At this point my brain has finally caught up, the gears beginning to turn. “But it won’t be like this forever,” I plead. “The account we are working on at work is almost done, and we’ll have time again. We’ve been able to work around your traveling schedule. We can still do that. We can make it work.” The desperation in my voice is clear as I attempt to keep him from following through with this.
Stepping forward I reach for him, like bridging the gap between us physically will do the same thing emotionally. But as if synchronized, Kyle takes an accompanying step backward holding his hands out.
Rejection swirls through me, sharp and brutal.
“No, Melissa,” he hisses, trying to keep his voice low enough to not draw attention. “This isn’t going to work for me. You’re-” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “You’retoo much.” He shakes his head, repeating the world-crushing phrase. “Just too much.”
The breath is knocked from my lungs at his admission, my head spinning. Tears threaten to fall down my face, but I hold them back. He doesn’t get to see me cry, doesn’t get to see how much his words hurt. My face slides into an emotionless mask as I work to build a wall between us in my mind. Now is not the time or place to lose composure.
“I’m…too…much?” My question is barely a whisper, but Kyle hears me.
“Yes, too much,” Kyle spits out, tone bordering on frustration. “Too much… everything.” His hands motioned up and down my body as if his words weren't enough. “Too outgoing, too perky, too positive, too energetic, too demanding, too needy—all of it. I can’t put up with it anymore.”
My shock quickly turns into rage. I don’t have to stand here and take this. Iwon’t. Turning my back to him, I walk away, placing my abandoned glass of wine on a nearby empty table, and leave Kyle without uttering another word.
***
The moon is my only companion as I make my way up the long, winding gravel driveway. The drive out of the city was spent in silent stupor, my mind still reeling from Kyle’s bluntness replaying his words in a loop: “You’re too much.”
Sure, I’ve been broken up with before, but never has one been so brutal. The typical phrases “it’s not you, it’s me, we need to take a break, or I need space to think” have all been used. Heck, I’ve even used them myself. But to tell someone they are too much is gut-wrenching. It takes every aspect of who you are and bundles it all up into two words beingharbored like a weapon.
Not a single tear falls on my drive home, but as soon as I step into the shower, the dam breaks. Hunched over in a ball as the steaming spray cascades over me, my body spasms as the tears flow—heaving breaths followed by uncontrollable sobbing. I’m absolutely miserable. Part of it is grieving over the loss of Kyle, who I thought I was in love with, but mostly because of how his words cut me.
Once the sobbing turns into a steady stream of tears, I finish my shower, dress in my silk sleep shorts and tank top, and slide into the plush white comforter on my bed. I don’t bother drying my hair or removing the raccoon eyes my mascara left on my face. I just crawl in and weep.
A break up is like a death and I mourn what I had with Kyle and what could have been. We worked well together and I thought we had a good balance between the both of us. I was wrong.
Without being able to stop it, memories flicker in my mind. The time we spent snowed in together before Christmas. When he surprised me with a romantic dinner after a long day of work. How he would send flowers to my work on a random Tuesday. All the good things we had are now ruined with how things ended. But still the memories keep coming no matter how hard I try to stop them.
The night I met Kyle my law firm was hosting an event for potential new clients. Kyle works for an up-and-coming Hedge Fund company that needed representation by an established law firm. My job as Vance’s assistant was to make sure the event went smoothly and that the account was confirmed by the end of the night. I‘d done my best to plan the event and worked with event coordinators as the liaison to get everything just right. It was my event, and I was looking forward to enjoying all of my hard work.
I’d chosen the perfect outfit that night: a single-shoulder wine-red cocktail dress. The dress had a fitted bodice with crisscross detailing accentuating my slight curves. My dark waves pulled back to highlight the high neckline of the dress, pairing my favorite strappy black heels to complete the look. Basically, I felt like a million bucks as I walked into the venue, so proud of all that I had accomplished.
My goal that night had been to mingle with my co-workers and enjoy the elegant night that I had set in motion. While ordering a glass of champagne at the bar, Kyle approached me, impeccably dressed in a fitted suit, his brown eyes smoldering. He had charmed me. His dazzling smile and flirty banter had me right at ease.
He didn’t seem to mind my sparkling personality that night,I think bitterly. I wonder when it started to become a problem for him.
My feelings for him and the devastation he caused, had brought back my sobbing. He doesn’t deserve my tears and yet they wouldn’t stop flowing. My mind continued to relive all of the great moments and the ones that hadn’t happened yet—all the plans that we wouldn’t follow through with.
With a sudden shock, I remembered that next week is Valentine’s Day. We had been planning it for a couple of weeks, making sure our schedules were clear and I had just confirmed our reservations yesterday.
Fresh tears begin to stream down my cheeks as I pick up the phone and call the only person in the world I want to talk to right now.
Chapter 2
Gabriel
My truck idles on the curb in front of my brother’s house for poker night. From the number of cars parked in the driveway and on the street, it looks like everyone’s already here. Reaching over to the passenger seat and grabbing the 12-pack I bought on the way over here, I head towards the house.
Every other Friday is poker night at Noah’s. For the past several years this has been my Friday tradition as long as I don’t have a shift at the fire station. Tonight’s the first Friday I have had off for some time and I’m finding it hard to want to be here. Against my better judgment, I begrudgingly left my apartment and the comforting solitude for boisterous poker night.
Heaving a heavy sigh, I walk straight through the front door not bothering to knock. I can already hear the laughter and loud conversations happening in the house, and I know no one would hear me anyway.
Shouts and curses come from the living room as I head straight into the kitchen, depositing the beer into the fridge and grabbing one for myself.
Here we go.
The sunken living room has been transformed into a makeshift poker room. The folding table sits square in the middle of the room with cushioned folding chairs surrounding it. The guys are sprawled throughout the room discussing work, sports, or whatever it is they all talk about. Finding an open spot on the brown leather sofa I plop down next to my oldest friend, Tanner.
