Page 94 of Ruin

I’m pathetic and weak.

Aunt Elle has been amazing.

After The Mistake, I drove straight home. Pretended like everything was okay. Then, after putting Gigi to bed, I fell apart. I literally cried on Aunt Elle’s shoulder.

She didn’t pass judgment. She just listened to me.

Then, she asked me what I wanted. And she said, if that was Zeus, then it was okay. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of because we love who we love. Or as it said in Selena Gomez’s song, “The Heart Wants What It Wants.”

I didn’t pretend to Aunt Elle and say I didn’t love him still. Because what would be the point? I’ve loved Zeus since I was fifteen.

Five years of his absence didn’t change that. So, at this point, I don’t think anything will.

I know I’ll always love him.

But trust him?

His word counts for nothing with me. And I don’t know if it ever will again.

The only thing I do trust is his love for Gigi. I know he’d never willingly hurt her.

But he doesn’t see what I do.

If Zeus and I got back together, Gigi would get attached to us as a family. And, if Zeus and I didn’t work out, it would hurt her. I won’t do that to her.

I won’t do that to myself.

No matter how much I love him.

I told all of this to Aunt Elle.

She told me that she loved me. That she was proud of me. And that she’d support whatever decision I made.

But there’s no decision to make.

I’ve already made it.

Zeus and I are never happening. Despite his claims that we’re inevitable and his promise to fight until he has me back.

All I need is some time. Just enough to strengthen myself against him. A few more weeks, and I’ll be fine.

Or that’s what I’ve been telling myself anyway.

I’ve managed a week already. Okay, it’s been hard, and he’s tried his best to get me alone, but I’ve succeeded in not letting it happen once.

He’s here every night with Gigi, putting her to bed and reading her a bedtime story. And, when he’s done, if Aunt Elle’s not here to act as a buffer and it’s just me and him, then I’m conveniently in the shower or bath.

So, he leaves.

But then, without fail, about an hour later, he calls my cell.

And, each time, I don’t answer.

He leaves a voice message. The same message every time.

“I’m not giving up, Dove. I love you.”

Then, I spend the rest of the night pretending like I don’t care while intermittently listening to the message—sometimes crying, sometimes drowning my sorrows in a bar of chocolate.