The world feels empty now, as if nothing else matters. I didn’t realize how empty my life was before Jordan came back into it, and now that he’s gone again, that emptiness feels soul-crushing. Like nothing will ever be right again.
It never occurred to me he would actually end things if I didn’t go to New York. I’m not stupid, I know there’s more to it than that, but this feels like it came out of nowhere. Or maybe not. He’s been pushing me to stand up for myself, to fight for him and for myself, and I’ve just refused.
I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. Then I sit on the edge of the bed and stare off at nothing. I’m physically exhausted but my brain is working overtime. My soul feels heavy, like it’s shouldering the weight of the world, and I can’t think of a single reason to get out of bed tomorrow morning. It’s Spring Break so I don’t have school and I was supposed to be leaving for New York on Wednesday. I have to be at work at noon and for the first time, I can’t muster up any excitement to go even though I love my job.
Finally, when I can’t stand it anymore, I put on deodorant, pull a T-shirt over my head and crawl under the covers. With the lights out and the rest of the house quiet, I feel more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.
And I really fucking hate it.
I itch to reach out to Jordan, ask him if we can talk, what I can do to make this up to him but it would just result in a stalemate. There’s no easy fix for what’s broken between us—well, what’s broken with me—so there’s no point in making it harder than it already is.
Am I the broken one?
I’m beginning to think so.
He’s done nothing but love me.
Yet here we are.
Just like last time.
I blamed him for not coming for me, for not fighting my father, but now I see that even if there hadn’t been lies and miscommunication, it still would have been a losing battle for him. He couldn’t fight for me because I wasn’t ready to fight at his side.
And it seems like we’ve come full circle with that.
I toss and turn all night, and by morning I feel sick to my stomach. Making my way to the bathroom, I stand over the toilet wondering if everything I ate yesterday is going to come up but the feeling passes. I splash cold water on my face, put my hair in a ponytail and brush my teeth.
I can hear my parents in the kitchen with Charlie, laughing as they make waffles from scratch, one of Charlie’s favorite things. Funny how happy they are with him but the sky is always falling when it comes to me.
Pausing outside the kitchen, I listen for a moment.
My father plays peek-a-boo with Charlie while Mom makes the waffles.
Dad teaching Charlie to pour his own juice.
Mom asking him how many pieces he wants his waffle cut into.
Just a sweet family moment.
Until I join them.
“Good morning,” I say quietly, leaning over to put a soft kiss on the top of Charlie’s head.
Dad grunts in my direction while Mom motions to the table. “There’s plenty of waffles,” she says.
“My stomach hurts,” I lie. “I just want some coffee.”
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she says, glancing at me. “Are you all right?”
“It was a long day yesterday,” I say with a shrug. “How are you feeling, Dad?”
“Right as rain.” He nods.
Something sour twists in my gut.
I cancelled the trip of a lifetime, hurt Jordan’s feelings, and he’s feeling great? What the fuck.
I make my coffee, put in some cream and sugar, and take a sip.
