That’s when I notice another notification. Not from Ben, but the airline I flew home on, reminding me to check in for a flight tomorrow.
I frown, confused. What flight?
Opening the app, I stare at the screen in disbelief. In my rage-fueled, tequila-soaked haze last night, I’d bought a one-way ticket—right back to India. And it leaves in less than twenty-four hours.
On one hand, it’s nonrefundable. And I tell myself, if I go back, I can keep looking for the elusiveSilene vitalis. It’s not the mysterious eyes drawing me in again—not at all. It’s only the plant, the cure to ensure my survival.
On the other hand, I could stay here. Try to rebuild my life and salvage my academic career. Mourn the loss of my relationship.
“Good thing I didn’t put everything away,” I mutter, the decision already made.
I tapCheck In, surprised, and a little impressed, to see that drunk-me had splurged on a first-class ticket.
Sitting down with my pizza, I make a list of what needs to be done to leave my life here behind. I’ll keep only what I can’t live without from the house and stash it all in a storage facility. After I make a call and secure a unit, I repack my travel gear, ditching the things I didn’t use before. I’m amazed at how much more efficient my backpack feels this time around.
With my bags packed and tomorrow planned, I go to sleep in this house for the last time. My dreams, once again, are haunted by silver eyes.
Anticipation has me out of bed before my alarm goes off. I make French press coffee, probably the last I’ll have for a while, then head to the garage.
I empty every tub and container pathologically organized by Ben into a messy pile on the floor, then make my way through the house to gather the things I want to keep. A few of my favorite kitchen gadgets, most of my clothes, several boxes of books, and a few sentimental items.
Packing the car to the brim only requires one trip to the storage shed. Despite renting the smallest one, my belongings take up less than half.
Pride at my minimalism wars with the disappointment that this is all I have to show for my thirty-odd years. If I’d met my academic goals, maybe it wouldn’t sting so much. But what do I have?
I run through a mental checklist. A few tubs of stuff. A failed relationship. No family. No friends. No doctorate. An unsuccessful research expedition. A bruised ego. A broken heart.
It’s depressing.
But then, a memory of my mom surfaces, her voice soft but certain.Sometimes the only place left to go is up, honey.
I realize I have nothing left to lose. And with that comes the sweetest feeling I’ve known in years—freedom. I can go anywhere. Do anything. And that realization bolsters my mood.
Securing the lock on the storage unit, I head back to the house for one last sweep before I say goodbye to this life to chase theSilene vitalisand my chance at survival.
My mood is short lived. Disgust pools in my gut as I round the bend and see Ben’s car in the driveway. Guarded, I walk inside to find him on the couch, elbows on knees, head in his hands.
“Dahlia, please,” he whines, looking up at me as I come in. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I stare at him. Flat. Numb. Shocked only by the fact that I feel nothing at all.
He stands and crosses the room, arms outstretched. As he reaches for my hands, I step back and snarl, “Don’t touch me.”
“It was one night. I was weak and lonely without you. We’ve never been apart for that long. Please, Dahlia, please forgive me,” he says.
It sounds sincere. His voice even has that little quaver. But I’ve known this man for too many years. I know his tells.
He spins the ring on his right hand and raises his left eyebrow. He only does that when he’s annoyed.
I’ve seen him use it on the dean, on the donors he calls “stupid rich people,” on students without low cut shirts and perky smiles who dare ask questions. And now he’s using it on me.
I play along.
“Why, Ben?” I ask quietly. “Why should I forgive you?”
I edge back toward the door. Nothing in this house is worth a confrontation, and the hair on the back of my neck is standing on end. I see the flicker of rage behind his eyes before he smooths his face back into that practiced mask.
“Dahlia, we’ve been together for years. We’ve both investedin this relationship. Please, don’t throw away everything we’ve built over one stupid mistake. It meant nothing. You mean everything. I’ve sacrificed so much for you. For us.”
