Emme was off and happy in a new relationship. Number 3 was gone. Just disappeared. And Taylor had long ago started working for another company.
There was really nothing to fear.
Or so I thought.
The night of the party, I did go to dinner with friends. I got home about 10:00 and again, didn’t think much about the fact that he wasn’t there. He often didn’t get off of work until 7:00 or later, and I had no idea that his work had shut the place down early so everybody could join the party on time. I also had no idea that he took a change of clothes, so for all I knew, he showed up in his work clothes after a long exhausting day and would be back at my house any minute. After all, his dog was there. It wasn’t like he hadn’t assimilated himself in my home. I got in bed and turned the TV on, only to fall asleep pretty quickly. It wasn’t until I woke up around 2:00 am that I realized something was very, very wrong. He wasn’t in the bed. He wasn’t on the couch. He wasn’t in the shower or the guest room or on the floor. His truck wasn’t there. There was no call, no text, no nothing. I texted him. Nothing. I called him. Straight to voicemail. I looked up the jails because he was probably due for a DUI. Nothing. I called again. This time, somebody picked up and hung up. The next time, back to voicemail. I checked his Facebook. Deactivated.
I could feel my blood pulsating in my neck. My body turned red. My skin was hot.
I instinctively began looking for anything that was his and threw it in his bag. Shirts, pants, socks, razor, toothbrush. Anything. I found the leash and put Chloe in the car. I drove to his house at 3:00 am, and when I got there, it was dark. His truck wasn’t there. I didn’t have a key anymore. I looked at the dog and she looked at me, and I knew I couldn’t just leave her there outside to freeze. I drove back to my house and put his things by the door. I should have thrown them out into the snow or burned them. I know. But, I didn’t.
I didn’t do anything. I didn’t cry. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t hardly breathe.
He texted me around 7:00 am.
“I am not in jail. I am not in a hospital. I am okay.”
“Where are you?” I typed as fast as my brain was moving.
“Your worst nightmare has happened.”
I stared at the phone. I wanted to vomit. I don’t know what he thought my worst nightmare was, but if it really was my worst nightmare, then I was going to be violently ill.
“Tell me.”
“I’m going to shower and then I will come by and we will talk.”
“Just tell me now.”
“Taylor.”
“Come get your dog.”
I don’t even recall how long it took him to come to my house, but by the time he got there, I was eerily calm. Chloe was asleep at my feet. She lifted her head when he walked in and then went back to sleep next to me. Even she knew he was an asshole.
“Do you want to talk or do you just want me to take her and go?”
“I want you to take your things and leave her here.”
“Do you really want her?”
“Yes. Plus, it will free you up to go whore around.”
“I was not whoring around.” He made air quotes with his fingers.
My breathing was still steady. “No? What were you doing then?”
“You don’t want to know.” He sat back in the leather recliner.
“No? Don’t I deserve to know?”
“Listen, I didn’t intend for this to happen.”
“Oh?”
“I went to the work party. I was just going in for a minute. Taylor was there with Dallas. You know he still works there, so he brought her. They had an argument in the parking lot. He pushed her. I offered to give her a ride home.”
“And?”
“You know what.” He sickly smiled.
“You’re both whores. I hate you both.”
“I am sure you do.” He stared at me again. I looked away. “Look at me.”
“Go away.”
“Please.”
I stood up and walked past him and into my bedroom. “I’m tired. I’m taking a nap. Goodbye.”
I laid down on my side and snuggled into my pillow. I cried until I sobbed and until I was numb. The dog pushed open the door and sat next to my bed and Joe followed behind. He laid on the other side of the bed facing me, first wiping my tears, then bringing his arm up over mine, trying to pull me close. I was too tired and too weak to move, but I remember being so angry that he, of all people, was going to try to console me in this moment. I wish I had the energy to fight him. I wish I had the will to roll over and walk out. I wish I did anything but fall asleep. Because when I woke up, he was still there. Still watching me until his phone rang. He picked it up, looked at the screen, and said he would be back.
I wanted to scream, but my throat hurt and my voice was mute.
He came back into the room, sat on the side of the bed, and touched my leg.
“I’m going to get us some dinner.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” He kissed my forehead and walked out. I wished in that moment I had some acid to burn that area of skin off.
He came back with dinner. I ignored him. I was physically tired, but I was much more emotionally tired. I wanted out. I was over it. I had had enough. I was done.
FRO-YO MADE ME DO IT
Weeks had passed since that night. He took his clothes and his dog and went back home. We didn’t talk. He started texting again to “check up on” me and once again, started in about how it was his monster that did it. His Facebook came back up. He started posting songs again. Hashtagging them with things like #stillamonster so that I would see that he was in one of his weird, breakdown phases. I noticed him and Taylor were “friends” on there one day and not the next and then friends again a week later. I tried not to care. But, I did. I was crushed. I missed him, as awful as that sounds. But, I didn’t want to play his game anymore.
He texted me one Sunday to see if he could pick up Olivia for fro-yo. I didn’t answer but, apparently, he had asked her directly because she asked me, too. I didn’t want to say yes, but at the same time, I had already screwed things up for her so much that I figured if she wanted to still have a relationship with him then I wouldn’t stand in the way.
He came to the house, and I’ll be honest, he looked great. He had slimmed down, cut his hair, and had an overall new look to him. He didn’t say it at the time but, later, he told me that any “fifty year old man who had the attention of a twenty-two year old automatically feels more confident.” I laughed when he said that, probably a year and a half later during an argument about all of his sins. It was probably during the same argument when he said something to the effect of, “don’t take this the wrong way, you’re beautiful, but Emily – she was like ‘Victoria’s Secret’ model pretty. Those tits, that ass. Nothing like it.” Oh, did I mention that at one point, he married his cousin? Emily? Of course, he was adopted so there wasn’t a blood relation, but they had grown up together. So, there was that little faux pas that ended up ripping his adopted family apart. But, of course, it was that damn monster again.
But, when he came over that night for fro-yo, he had the look. The boyish, sad look, walking in with flowers and groveling for forgiveness. It was embarrassing how he pleaded and promised me that nothing like that would ever happen again. He was done with her. He showed me how he had her blocked on social media and the text he sent her telling her he was done. He would never go back. He promised. Never, ever, on his real mom’s life. Of course, he had never met her but was putting a lot of stock on whatever perceived relationship he thought he might have with her.