The product I’m building,this thing I conceptualized and developed myself, was supposed to be the one thing I’ve donecompletelyby and for me. But at the sticky core of it, haven’t I let someone else—Bryan—dictate that direction?
I don’t know what I want, I realize. I don’t even knowhowto know what I want, because I’m a jumble of too many thoughts and ideas and conflicting emotions. So with these feelings tumbling around my head like balls in a bingo cage, I do one thing I know is just for me: slip into a store to buy a box of cigarettes.
It’s been years since I’ve smoked, and even then, I hardly did it with conviction. But it was a habit I picked up honestly, and one I quit on my own. There is a forbidden appeal in the self-destructiveness of tapping out that first cigarette and bringing it to my lips.
When Cupid finds me, hours later, I’m standing outside the hotel smoking a cigarette, facing the miniature Eiffel tower just a few blocks away. The lights of the tower twinkle whenever I blink away fresh tears.
“How did you find me?” I ask, voice hoarse.
“Does it matter?” he asks back, and it doesn’t.
For some time, Cupid doesn’t speak—just stands next to me and leans back against the railing, crossing his legs in front. I think he’s trying to get the measure of me before he breaks the silence.
Good luck, I think.
“I thought those things were bad for you,” he says quietly, but without malice.
And, ridiculously, this is the moment I finally begin crying in earnest.
Cupid takes the half-smoked cigarette from mymouth and ashes it. He pries the pack I’m clutching in my hand and tosses it in a trash bin. Then he throws an arm over my shoulder and another around my waist, and points me toward our hotel.
“Come on, Love. Let’s get you back to the room.”
I don’t speak. I don’t resist, either. I don’t do anything except follow along beside him.
Typical me.
When we get inside an elevator, finally alone, he lifts my chin and tries to get me to look him in the eye. I let my eyes slide past his. I stare unseeing into the mirrored wall of the elevator car.
In our suite—this stupid fucking honeymoon suite, a shrine to so-called “love”—Cupid sits me gently down on the edge of the bed. He makes a cup of tea at the coffee bar and hands it to me. I take it in both of my hands.
“Who did this to you, Love?” My eyes snap to him.How does he know? How does he know this is because of a person?“Tell me. Please.”
Maybe it’s because he’s being so sweet to me that I tell the truth. Maybe it’s because he’s the only one I can talk to right now. I know I could call Janae, but she’s already heard enough about Bryan for two lifetimes. She was there for all of it; she’s heard all of it. I’m not sure why I decide to open up to Cupid, but I do.
“My ex,” I croak. “Bryan.” Then I let the story pour out of me.
14
Felicity
The short version is this:
I met Bryan when I was young and just getting used to being an adult. He was a decade older, which to me meant he was sophisticated and mature, but in reality meant he was toxic and controlling. And in the three years we dated, I let him take control of me, bit by bit, until I couldn’t even go for drinks alone with Janae without his permission. Otherwise, he would whine and complain and send me twenty texts in a row to keep my attention occupied, never letting a single thought pass by without him being the center of it. Then, when I’d get home, he would give me the silent treatment as he pouted and moped around the house, angry that I spent energy on anyone other than him.
He didn’t recognize that all of my energy went to him, always.
In this way, Bryan became my whole world—because hemadehimself my whole world. I was too young and tooin loveto notice.
Janae hated him, naturally. With a passion that put a strain on our friendship for a while. She was always better at seeingthe truth of people than I was.
Then Bryan wasn’t a problem anymore. Because he left me.
“He broke up with you?” Cupid asks.
“Not exactly,” I say. “He just…left. He packed up all of his stuff and left one night. We’d gotten into an argument that morning because I wanted to get dinner with Janae.”
“Janae?”
