Is she there?
We do this every night on the way home—my own stupid way of saying good night to her . . . if I don’t, I end up running back here later.
Who am I kidding? I run back here most nights anyway. I hold my breath as we drive past, hoping to catch a glimpse of her . . . I’ve never seen her once.
My heart drops; she’s not here.
I look back through the back window as we disappear down the street.
Emily . . . where are you?
Emily
I sit on the bus on my way home from work and read my Kindle. It’s dark and just around six o’clock in the evening. I’m happier . . . stronger. I’ve been at my new job for three weeks, and I love it. I did the right thing. People are all really lovely, and thankfully, I’m not the office gossip anymore, and I have a more integral role than I did at Miles Media. I still see Molly and Aaron all the time for drinks and dinner, and I’ve planned to go home for the weekend.
I’m running a lot . . . funnily enough I don’t need to pretend a man with an ax is chasing me. I’m so angry that I can’t help but sprint.
Gleeful jogging is no longer in my repertoire. The bus slows. I close my Kindle and stand as I wait for the bus to stop. I climb down the steps and begin to walk the two blocks to my apartment. The season is getting colder. Fog puffs as I breathe, and I wrap my large coat around me for warmth as I stride it out.
I might have Indian for dinner. No . . . stick to your budget; there are leftovers in the fridge from last night. I approach my building and fumble around in my bag for my keys.
“Hello, Em,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn, startled. Jameson stands before me, and the sight of him tightens my chest. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes search mine. “I had to see you.”
The sight of him brings an unexpected wave of emotion that I previously thought I had under control. I stare at him through tears.
He carefully steps forward. “How are you?”
Suddenly, I’m furious . . . like a raging bull, and I drop my head and fumble through my bag. I need to get away from him. Where are my fucking keys? “Fine,” I snap. I find my keys and turn toward the door.
“I miss you.”
I stop and close my eyes.
“I can’t . . .” He pauses. “I can’t move on until I know we’re okay.”
I frown and turn back toward him.
His face is pained, and he appears nervous.
Our eyes are locked, mine filled with tears . . . his with regret. He turns back and looks at his car, which I didn’t notice parked in the dark. “I brought you something.”
He nearly runs to the car and then retrieves a huge bouquet of yellow roses and walks back and passes them to me.
I stare at him in confusion. “Yellow roses?”
He smiles softly. “Yellow roses are supposed to symbolize friendship.”
“You want to be my friend?”
He nods hopefully. “We can start fresh?”
Something snaps deep inside of me. “You’ve got a fucking nerve,” I sneer.
His face falls.
“You waltz back here after breaking my fucking heart and give me yellow fucking roses!” I scream.
He steps back, shocked by my venom.
“I wouldn’t be friends with a selfish prick like you if you were the last fucking person on earth!” I yell as the angry tears run down my face. I completely lose control and start ripping the roses to shreds, and I break the heads and smash them up and then throw them on the ground and jump and stomp on them. I want to hurt these stupid roses like he’s hurt me.
His haunted eyes watch on.
Adrenaline is coursing through my body, and still unsatisfied with the state of the roses, I pick them up and walk out to the road and throw them as hard as I can out onto the asphalt. A passing bus runs them over.
“That’s what you can do with your friendship,” I sneer as I stomp past him.
I open the door and walk into the building without looking back. I hit the elevator button with force, and I can see him standing at the glass door, watching me, in my peripheral vision. Tears are streaming down my face, and I’m furious that I let him see how crazy I am.
How crazy he’s made me.
The elevator doors open, and I march in and hit the door button.
The doors close, and I screw up my face in tears and sob out loud.
Damn you, Jameson Miles . . .
Chapter 24
There are moments in your life that you know you will remember forever.
Certain situations that are poignant and have shaped who you are.