She’s breaking up with me? Through a fuckingnapkin?
The airport buzz becomes a dull throb, drowned out by my heart thundering in my chest.
A knot twists in my gut, nausea threatening to spill over.
Fuck, this is... love is cruel. I’ve experienced my fair share of pain but this is the worst kind. My hands shake so hard that Blair’s words blur together. My head is a cacophony of thoughts, all colliding and ricocheting, refusing to settle.
This must be how Vivienne feels whenever she’s off her meds. I remember how she visualized it one evening over beer—a huge intersection with traffic zooming in from all directions at different speeds, no traffic lights to control the mayhem.
I’m stuck in that traffic jam, thoughts honking and veering, no safe way across.
“We’re done,” I say under my breath, using Vee’s technique of speaking her thoughts aloud.
I should’ve chosen a different thought because, out loud, this one guts me like a fish.
Feeling the burning, curious gaze of the couple on the couch, I peel my eyes off the napkin. The woman stopped staring at her phone to watch me with accusing eyes.
“How long ago did she leave?” I ask.
“Not long, maybe ten minutes,” the man offers.
“She was shaken up,” the woman adds, in a judgmental screech. “She lookedscared.”
Yeah, well, dumping your boyfriend via a note on a fucking napkin forty minutes before flying to his brother’s wedding will do that to a girl.
Ten minutes is long enough to leave the building and hail a cab. Instead of chasing her like she told me not to, I grab my phone, dialing her number.
No luck. I should’ve figured she’d switch it off. The voicemail message twists my stomach further.
With a new sense of determination, I stride toward the exit, ignoring our flight being announced. Screw the flight. I need to find Blair. I need to—
God, I can’t fucking breathe. It feels like she pushed an eleven-inch blade into my heart. If this is what Conor felt when Vee tried to leave him, then I owe him an apology for belittling how much this hurts.
I halt halfway across the building, gouging my fingers into the back of my neck. Blair played this smart. She knew I won’t skip Logan’s wedding. She knows I can’t chase after her.
By Monday, when I get back, she’ll probably have moved out from across the hall, long fucking gone.
My insides shake, the hurt morphing into seething anger because that’s easier to deal with. After everything we’ve been through, the bullshit we’ve had to work through to put our happiness first, she turns around and spits in my face.
Good, keep going. It’s working. Anger is easy.
Easier for sure. I reread her stupid note, focusing on certain lines that fuel my anger.
I should’ve never let this get so far.
No. It’s me who should’ve never let this get so far. So out of control. I shouldn’t have trusted a girl who dealt hate, abuse, and pain like playing cards her whole life. I shouldn’t have trusted she could do a one-eighty and stick in the new lane.
I make myself hate her again until the agonizing pain shredding my heart ebbs enough that I can pull down a breath without worrying my lungs will collapse.
The relief doesn’t last long, though, because I know I’m lying to myself.
Another announcement rings from the speakers. Passengers flying to San Francisco should make their way to the gate.
Awesome.
Not only has she dumped my ass, but she’s left me dateless for Logan’s wedding. I whip out my phone, blinded by my corkscrewing emotions. With stiff fingers, I dial the number and press the phone to my ear.
“How quickly can you get to the airport?”
