Why had I fallen for him? Why couldn’t I have kept my distance? I knew this would happen. He basically told me it would, yet I couldn’t stop. Thought I’d be okay. That maybe I was different and exceptional and made himwantto try love again.
I’m a fucking lovestruck idiot.
Dani was gone, Gabe was at work, and the writing group had already started thirty minutes on the other side of town. There wasn’t anyone I could talk to about this, not that I wanted topour my heart out. I sniffed, the tears coming stronger now, and yanked my keys off the rack. This pain was horrible. It was as if someone took a fist around my ribs and squeezed.Heartbreak.
I’d read about it countless times as the dark moment, which always led to a happy ever after, but this wasn’t a book. I wasn’t different. Cal wanted to escape me because I wasproblematic.
Writing. I needed to write. To get past this. To bleed out my thoughts and worries where I could dive into my head. Normally, my daydreams were a fun place to be, but right now, they were all dark and cloudy. No sunshine today. All rainclouds and thunderstorms. I shut the apartment door and took off toward a coffee shop. I ignored the buzzing of my phone. Cal had called three times, but I didn’t want to hear his excuses. He could’ve talked to me. Clearly, he’d mentioned me to whoever Peter was, probably his agent or coach or something.
There wasn’t an excuse that had that text message making sense besides the fact he was running away.
When I found a shop that I hadn’t been to before, I ordered a cold brew with oat milk. If I was gonna write to escape, I needed my drug of choice, and I even went wild and added sweetener. Opening up my draft, I scowled.
My character Jackson, who’d started to look like Cal, was getting a makeover in this story. Because right now, I hated the emotionally damaged character who upset people around him even if he didn’t intend to.
Because that was Cal. I hurt, but he hadn’t done anything wrong. We weren’t together or dating or even casually sleeping with each other. It had happened twice. I’d had a one-night stand before. It didn’t mean anything. Yet, I’d fallen for Cal with his silent gestures and tough exterior all on my own.
I changed the scene with Jackson opening up to the heroine, where he’d be willing to try a relationship because she made himhappy and he couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day. Instead, he pushed her away. Wanting her to feel the pain he carried.
Okay, not great romance right there. I rubbed my temples, eager to get some words down. Anything to distract myself. An hour went by, then another, and I barely got three hundred words. In all my life, writing had been my one escape, but now I couldn’t do it.
I felt defeated. Let down by my own feelings. Instead of writing, I opened my budget spreadsheet. The least I could do was finish the assignment Cal gave me, even if I’d lied about not feeling well. I jotted down the things I’d spent money on and pulled up my bank account to document the previous items. I categorized them by type: fun, rent, utility, food, clothes, books, etc.
There were trends, for sure. I spent almost all my money on rent and food, the other items significantly less. If I bought more in bulk, I could save a few hundred dollars a month. And, as long as I made a thousand a month in tips, I’d be fine. I wrote down all my findings and got an urge to share it with Cal, to thank him for the help and wish him luck. Yeah, I could email him. That’d be way better.
I could hide behind my words and exclamation points, using the keyboard as a block between admitting and showing him how upset I was. He’d hate to see me cry, and hiding this emotional rollercoaster from him was best. Even though each breath hurt and the only person who could comfort me was the one causing the pain.
I rubbed my eyes, smearing the mascara, but I didn’t care. I refused to abandon Cal as a friend. It would hurt like hell, but he’d let me into his circle, and I’d always be there for him. I loved the sad idiot, butright nowI was in self-protection mode. Eventually, someday, maybe we’d be pen pals who sent emailsor FaceTimed once a month. Yeah, we could do that. Okay. I cracked my knuckles and hoped my words seemed joyful.
Calzone,
Sorry for running out—hope you and Lizzie drew forests of flowers! I think I ate something at lunch that messed with me. I’m doing better now and finished up your $$ assignment. I attached my notes My trends are interesting, and I’ll be able to cut spending too much if I buy more food in bulk. I even made a couple of slides with graphs.
Next week we can dive deeper! I have three blind books for you to choose. I embedded a form with the options. Let me know what you pick!
See you soon!
Elle
Totally chill. That was me. No crying over what could’ve been at all. Sending the email felt like closure, almost. I shut my laptop and headed home, hoping to watch disaster movies until Dani got home and I could cry with her. She’d know what to do.
“This might be wild, but I think you should sleep with him one more time. As a goodbye.”
We eyed the gifts Cal had placed outside my door. Even after running out on him, he’d left things for me. Romance books, chocolate, soup, crackers…a sticky note with his choppy handwriting.
I bought these for you yesterday. I’ll stop by tomorrow to make sure you’re okay.
“Dani, where’s your brain at?” I poured myself another glass of wine, glancing at the stuff he brought me. It was sokind. I couldn’t help but feel like they were remorse gifts. Like he knewhe’d hurt me and wanted to apologize with presents. But then again, he was intentional and thoughtful…one of the reasons I’d fallen in love with him. “Why the fuck would sleeping with him be a good idea?”
“Because.” She crossed one leg over the over. She jutted her chin at the gifts on the coffee table. “You’ve talked about nothing besides how much you’ll miss him. Even with a broken heart, you love the guy, and he hasn’t leftyet.He obviously cares for you in some way. No one would get you gifts like this if they didn’t. I love you to death, and all I’d do is get you chocolate.”
I swallowed the ball of emotion in my throat. She had a small point, but it didn’t ease the turmoil and hurt. “They’re guilt purchases.”
“No they’re not.” She scoffed. “He knows you’re upset and wanted to make you feel better. A greatfriendwho has at least one feeling for you would do that.”
“But he called me a complicated girl problem.”
Even saying it aloud, my excuse seemed weak. My stomach tightened with the truth of the matter—I’d avoided talking to him about everything. Coming up with excuses was fine but deep down, the truth ate at me.
