd been looking at me for a while.

At first, I had been good at communicating. We talked almost everyday but when the classes started to get harder, every day turned into every other day.

And then twice a week.

It'd been about two months being away and I hadn't visited yet, I knew it was putting a strain on our relationship but I wasn't yet aware of how severe it was. The time difference, although not big, still made us put more effort into our communication but when it came to calling him, he'd never let it go to voicemail.

He was always up, always exhausted, and always giving me that little smile.

The lights were on where he was and he was in a big shirt, I could see the glow of his laptop on his face and he was typing abnormally slowly.

He looked so beautiful.

"It's fine." His voice was distant but he'd turned towards the camera then and all I wanted to do was run my hands through his curls. He looked like he'd been crying and that was when I'd caught onto it, maybe I assumed he'd just missed me.

"It's not." There was something wrong though and even if it was just missing me, I couldn't let it go. I had been letting a lot of things go by then and guilt was setting in. He looked so visibly upset and it was then I realized that he was in one of my t-shirts, my nameplate overtop and exposed and my boyfriend looked so tired. "I'm here though, what's up?"

It looked like he was busy and he'd still answered. He shrugged a little, not looking at the camera and nonchalantly, he said, "I -uh- I thought I broke my hand but it's fine now-"

"What?" I hadn't expected that, him flashing a cast at me and I felt my stomach churn. "Paul, how did you..?"

"Ceramics accident, it's just a fracture."

He'd brushed it off, seemingly unbothered, something was different. I sighed, disappointment in my tone, he didn't need to be typing anything, couldn't that wait? "And you're still typing?"

"I have a presentation at eleven, I told you about it."  His words were soft then, him writing something down with his free hand. His voice sounded off, the tone too nonchalant for the words and I forgot about something he'd told me that morning. He had to present his artist book -something he'd been working on for about two weeks- to a group of professors. Paul was trying to get a collection of his work into a showcase so this was big for him.

And he was nervous, he was insecure and I wasn't there for him. He was so careful with tools normally but he had been so nervous that he'd fractured his hand. And I'd forgotten about his presentation.

"Baby."

"It'll be fine." But he sounded distant, he sounded so blank. I pawned it off as exhaustion.

I wasn't sure why my first instinct was to check his socials but it was and a post notification three hours prior had shown Paul smiling with a bandaged hand, a very attractive guy right beside him- his roommate at the time- and his cast already had little drawings on it.

"I'm sorry." And I was, I'd never felt as bad. I had already been forgetting to call him, now I was forgetting important dates. He was so anxious and I couldn't do anything, I didn't even remember to wish him luck, to tell him that he had nothing to be scared of.

"It's fine."

No, it wasn't. "Paul..."

His voice had wavered then and I assumed it was the audio skipping but looking back now, Paul was struggling not to cry. I hadn't paid enough attention to him. "I-it's not important." He was still writing, his work always took his attention on these calls and I didn't mind because I could tell that he loved it. But he was stressed now, he was and I couldn't offer any comfort.

"Of course it is." Normally, he'd have looked up at me, he would smile ever so slightly, dimples indenting and we would be okay. This time, he was too focused so when he didn't respond, I didn't think much of it. "You're the most important thing to me." And I felt bad but I thought an, "I miss you," would fix it. I thought talking would've made him happier but it had been passed that and we both kind of knew it.

So when he sighed, I could feel a weight on my chest. I wanted to hold him and I couldn't and that really fucking sucked. "You should get some sleep, it's almost three, Jules, you have an eight am..." And he knew my schedule, I didn't know his.

That was when I realized that something deeper was wrong, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to make him talk to me and I didn't want to push him when he was already so stressed so I settled with a "Baby..."

He didn't want to talk, not anymore. But he always sent me a goodnight text, he made sure to tell me good morning and we always said we loved each other. He'd sighed and I knew I'd missed the opportunity to talk to him already, now he was all about his work and I was a distraction. "Goodnight."

"Baby."

"Yeah, Jules?" He sounds exhausted.

I'm holding this mask Danny handed me at Theta Pi. Pressing the clown face into mine, I tried to sound goulish. "Haaappy Halloween."

He barely cracks a smile.

"I love you."

He'd let out a shaky breath, and I thought he was so mad at me, he'd hang up, but he didn't. He just sighed and then almost as if he were worried I forgot, he reminded me. His voice held so much emotion it was almost scary; he was terrified that I had forgotten. He thought I wasn't going to say it and I should have paid more attention to the grief in his voice. "I love you too, Jules."

A/N:

do you guys understand the flashbacks?

like, are they a good element? are they understood?

Updated: Tuesday, February 26.