It's the closest pharmacy to campus—a place known for bad decisions, like cheating and sexually transmitted diseases.
I just never imagined I'd be one of the statistics.
A glass of water waits on the table, taunting me with the reason it exists at all.
With a throat tight as a fist, I twist the cap and let a blue capsule fall into my palm, silent tears tracing down my cheeks.
This is what my life has shrunk to because I was a fucking idiot, blind to my own mistakes. I was the fool who thought I could handle being friends with a girl I found attractive. The first time I was late meeting Charlie because of Rianna, I should have walked away. I remember telling Rianna I needed to meet my girlfriend, but every time she spoke, I let myself get tangled deeper in her web.
But why? Why did I ignore how she kept pulling me back, always finding ways to keep my attention? It’s not just on her. I was the idiot who let it happen. Looking back, I see she was playing me, and I let her deal the cards.
Mom is right. I need to figure out and understand why I let that happen. I need to know where I veered off course and slid my foot out of my relationship for the first time.
After forcing down the pill and wrestling with my churning stomach, I wipe away my tears and slam the bottle onto the table.
I’ve cried more since the night I detonated my life than ever before. It pisses me off, these tears that do nothing but bleed out the pain and guilt I drag around.
Pain and guilt have to stay put, because I need to feel them. They’re my reminders of how easy it was to lose my way, and my fuel to never end up here again. Even if Charlie never forgives me, I can’t let myself return to this place. The self-hate is new, raw, and I have no idea if it will ever fade. I have to live with the truth that something inside me twisted enough to make betraying the love of my life seem easy.
Mom and Dad always asked who I wanted to be. I never had an answer—until now.
I don’t want to be this person. Not the guy who cheats on someone who deserved better. Not the guy who spends his life aching for the one he destroyed. Not the fucking guy Charlie spends her life hating.
So don’t be him.
Charlie's voice sounds so loud in my head that I almost look around to see if she's standing in the room with me.
"I'm not going to be, butterfly," I whisper, making one last promise to the girl that's not here.
Grabbing my phone, I pull up her contact information and start a new message thread. That's just another reason I hate myself. Not only did I lose all our pictures together when I lost my phone, but now I've lost all our messages, too.
ME
Charlie, I know you told me not to contact you, but I have something important I’d like to discuss withyou. It’s too much for me to ask you to meet so that I can tell you, but I’m pleading with you anyway. If you accept, the time and location are up to you.
While waiting to see if Charlie messages back, I pull up my web browser and dig into the research that Mom told me to do. I find a few that specialize in infidelity, with pretty good reviews, that practice in Granite Bay, so I write down the numbers in the notebook with all my other notes. Thankfully, the ones I found are highly sought after, and they specialize in both individual and couples sessions.
Now, I just have to hope I'm lucky enough to find one of them with an opening.
Since I still haven't heard anything from Charlie by the time we hang up, I call some of the numbers I wrote down. The first two inform me that there are no openings for new clients over the next six months, and I do my best not to feel discouraged. I finally get lucky with the fourth one and get an appointment set up for next week.
Right before I finish the call, a text from Charlie comes through. For some reason, I take that as a sign that I'm going in the right direction, so I'll take what I can get. Even if it is just bullshit in my head.
MY BUTTERFLY
I’ll meet you, but I have rules. We’ll meet in public. Grinders will work. Mel will be with me, so if it’s not something you can say in front of her, then keep it to yourself. You don’t touch me.
I read her last sentence again and again, letting the pain wrap around my heart. They’re thorns I planted myself, each beat driving them deeper, their poison working slow and sure.
This is the bare minimum of what I deserve, and I’ll keep carrying the weight of my sins as penance.
ME
I accept. Thank you.
MY BUTTERFLY
Don’t thank me. I reserve the right to throat punch you if I don’t like what you have to say.
