When I finally resurfaced, it was past noon. The pounding in my head had settled a little, and my stomach wasn’t quite so queasy.
Definitely a step in the right direction.
After some breakfast and a shower, I’d feel like myself.
But as I leaned over the sink and looked into the mirror inmy bathroom, my puffy eyes reminded me of the reason why I’d gotten drunk in the first place.
Drowning out my pain had seemed like a good idea at the time… When in reality, I just needed to mourn the situationship and move on.
I had to let him go.
So why couldn’t I?
The black hoodie rumpled on the floor in the corner caught my eye. I still hadn’t given it back to Damien. My intoxicated-side had craved the comfort the soft material brought and to feel close to him again, while the barely-there sober side of me had realized he was the reason I was drunk in the first place. Looking at it now, I pushed down the urge to pick it up once again, and pull it over my head.
Instead, I closed the bathroom door behind me without touching the thing at all.
As I moved through the kitchen, making scrambled eggs and coffee, I listened for Jade. Her bedroom door was shut, and I heard no sound behind the wood.
She hadn’t left a note or anything, but maybe she had an errand to run.
Through the alcoholic haze from last night, I remembered her being on her phone a lot. I’d figured it was Colton. But I’d never seen her so glued to it before.
Did they have a fight?
I’d have to ask her about it later.
As I ate, I scrolled through my social media, checked my email, and even browsed the newest book releases at Barnes and Noble. Nothing caught my attention.
I was absolutely bored out of my mind.
Was this really how the rest of my life would be? Sitting here, moving in slow motion, while everyone around me lived their lives?
Sighing, I allowed my thoughts to wander to Damien. He hadn’t reached out since he came by yesterday morning. Did he drive straight back to Michigan? I hoped he got some sleep at least.
I couldn’t help it, I worried about him.
Everything that had happened wouldn’t stop me from caring for him—at least not overnight.
I only ever wanted to be important to him. For him to think about me without being prompted, for him to share things with me—real things.
To be special to him.
Had he opened up? Yes, absolutely. He told me about Vanessa and how their relationship had ended, talked a little about his family, and mentioned Violet’s cancer coming back. But it was always in passing, and he never shared the details.
And when it truly mattered and I needed him to talk to me, he didn’t. Like I didn’t have a say in the situation, despite it involving me.
And that’s what hurt the most.
I was so tired of the men in my life thinking I couldn’t make decisions for myself.
Sure, he was telling me about it now, but that didn’t change the circumstances. I was still the one who pushed our friendship forward. I was the one who made the effort. All he had to do was communicate. Nothing he told me yesterday made up for that.
In LA, he never told me how he felt, only hinted at things getting serious, but I’m not a mind reader. If he really wanted a relationship with me, he would have included me so we could have figured it out—together.
And now, it was too late.
All I saw when I looked at him was six months of misery.
