But my stupid heart didn’t listen.
I spend three days wrapped in the fuzziest blanket I own and curled up in my old bed, watchingA Star is Born, eating too much ice cream, and blaming my tears on the movie. These are the things that you do when you break up with someone, and it feels like the world has stopped spinning and nothing has meaning anymore. At least, these are the cliche things the women in my favorite rom-com's always do.
But no amount of ice cream or sobbing to Lady Gaga is making me feel any better.
At some point, I open my banking app, the enormous number glowing on the screen.
I'mrich.
But that also doesn't make me feel better. In fact, it makes me feel worse.
It's paired with an email in my inbox that informs me that my student loans have been paid in full. Something else that should give me relief, but instead, my stomach twists, and more sobs form in my chest every time I see it.
Was this truly nothing but an act? And now he's gotten what he wants and I'm cast out.
No longer needed.
Useless.
Not worth his time or energy.
Kacey thinks I should be glad to be away from him and his family after almost dying because of them, but even that thought doesn’t bring me peace.
By day four, Kacey's had enough of me staying locked in my bedroom. She drags me out, forcing me into jeans and too skimpy of a top.
"We're getting drunk," she announces, leading me out of our apartment and into a cab.
But less than a minute into the ride, panic seizes my chest, and I start hyperventilating.
"Stop!" Kacey shouts to the driver, who pulls over and is quickly paid before my best friend pulls me out of the car and sits me down on the curb.
I've been crying for days. But most of those tears have been while watching the same movie on repeat. I've been shoving all my feelings down, not letting myself ruminate on Asher too much. I've barely processed what happened in that car, that Richard held a gun to my head and almost killed me. And the worst part is, I'm only alive because of Wallace. His eyes in the rearview mirror haunt me; he knew exactly what he was doing as he swerved the car and crashed us. He was giving me a chance.An opportunity to escape. To live. And I've been spending it holed up in my apartment, mourning a relationship that was never meant to last forever.
On day five, I make Kacey take me to Wallace’s funeral. It takes two hours via subway because I refuse any cars or busses. We sit in the back, and I cry some more as his family talks about what a wonderful man he was.
I think about apologizing to his wife, an older woman dressed in black, who sobs as she drops a rose into his grave. But I don’t. Too ashamed that he’s gone and I’m still here.
I see Asher near the front, and the sight of him only breaks my heart further. I grab Kacey’s hand and make us leave before he sees me. By the time we make it back into the city, I’m crying again. When I finally look up, I'm surrounded by the tall buildings and bustling lifestyle I fought so hard for. I've been convinced for most of my life that if I wanted to be a writer, this is where I need to be. But right now, I feel trapped within the walls of this concrete jungle and this whole city reeks of Asher.
It wasn't even a full year, and somehow, he wove his way into every aspect of my life.
"I want to go home," I mumble to Kacey.
"Okay…" She squeezes me tighter. "Want to walk?"
"No." I shake my head. "I mean, yes, I want to walk. But I don't mean our apartment. I want to go home. I think I need to go back to Michigan."
To her credit, Kacey doesn't fight me. She gets me back to the apartment, and after she holds me in bed for the rest of the night, she spends the following day helping me pack and book a last-minute flight.
And then, I do the thing I've been avoiding since I graduated from college.
I get on a plane and go home.
As soon as my mom wraps her arms around me, I burst into a fresh set of tears. She's wearing a flannel shirt and an old pair of worn-in jeans. She smells like pine and fresh-baked muffins. All of it washes over me, feeling like comfort and home.
Asher called her after the crash and told her I was okay. Apparently, she wanted to hop on a plane right then and there, but he assured her everything was fine. That it was under control, and instead, she video called me when I woke up.
She doesn't push me for details as we take the two-hour drive from the Detroit airport to Cedar Falls. And she lets me stop sixteen times on the way so that I can stand outside and breathe through my panic attacks. Not once does she comment or complain. We sit mostly in silence, listening to music. Occasionally, her hand drifts over, squeezing mine, a silent way of telling me she's there.
