Years lived in between the times they’d had a conversation like – Open, honest, truthful. Not an argument, no raised voices nor hurtful words thrown without thought. It reminded her why she had been so in love with him in the first place. Sebastian wasn’t the type to play games, not in the way plenty of their peers and friends did. The way Chessie’s done before. It had always surprised her, given he’s the son of a politician – Part of her wondered if he’d end up able to lie like an good Senator could. Even if Chessie couldn’t bare admit to it, but she was more similar to her mother than she had been in years before; The two women fought for different extremes, but their need for control and distaste for change served as proof that they were cut from the same cloth. Thanksgiving had been a show of that. While their conversation had been brief, nearly non-existent, it brought up far too many things Chessie desired to keep from resurfacing. She didn’t want to live her life like that – Carefully omitting information, holding in secrets until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Add in Celia’s death, and the fact that Sebastian had been caught in the cross-fire (no pun intended), and Chessie found herself taking a different direction.
He listened to her without question, and Chessie gave him the same courtesy. He had a point – She didn’t have to ask his permission for anything, nor were they together. They didn’t belong to one another, even if they shared a long and complicated history, often ending up in the arms of one another on more than one occasion. She had tried to put the thought of the sex tape out of her mind, but hearing his apology reminded her of just how upset she’d been that night. His words held truth – It wasn’t something personal, not an attempt to hurt her. Just an unfortunate lining up of fate, and Celia’s handy work. It was a matter of being in the right place at the wrong time.
Chessie paused for a moment, nodding as he finished to signal that she understood, even if she was unsure of where to begin. She said her piece, and even though she had her moment of truth – It wasn’t easy to keep it going. Hell, it had taken her two months to even admit the truth to him face to face. “I don’t want Bishop,” were the first words that came out in reply. She had thought for a moment that she did – But there was a realization that she was just thrilled by the adrenaline of it, fueled by the in the cocaine that was in her system while they were together. Even with Sebastian’s blessing, it didn’t ease her guilt. The truth of the matter was that she didn’t want to be with Bishop, nor did she want to be with any of her other intoxicated one night stands. She’d spent years running from Sebastian, but now that they were back in the same city, back in each other’s lives – Feelings Chessie had suppressed with booze, coke, and forgotten lovers found her once more. Their relationship had ended years ago, but it didn’t stop her from holding a candle for him. “I want you.” It was unclear what he’d say to her, if he’d even say anything at all – Even if he had moved on entirely, even if it only thickened the tension in the air, Sebastian still deserved a little honesty from her.
It simplified a factor in his mind, but the breath out he took was not a relieved one. It didn’t solve the puzzle in his chest, where breathing got difficult and the situation suffocated him with sand. It didn’t change fact, but there was some implied subtext in that first confession that anticipated what would come next, moments later. That was where Sebastian’s eyes widened in doe-like surprise, always a little lost, as he was. Good at improvising, he wasn’t the person to bite his tongue and forget his lines, but there lied the exception, fed by the delicacy of the situation, the fact that everything had come crashing down not long ago and a general uncertainty he felt about about everything, until he was sure. Not knowing which words to use and not only how to phrase it, but also how to feel it, Sebastian did his one talent and smiled with warmth, implying either a friendly indulgence or mirroring her confession.
Did he want Chessie? He would argue that not all of the time, not exclusively. Granted, whenever she called or they met, chances were that the ending would be generic and cliche, but he was afraid of her mistaking desire for love. Afraid of him making the same mistake, one way or the other. They were resurrecting a fossil of a conversation, expecting to hear a heartbeat. Or maybe it was the heartbeat waking them up in the middle of the night to dig for the vintage feeling. He didn’t know and couldn’t say. “Chessie, you know you are a princess to me, but I’m not sure what exactly you want from me. Don’t think I’m trying to get rid of you. I’m trying to put some sense into all these things.“
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