♫ You drain me, drain me, all you do is try to change me, lately
And if I could choose, it'd be me without you ♪
{Jojo—Anxiety (Burlinda's theme)}

Stars danced before her eyes. Sparkling and stifling, they wiggled to and fro, bright yellow and translucent, blinding, dizzying.

"Cora?"

Ryan's voice broke through Coralie's haze and she opened her eyes at once, dismissing the dancing stars.

She was on the floor, and the side of her head ached something fierce. "Huh?" She rubbed at the painful area and gawked up at the bed, where Ryan was leaning over and offering her a hand. "Oh, thanks."

He gripped her arm and heaved her up and onto the mattress. Once assured she was stable—apparently she'd fallen so fast she'd hit her head, and he'd had no chance to save her—he resumed his spot and gazed at the door across from them.

"You okay?"

"Okay?" Coralie shook herself, remembering at last why she'd rolled off the bed in the first place. "Gemma is moving here? Like Michael?" She flipped to him, to gauge his reaction; but he didn't move, didn't speak. "For a work opportunity? With the kids? Ryan!" She nudged him with her elbow, as if to wake him from his own stupor. Had he fallen, too?

After a deep exhale, Ryan scrubbed his face. "Here's the thing," he said, sounding so Americanized, so far from the man she'd reunited with months ago. His broad, brown, bare chest was flecked with red, and Coralie noticed the redness spread up his neck and nestling into his cheeks. With dark skin like his, it took a lot to make him flushed; whatever this was, whatever mood he was in, it couldn't be good. "I showed up at your gig the other night because I needed to talk to you."

Coralie scowled at him. "I know, you came to harass me again into making my decision."

"No, not that." He was short with her, and yet she sensed his anger wasn't directed at her. "Don't interrupt me, I need to say this." He massaged his shoulder, drawing it as far from Coralie as possible; as if her proximity could infect him. "I initially came to tell you that... I lied to you. So I needed to clarify things, because I had to make a decision, too. Yes, I also have choices to make, Coralie. The world, my world, doesn't revolve around you."

She hissed; his words stung, so similar to those he'd used in Paris, when breaking her heart, warning her he'd never leave Gemma for him. He'd taken the same tone, here, and his body language was the same—closed, distracted. Suddenly sinister and curt, as if he'd never cared for her at all.

And I thought I'd never see that side of him again.

"Sorry, but it's the truth. I love you, I do... but there are bigger things at stake." Again, he spoke with that deepened timbre, one that sounded more like a reprimand than an explanation. He continued to knead at his shoulder, his large hands pressing so hard into the skin, the spots where his thumbs had touched were temporarily white. "Anyway, I'd made up my mind; but then you pointed out Michael in the crowd, and everything changed. I got frustrated, jealous, and I had no right to be. I used his presence to postpone what I had to say. Because I'm a coward."

Coralie would have called Ryan many things, but never a coward. A back-stabbing, gorgeous god; an alluring asshole with tempting lips and a magic dick. She'd even call him soul-mate material, but she had a hunch she'd soon change her mind about that. Gemma was here, and he'd lied to her about it. And there was more; he wasn't done talking.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, but was it pounding for him, as she'd believed?

He switched shoulders and flinched as he twisted his head to find her leering at him. Waiting for his truth to come out; one she'd never admitted was possible, one she'd refused to acknowledge, even in her nightmares.

"Gemma and I never divorced, like I said we were planning to." His expression didn't break again; aside from his earlier flinch, he remained composed. No malicious smile, no frown of regret. Not a thing showed in his features, no means to detect what he was feeling. "We did separate. And she did take too much time to decide; those facts are both true. But... I never confronted her. That, I lied about."

Lie—the word crawled along Coralie's arms and pinched at her skin. Little pricks dotted over her flesh, accompanied by little whispers of they all told you so, weaving in and out of her ears, resonating in her mind.

"I moved here, out of spite. Restarted my life while I was waiting for her to figure out if she'd take me back."

The sheets were itchy. Coralie removed them, removed the blanket, and got up. She was naked, and felt exposed, not only because of the bareness of her skin. It was more a sensation of having her insides ripped out of her. As if they were on display for Ryan to pick at. To tear into, rip apart.

He didn't look at her as she paced slowly beside the bed, hugging herself to cover her boobs. A fire started to swell in her gut, threatening to swarm up to her heart, her lungs, her brain.

"What the fuck, Ryan?" She didn't know what else to say; she who wrote songs for a living, had no comment, no clue. No carefully composed phrases came to mind, not even a creative insult to hurl at him.

"Recently, she reached out to me," he said, toying with the waistband of his boxers, pulling it up higher. As if he felt exposed, too. "She told me she forgave me, and wanted to rebuild our family. I warned her—Gemma, I've been with Coralie all this time, I chose her, I said."

Coralie snorted. "Oh, did you?"

The fire inside had grown, its smoke clogging inside her lungs. Ryan hadn't chosen Coralie; another lie.

He chose Gemma, and she rejected him! So he lies to both of us?

"She didn't care. She begged me to reconsider." He rubbed his nose, and Coralie could have sworn a few tears brewed in his eyes. But she wouldn't be swayed into sympathy, not for him. Not after this.

"And did you?" Coralie's paces accelerated. She snatched a pillow from the bed and held it against her, squeezing so tight she expected its seams to pop.

"I had to, Cora." He accorded her a gaze, at last, confirming that yes, he had tears about to spill over his lash-line.

Coralie had never seen him cry, and wasn't about to now. She spun from him, glaring at the bathroom door, considering locking herself inside and turning all the faucets on hot. To steam away his betrayal, to purge herself of the scent, the taste, the feel of him.

I came here because I chose him... but he made the decision for me, didn't he?

"To keep our family together, to try to rekindle our love." He placed his hands on the mattress and pushed himself up, but stayed on the other side of the bed. Coralie side-glanced at him, then returned her vision to the bathroom. "I didn't say anything, at first. Told her I had to think about it. And I fully intended to make her wait, like she'd done to me. I was going to speak to you about this, to understand your position, to see if there was any way you'd choose me over Michael, no questions asked. I would have given her up, if you'd made up your mind fast enough. Then the gig showed up on my Facebook, and the rest... well, it's history."

"If I made up my mind fast enough. So when you came to the show," said Coralie, through gritted teeth, curling her toes, arching her spine. She twirled to face him. A few feet of tiled floor and a massive bed resided between them, and still she sensed him as if he were pressed against her. Oppressing her, wrapping his giant hands around her lungs, ridding them of air. "She'd contacted you, already. You came to tell me that?"

"Yes." From afar, he seemed so small, so innocent. His chin dipped, and he rubbed the back of his neck, his lips pinching, twitching, mouth opening and closing to decide what to say. "And with Michael there, I panicked. I was pissed. I figured you'd invited him, and not me, and that was that. You'd made your decision and hadn't bothered to tell me. You didn't deign to dump me in person, you didn't update me on your feelings... and you denied it, to my face."

"Or so you thought," Coralie snapped, dropping the pillow to the ground. She imagined herself marching over to slap him, but feared what getting too close would do to her, to him. He was toxic, but she enjoyed it, didn't she?

That needs to stop.

"Or so I thought, yes. You... you didn't invite him?" He looked up, eyebrows scrunched. "Really?"

"I didn't invite anyone, Ryan. You, or Michael, or—" she paused before saying Chester. No matter how badly Ryan had hurt her, how deep he'd plunged his sword, she wouldn't admit Chester's existence to him. Not yet. The wound was still too raw, for both of them.

"Right, well," he grunted, "I assumed. I'm an arsehole. In any case, I came home and called Gemma and let her know that I chose her. She cried, I cried, and it was decided. I bought her a plane ticket to come here immediately and check the city out. To show her around and research other places—bigger places, for the four of us. That's why she was here, this morning; I was supposed to meet her at her hotel. We'd opted to sleep separately, for now, to get... reacquainted. Date, like before we were married."

"Wow, so this was all planned out?" Coralie groaned and fumbled over to the wall by the bathroom. "Great. I don't want to know the details."

The fire devastated every inch of her insides, now, ravaging from her vagina—it burned with an ache she'd never experienced before—up to her lymph nodes, scorching her vocal cords. And it was headed for her brain, next.

"You know why I came here last night?" She slanted against the wall, and its cool surface soothed her burning skin for a spell.

"To have sex?" Ryan shrugged and set his hands on his hips. "You made that clear."

Coralie clenched her jaw to halt a growl from spurting from her mouth. "No; I told you, it was to decide how I felt. But I lied to you, too, because I already knew. Michael?" She scoffed. "I told him about you. He was there, at the show, to acknowledge what I'd done, and to ask to discuss it like adults, in the near future. But he's done with me, and I'm not surprised."

Ryan let out an unsympathetic chortle. "Oh, so you berate me, but you're no better, are you? I was your second option."

She wagged a finger in his direction. "You were always my first. Deep down, in here," she jammed that same finger into the left side of her chest, "you always were. Or so I thought."

"You thought?" Ryan lowered onto the bed, but spun to watch her.

"It was a mirage, all of it, wasn't it?" She shook her head and pushed herself off the wall. "I thought my heart beat for you, that it signaled for you; but it didn't. It couldn't have. Why would it steer me so far from happiness? Why would it direct me towards someone as chaotic and cruel as you?"

"Cora," Ryan waved at her to calm down, "come on, sit down, let's hash this out."

"Hash what out?" Coralie scanned the room—and jolted to life when she found what she'd been searching for. "There's nothing to hash out. Nothing to salvage. You destroyed me."

"And you didn't destroy me?" Ryan threw his hands in the air. "You broke me, too! Bringing Michael into all this? Refusing to choose between us, stringing us both along—hell, he is right for being done with you!"

Having shrugged on her underwear, Coralie stomped up to Ryan but stopped when she sighted her bra. She seized it, strapped it on, and stood by the window, where she took hold of the curtain. Squeezing the fabric between her thumb and index provided her a slither of comfort.

"You're a hypocrite, and an arsehole, as you said so yourself. What are you going to tell Gemma about last night, hm? You'll shower and drink your coffee and waltz over there to start all over with her as if you and I didn't fuck each other senseless last night? Hm?" She spotted her jeans—she'd somehow brought those and her other clothes into the room between sessions last night. "Just brush it all under the table, yeah? A quick goodbye and you'll return to your fancy fairytale life as if you and I had never found each other again?" She was breathless, heaving, by the time she sealed her mouth shut.

Everything hurt. Every extremity, every organ, every vein or nerve ending—they all pulsated in pain, and she could barely stand upright.

Putting on her jeans, under Ryan's silent scrutiny, was torture. He stayed quiet until she was fully dressed, then rose and walked towards her. She slithered backwards; every step he took, she was closer to the bedroom door. She grabbed her top and tugged it on.

"Are you good? Did you let it all out?" His nostrils flared. "Can we go to the kitchen and maybe have some breakfast, talk this over?"

"Talk what over?" She threw the door open and stormed out into the living room, seeking her shoes, her coat, her purse. "There's nothing left. No friendship, no affection. No love. Ha!" She clicked her tongue as she fetched her shoes and sat on the edge of the settee to attach the straps. "I was wrong, so wrong. You had my vagina. And my brain. My heart was under this sick spell you put on me. I was confused, so confused."

"I'm confused," said Ryan, glimpsing her in her haste to get dressed and get the heck out of there. "Vagina? Brain? What are you talking about?"

"Vagina, brain, heart," she used her fingers to number them out, "essential components, aren't they? I've been told by many people that the heart, when it comes to love and relationships, is the most important. And I was fooled into thinking my heart wanted you. But it couldn't have. I was mistaken."

Ryan sat beside her, but she was finished fastening her shoes, so she abruptly stood and distanced herself. "Please, take it easy, and let's talk—"

"—there is nothing to talk about." She sighted her coat, hanging near the door, and her purse by it—how had Gemma not seen these when she was here, earlier? "What a fool," said Coralie, tutting. "And me, too." She wheeled towards Ryan as she walked backwards, inching nearer to the door. "No, you did all the talking for me. You gave me false hope and lied about Gemma. You returned to her at the first sign of stormy waters. How is that a relationship, Ryan? You wanted to be with me, but you couldn't accept me and my choices. You didn't fight for me, didn't give me the time and space I needed. None of you did."

Ryan had risen and was accelerating towards her, full speed, likely intent on barring the door before she reached it. "None of us? Who, Michael and I? He didn't respect your space, either?"

She wouldn't let him distract her. Swift as a snake, she swirled around and shimmied up to the doorknob, taking hold of it before Ryan could prevent her from leaving. "This is it. You decided for both of us. My burden is lifted; I'll be alone. It's probably better that way." She turned the knob and a scent of cleaning products and lavender buried into her nostrils, from the hallway. "I wish you a happy life."

Giving him no room to reply, she hustled out and slammed the door. As she trudged to the elevator, she took out her phone from her purse and pulled up all his social media outlets. No blocking this time; she unfriended him, erased him. His phone number? Deleted. Permanently.

She'd deferred this moment long enough. The one where she came to her senses, and where her willpower outweighed the magic, the tingling in her vagina. The one where her brain regained its control and forced her heart to shut down, and her sex to close—for good.

She entered the elevator, and as the doors closed, she saw Ryan standing in the corridor, in his boxers, gaping at her. He was so small, so insignificant. No longer a god, but a mortal man riddled with sin and incapable of telling the truth; only at the last second.

"Good riddens. And for real, this time."

♥♥♥