“You’ve ruined my life.”
“No, walking down that aisle and being emotionally unfaithful would have ruined your life.”
“You’re not giving me a chance to fight!”
“Because I’m certain, Collin, I’m certain. Please hear me. It’s over.”
As expected, he hangs up, and I hang my head, setting my tears free. My fate is sealed. There’s no back, and there’s no forward. I’ve been physically monogamous for years, just not emotionally faithful to the men I’ve dated. In one way or another, they all failed in silent comparison. I’m still strung out on the highs of my past because I never closed the door, fully let myself grieve, which left me in a constant state of limbo.
At this point, I would rather be alone than a liar.
I came back to declare war on my memories, to draw my lines, and I’m already disgusted with just how relieved I am by reclaiming, owning my dark side.
Maybe my scales are harder to see than Roman’s were, but we’ve got far more in common than I initially thought. I’m more than capable of being the villain.
Villain.
I guess it takes one to love and loathe one.
And I’ve become a convincing one at that.
And in Collin’s story, I will be.
Furious with the easy comparison, I scroll through my phone and press send. He answers on the second ring.
“You know, you’re about four years too late for a booty call.”
“Hey, Ryan, sorry, I know it’s late.”
“What’s going on? Neither you nor Collin have been answering my calls. And thanks to you both for not bothering to show up for work today, it was a shitshow. I had to push meetings.”
“I’m sorry, something came up. I’ll explain later.”
A brief silence.
“Should I be worried?”
“Ryan, I need your help.”
“Name it.”
“How soon can you get here?”
“Where is here?”
“I’m in Triple Falls.”
“You’re finally going to sell?”
“His business, his house. I want nothing more to do with him. It’s past time.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Is the last offer still on the table from a few months ago?”
“I’ll check. If so, I’ll rearrange some meetings. I can be there by noon tomorrow.”
“See you then.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Thanks, Ryan.”
Tossing the phone on the counter, I pour another two fingers in the tumbler.
“To you, Sir,” I lift my glass before tossing back my dinner.
My body vibrates along with the sound of the motors as they whiz past me on the narrow road.
The wind kicks up as they speed by, and I wave, teeth chattering, shivering in the cold, before looking into the direction they’re heading.
Fear slams into me when I see the road ending abruptly in the distance. There’s nothing but darkness past the tree line.
“Stop!” I scream as they continue to blast by. Furiously, I wave my arms in warning and point to the road ahead, but I know they can’t hear me. Flailing, I move to step out onto the road just as the Camaro comes into view. I attempt to call out to him, but I can’t. Instead, his name comes out muddled off my tongue. “Stop!” I step out into the road to give chase, but they’re too far gone. I’m too late. It’s too late.
I jerk awake as one of the French doors crashes against the wall, a gust of wind covering me as I whimper, and slam my eyes shut, starting a slow count to even my breathing and steady my heartbeat. A hot tear escapes as the dream freshly implants in my psyche. Another icy gust of wind has me scrambling from the bed to shut my balcony doors on a drab, cloud-littered sunrise.
After a long, hot shower to warm me up, the Advil finally starts to kick in. Sucking on a water bottle, I hydrate while I pick through my old closet and the wardrobe of a twenty-year-old me. Apparently, my things had been carefully unpacked after they restored order to the house. Moving the hangers aside one by one, I pause when I spot the crumpled dress on the floor tucked in the corner of the closet. Fingering the straps, the rest of the pale-yellow dress falls limp in front of me, faint stains covering the bodice.
A dress still soiled from our watermelon fight, the night I confessed to Sean I was in love with him.
“I take it back.”
Throat stinging, I press the fabric to my face in hopes of breathing in any trace of him and am disappointed. After we broke up, I couldn’t bring myself to wash the dress. The ache gnaws at me as I carefully fold it and stick it on the shelf above before heading downstairs and hauling my suitcase in from the car. Taking my time, I restructure the closet with my temporary wardrobe. I don’t know how long I’m staying, but with last night’s decision, I know it will take some time to get it all done. And it’s apparent I need some semblance of order.