“Shit, Stace. I don’t know what I did.” Admitting it only made it worse. I honestly didn’t know what I did to him.
“What happened? Don’t cry,” she cooed.
“The guy was a pig, and then Coen punched him, and we danced,” I babbled, probably not very comprehensible with my constant weeping.
“Wait, you and Coen? Oh, honey, it’ll be okay. Why are you crying?”
“He stopped me, kissed my cheek, and just left. The pain on his face did me in. I felt his anguish, and he didn’t try hiding it when he ran away from me.”
“How about you calm down a little. We’ll chat when you get back, okay?”
“Okay, bye, Stace.”
“Talk to you soon.”
The entire drive home, I bawled. By the time I arrived, my eyes were red and sodden with fresh tears. Barely able to muster the energy, I shuffled to the door. The house key I carry slipped in, and my hand turned the knob, jostling the heavy wooden frame. The shrill creak that it gave made my teeth clench in displeasure. I need to oil those hinges
Immediately, a new sensation overwhelmed me—pure, unhinged rage.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” The growl that escaped me was inhuman and full of pain.
“I’m sorry, babe. He let himself in after you called,” Stace apologized for the piece of shit I used to call husband.
His eyes were sunken. He pleaded with me, “Babe, please…can we talk?”
Babe? The fucking audacity of this man!
“I don’t have it in me to yell. Will you please leave?” The sound of my voice brought on chills, goose bumping my skin. It was dead and empty of emotions. I felt too defeated be forward.
“Five minutes of your time, that’s all I ask,” Carl pleaded with me. If I were half the person I pretended to be, I’d have fought him. Instead, I asked Stace to give us the room.
“Yeah, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” Stace said, not looking away from me. She was probably trying to assess the situation, and what best move to make.
I moved him from the front door, it felt like one thousand miles of highway. Each step condemned me to my past and brought me closer to what felt like hell. I directed him to the couch.
“Sit.” I motioned.
“You took our photos down?” his nasally voice rang out.
Not willing to give him my full attention, I sat down on the opposite loveseat.
“Yes, Carl. It only hurt seeing them every day you were fucking that tramp.”
“It didn’t mean anything, babe. I love you.”
I dared a glance, his face pathetic and scrunched in an awkward ugly-cry action. Bull fucking shit.
“If I meant anything to you, this wouldn’t have happened,” I screeched, standing up from my position.
“It was a simple misstep,” he begged.
I didn’t want to sound like a pathetic bitch baby, but come on. A mistake was saying yes when you meant no, not falling into a woman’s clunge and finishing inside of her.
“This,” I said, gesturing between Carl and myself, “is over. I signed your fucking papers.”
“You don’t mean it, baby! Don’t throw away ten years for this mistake!”
“You threw it away when your totem pole stuck her cunt! Get the fuck out of my life!” The command in my voice echoed in the small room. I clenched my fists and grinded my teeth in aggravation.
“I’ll be back, and you’ll see reason,” he said, his voice throaty with emotion.
“Goodbye, Carl.” I pointed to the door and shooed him out.
7
Escapism
Dating a BMX Biker Rule #37: Don’t ditch your date for another woman, it’ll piss her off.
No one ever said I was good at this.
Coen
As soon as I barged into Conor’s place, I went for the alcohol cupboard. Usually drinking wasn’t my automatic coping response, the gym was. Ever since my parents were taken by a drunk driver, I tried coping with less damaging methods. Not today. She stole my inhibitions away with a single touch, and I no longer gave a fuck.
Conor strode in lazily, rubbing his eyes. “You okay, man?”
“Rebel Payne.” My voice slipped. I clutched the counter to tether me to this spot. There wasn’t a single thing that could have prepared me for the onslaught of emotions she brought forward. “She was at Freaxx tonight.”
“Ah, you didn’t like what you saw?”
“No, I fucking loved it. That’s the problem. She left me, bro, not the other way around,” I shuffled the bottles of rum, debating which would kill my liver tonight. Finding the Captain, I turned to my friend.
“I really don’t understand you,” Conor breathed, a hint of annoyance in his eyes.
“What’s there to understand? She chose that prick over me.”
“Dude, she was a fucking teenage girl who thought he was nice and in love with her. You didn’t step up your game. If anything, you failed her and yourself.”
“Just fucking drop it,” I groaned. Taking the entire bottle of Captain, I headed to his guest room.
The brown caramel in color and flavor liquid burned my esophagus on the way down. Swig after swig, I gulped it. Eventually, it didn’t burn and started to taste like caramel ice cream.
My cell pinged, chirping like a bird in a tree. Don’t pick it up, my mind warned. It would be completely idiotic to do anything while drunk.
Of course, I didn’t listen.
I’m sorry for whatever I did, Coen. Whether it is from being seventeen and stupid or whatever occurred tonight, seeing you was singlehandedly the best thing that has happened since prom.
How did she get my number? It was probably Conor who gave it to Stace. I didn’t know how to respond. She’d apologized to me, not that she did anything wrong. It hurt knowing she picked a cumquat over me, but truly, I didn’t believe I deserved happiness.
That’s the alcohol speaking, bro.
I internally argued with myself. If I deserved to be happy, Felicity wouldn’t have cheated, Rebel would have picked me instead, and I wouldn’t be drinking my sorrow away with this bottle.
Indigo meowed, crawling her way to me, her gray and white fur the softest I’d ever experienced.
“Hey, girl.” I cooed, petting her head and back. She purred. “I’ve missed you.”
It had been several months since I last saw her.
She was my cat, and when Felicity moved in, she forced me to get rid of her. I should have known then that Felicity was no good for me. Conor had L.J. watching her while I unpacked my shit. Now she was back, and I couldn’t be more at ease with her homing arangements.
Luckily Conor loved Indigo as much as I did, and he raised her well.
“I’ll never leave you again.”
I meant it too.
Throughout the night, there was no rest involved. I tossed and turned, imagining my mom before she left the house for the last time. She’d baked me chocolate chip cookies with caramel in the dough.
“Just for you, cookie.” Her melodic voice had soothed me.
That morning, the first thing I did was let one of those chocolatey goodies hit my taste buds. After eating it, I noticed my brother and sister were crying. At the time, I was only twelve.