And for what? I ended up here anyway. The one time I let love in, it ends like this.
The beverage cart in the corner calls my name, offering something to take the edge off, but I don’t want to take the edge off. I want to wallow in my self-pity.
Fully dressed, I walk into my bedroom. Shoes and all, I collapse into the mattress, hugging the pillow tight to my face, the one that still smells like them, and I wait for the world to swallow me whole.
Onyx crawls across my back before sitting directly between my shoulder blades and meowing loudly to wake me from my deep sleep. I let out a groan as my head pounds. As much as I want to swat her away, I know the poor thing is just hungry.
Lifting my arm, I peek at my watch to see it’s already late afternoon. I’ve been lying in this bed feeling bad for myself for nearly eighteen hours.
Delicately, I stand from the bed as the cat hops down to the floor, meowing again. I never even took my shoes off last night before I crashed, not finding sleep until hours later. Reliving the events of last night made for a long, torturous, sleepless evening.
The primary emotion is mostly regret. Then fear. Then anger at myself. Round and round and round we go. Not once in the events after Archer stormed out did I feel an ounce of relief. None of this was for my own good or protected me in any way, although that seems to be what I was so worried about.
I just miss them.
Not that it matters. Groveling and apologizing isn’t really one of my strengths. Because groveling and apologizing requires vulnerability and courage, two things I clearly lack.
As I enter the living room, the pill bottle practically glows in my periphery. It comes with another wave of shame and regret forletting it get this bad. Had I been taking care of myself the way Freya said, would I even be in this situation now?
I start on Onyx’s food first, setting her dish down and petting her head before slowly moving toward the coffee machine. For the most part, I hold it together. I have control of the situation…that is until I spot the three dirty mugs in the sink from yesterday morning.
Three dirty mugs I didn’t wash immediately because I was too distracted by how fucking happy I was. Picking one up, everything hits me at once, like a tidal wave of pain.
“Fuck!” I shout before hurling the mug violently across the room.
Onyx screeches and scurries away as the porcelain shatters.
Leaning over, I rest my forehead against the cool granite and try to catch my breath, but I can’t. My chest heaves and my skin tingles, and tears spring to my eyes.
It’s all too much. Way too far out of my control.
I’m helpless against it.
I fucked up. How could I lose them?
Did I ever have a chance of keeping them?
Did they even really love me?
No. They loved each other. Not me.
Am I so unlovable? Imperfect? Worthless? A lost cause?
“Julian!” a soft voice calls for me through the cacophony in my head. A warm hand strokes my back. “Breathe, Julian. Breathe.”
My sister’s familiar presence pulls me back to the real world, and the moment I look up to find her standing in my kitchen, fear and panic morphing her features, I am hit with a wave of humiliation.
Still gasping for breath, I cover my face with my arm and turn away from her.
“Get out of here, Mel,” I sob.
Of course, she doesn’t leave my side. She follows me into the living room, a comforting hand on my back the entire time.
“I’m here. Breathe, Jules.”
“I am breathing!” I snap. It’s not her fault. None of this is her fault.
It’s mine. All mine.
