Relapse

by J. P. Nicholas

  "No, it's her boyfriend. Can I take a message?"

  "Oh, certainly. Tell her that Melinda from Columbia University called, that we were impressed with her interview tape, and would be proud to welcome her to the Columbia family. Just kindly have her give me a call back at this number so we can discuss further details. Have a great day. Buh-bye."

  I let the mobile slide from my grasp. It falls on the bed as my mind starts spinning. I swear my heart cracks in all the seams I glued back together all those years ago. Columbia University? As in New York? She's leaving me again. She's bloody leaving me again. I don't understand. I thought this time would be different.

  I'm such a fucking idiot. I stupidly threw caution to the wind and gave us another chance. And for what? To be blindsided and manipulated by her again. I let her in, foolishly embracing her with open arms as she planned to break me even further.

  I close my eyes, wishing the world would stop spinning so I can try to reclaim my thoughts. I don't know what I'm feeling right now. Okay, that's not true. Pain. Anguish. Agony. Betrayal. Broken. Hurt. Used. Angry. Disappointed. Shocked. Unloved. That is the concoction of me.

  She broke my heart once, so I decided to give her the fragments of what was left of it, just so she could shatter those too.

  I stand by the window, staring blankly out into my backyard as I lean myself against the wall. I don't trust my legs to support me right now. They're too damn weak from the blow. I try to fight back my tears but fuck it! Why am I withholding them from her? She deserves to see just what she's done to me.

  The door creaks open, and I hear wet footsteps slap against the hardwood floor of my bedroom.

  "Were you ever going to tell me?" I croak out, my voice hoarse from the tears. I speak toward the wall, not wanting to look at her right now.

  "Tell you what?" She sounds genuinely confused, but that's to be expected. How was she to know that Melinda would spill her secret to me?

  "That you're fucking going back to New York?"

  "Why do you—"

  "Does it fucking matter?" I take a beat and suck in a deep breath, letting it fuel me enough to continue. "Melinda called. Congratulations, you got the job at Columbia University."

  Silence fills the room, which only makes things worse. She's not even going to try and defend herself? Or explain to me why she decided to give us another chance? Pathetic. She can't even back up her own damn actions.

  I turn around and see that her eyes match mine. Red, blotchy, and full of tears that streak down our cheeks. "Do words mean anything to you? Here you are talking about giving us another chance, but the entire time we were together, you had a bloody foot out the goddamn door!"

  I turn away, slamming my fist into my bedroom wall. Pain shoots up my arm, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as her silence. I'm sure I busted a knuckle and my fist is covered in blood, but I don't fucking care. The only thing I ever cared about is as good as gone. I lean my forehead against the wall.

  I feel her hand brush up against my arm, but I quickly pull it away from her. "Don't bloody touch me!"

  “Darren, I—"

  I turn around and cut her off. Tears pour down my face like a waterfall as I say the words that will hurt us both. Ending whatever we had…forever. "Save it. Just leave, Aly. That's what you're bloody good at, isn't it?"

  She winces at my words, and for a split second, I want to console her. To wrap her up in my arms and apologize, but I can't. I mustn't. I shouldn't. She did this to us. And now she must deal with the repercussions of her actions.

  I force myself to watch her as she walks away. Wyatt barks as she slams the front door. Broken, I slide down to the floor. Being the best damn dog in the entire universe, Wyatt runs over and rests his head on my lap. I scratch behind his ears as I fall apart. It's over. We're over. Again.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Darren

  It's been two days, eleven hours and fifty-two minutes since she left, but who's counting? Whoever said that time heals all wounds was a fucking liar. I feel worse today than I did when we broke up…the second time.

  I touch my fingers to my lips, feeling the phantom of hers on them. I can still taste her on my tongue. Sweetness mixed with anger. That last kiss we shared still vivid in my mind. I'll cherish it forever, knowing that would be the last time she kisses me.

  The pain still pounds at my chest, making it feel tight. It's hard knowing that all I bloody was to her was a fucking relapse. She didn't have any plans for us to be long term. She just used me to get her fix. As if she was a junkie and I was her dealer. Too bad that I'm the one who got addicted. To her laugh. Touch. Smile. Presence. And, of course…her breasts. I am addicted to all of it. Alyssa Lance is my drug, and without her, I'm experiencing the worst kind of withdrawal in fucking history.

  For the past couple of days, I've been trying to work her out of my system. Spending much more time at the university gym than I normally would. Hoping that if I lift more weights or train harder, I just might sweat her out of my system for good. All the memories. All the pain. All the suffering. I want them all to go away.

  I know what you're thinking. Why use the university gym when you have one set up at home? Well, considering that my home still smells like her, it's not all that surprising that I'm spending much less time there. When I'm there, everywhere I turn, a memory pelts my brain like a bag of rocks. It's too painful to remember, so nowadays, I spend the majority of my time at work.

  It's fitting that toward the end of the year I'm discussing Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Two loves that weren't meant to be. Two lovers that suffered a tragic end. Just like us. Like me. Granted, they both died, and I didn't. But these past couple days, it sure does feel like I have.

  In between my gym sessions, I manage to finish the book Alyssa left on my nightstand and end up purchasing the whole damn series. This is officially my new guilty pleasure. I wish my life could be like these novels. That I can end up with a happily ever after, just like Spencer and Charlotte did. But real life isn't like a romance novel. Real life sucks. In real life, this hero doesn't get his heroine, and they don't live happily ever after.

  In the middle of curling dumbbells, my mobile buzzes in my pocket. It's probably Alyssa for the billionth time, so I choose to ignore it like I did her last four calls and seven text messages. Whoever is texting me is persistent as hell. My mobile seems to vibrate between every curl.

  One. BUZZ. Two. BUZZ. Three. BUZZ. Four. BUZZ.

  Oh, for fuck's sake! I place down the dumbbell and slide my mobile out of my pocket. I swipe on the screen, opening straight to my messages.

  Kelsie: CHECK YOUR FUCKING MESSAGES!!!

  I scroll up and find a picture Kelsie sent me. It's of the Gazette.

  "Fuck," I mutter under my breath, zooming into the picture to read the article.

  Trouble in Paradise???

  By: Tabitha Abney

  Rumor has it that the beloved couple, Darren Gracen and Alyssa Lace, have broken up…again! How do I know this, you may ask? The truth is, this is purely speculation, hence the question marks in the title. So, just take a look at the facts and decide for yourself.

  I've been claiming that they got back together all along since that day I spotted them on the beach, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. The couple didn't attend the Founder's Day Luau together, but Darren was spotted at the event earlier. Word around town is that he left to bring Alyssa to the event, but he never returned. Suspicious, huh?

  Well, if they were together again, things must've gone downhill this week. For starters, everyone who knows Darren Gracen, which should be everyone in town, knows that he loves to partake in a morning run on the beach with his beloved, yet evil, pup, Wyatt. Well, for the past three days, I have not spotted either of them jogging on Charge Beach, which is very peculiar and out of the ordinary for Darren. He's a man of routine and plans, who seldom deviates from them. Furthermore, he's been spotted at the Sandy Heights University Gym at all kinds of wonky hours these past few days. Ladies,
those of us who are fortunate enough to have visited Darren's home know that he has a spare bedroom which hosts his very own gym equipment. So, why does he suddenly feel the need to use SHU's gym? My speculation is that he no longer wants to be anywhere Alyssa has been. And considering she hasn't set foot in that gym, even when she was a student there, that's why I think he is spending so much time there lately.

  Furthermore, Alyssa has canceled all her classes at SHU for the past two days. Now, keep in mind that she's in a temporary position until the semester is over. That is when Dean Chambers will review her performance and determine whether to continue her employment past her probation period. So, why would she cancel classes and jeopardize that? My guess is that she can't stop wallowing in her own tears.

  Well, there you have it, folks. Those are all the facts. In response to their breakup, I will be giving out complimentary pink and blue ribbons. So, stop by my house and claim your side. I have a blue one already tied around my mailbox post. Team Darren all the way! Sorry, Alyssa. But I just can't seem to get past those blue eyes of his.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose as I sigh. Unfuckingbelievable.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Aly

  Twice. He's called me Aly, twice. Each time he did it, I could see him struggle to roll the foreign word off his tongue. But just because it wasn't easy for him to do doesn't change the fact that he still managed to do it. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, willing away the memory of a few days ago. I just can't bear to see the hurt expression on his face when I close my eyes anymore.

  I tried to go to work the day after; I truly did. I figured that if I got there early enough, I wouldn't have to run into him. Boy, was I wrong. I saw him lifting weights when I passed the university gym. His chiseled body was slicked with sweat, the sight so wonderful it made my mouth water. I wanted to claim him right then and there, but I knew I couldn't. The reality is, he's no longer mine. And that fucking kills me.

  But despite just missing him physically, I also miss him emotionally. I miss the way it feels to wake up in the morning with him by my side. I miss our late-night conversations and our morning cuddles. I miss the way he always looks at me like I’m the only woman on Earth, like I’m a precious gem that he still can’t believe that he found. I miss that way he treats me like I’m the Queen of England. With respect, profound care, and adoration.

  Needless to say, after struggling to get through my classes that day, I decided to cancel them for the remaining two days of the week. I'm no good to my students if I can't get my mind to focus on the material…and on them.

  To make matters even worse, I left the book I was reading at his house. Sure, I could go there and ask for it back. I'm sure he would give it to me because that's the kind-hearted man he is. But I know if I see him, I won't have the resolve to prevent the inevitable tears that are sure to fall. They would just pour down my face like Niagara Falls. Hence, I am not going to ask for my book back.

  Without my book, I'm stuck laying on my bed as I channel surf past all the trashy reality shows TV has to offer. I've never been the reality show kind of girl. Unsurprisingly, I'm more into the History Channel and historical documentaries than I am the Real Housewives of Wherever.

  When I settle on a documentary about Cleopatra, I hear faint whispers from the other side of my bedroom door.

  "She's in there. Go, go, go." My mother's whisper, or lack of, in this case, is so loud that it defeats the purpose of whispering in the first place. Whoever she is talking to, however, either has mastered the art of the whisper or hasn't said anything at all.

  There are three raps against the door; the mystery person does not wait for my acknowledgment before they open it. The door swings open, revealing a calm, cool, and collected Logan leaning against the doorframe.

  “Hey there, Aly,” he says, his voice soft and reassuring. The fact that he's here can only mean one thing. Mom called for backup. And who better to heed the call than my older brother?

  "Hi," I deadpan, my gaze still glued to the bright lights of the television.

  Logan leaps forward, snatches the remote from my grasp, and clicks the power button. "C'mon, Aly. Look at me."

  Being very stubborn and acting extremely childish, I refuse, burying my face in a nearby pillow. Not my proudest moment, but I don't give a shit. I don't want to have the conversation I know I'm about to take part in. Why else would Logan be here?

  "Oh, that's it," he says on a laugh.

  Digging his fingers into my sides, he tickles me senseless. I laugh uncontrollably as my body squirms and shudders. I try to break free from him, but it's no use. He's using his body weight to his advantage, pinning me into place as I writhe all over the place. My body twists and contorts with every one of his fluttering fingers.

  I swat at his hands. "Stop it, stop! Please! I can't take it!"

  He tears his hands off me, a smug, victorious smile slapped across his face. I pant for a few more seconds, trying to catch my breath. When it returns, I flash him a nasty scowl. "What the hell?"

  "You weren't looking at me."

  My brows come together, forming a crease on my forehead. "So, you decide to tickle me?"

  He shrugs. "It worked, didn't it?"

  I don't answer, remaining silent as he hops off me. Logan sits on the corner of the bed, patting the empty spot on the mattress next to him. Afraid of being tickled again, I obey his request, and sit right by his side.

  Logan's green eyes pierce mine. Damn, he's really perfected that my-eyes-can-see-straight-to-your-soul look after all these years. It's been a hot minute since I was on the receiving end of that tell-all glare. Suddenly, I feel bad for my nephew, who's going to fear this same glare his entire life. Good luck to you, Jack. You're gonna need it.

  "Do you wanna tell me what happened between you two this time?"

  He heaves a sigh as I shake my head. He grabs both my hands and encloses them in his.

  "Please, Aly. Tell me." His words are a soft plea, eroding the barrier walls I constructed over these past three days.

  "I got offered the job at Columbia," I spit out, surprised to see a look of excitement cross his face.

  "Really? That's fantast—oh." He takes a beat, the smile dropping from his face. "I take it Darren wasn't too happy about that?"

  I shake my head. "No. He thinks I never planned to stay with him. That I was just using him to…um…scratch an itch while I was down here for the summer."

  Logan arches a brow as he bites his bottom lip. "Well, did you?"

  "Did I what? Use him to scratch an itch?"

  He waves a flippant hand in my face. "Whoa, no, no, no. You wouldn't do that. I meant did you ever plan to stay here? Last time we talked, you weren't sure. Are you sure now? What is it you want, Alyssa?"

  His use of my full name catches me off-guard. Unlike Darren, my brothers use my nickname full-time, only using my full name on rare or special occasions. For example, I'm sure they would call me Alyssa during a toast at my wedding. But in all other casual circumstances, Aly it is.

  I ponder his question for a minute. What is it I want? Do I want to work at Columbia? Even if that means giving up the only man I have ever loved? If I don't, am I already too late? Is what we had even salvageable at this point? Is he worth the hassle? What is it that will make me truly happy? The cogs inside my brain keep spinning, trying to cycle through all the shit and piles of crap that are clouding the answer.

  "It doesn't matter. I don't think he’s ever going to forgive me for this one." Crap! Here come the tears. Usually, I try to hold them back, but what's the use anymore. Mind over matter isn't a plausible possibility when it comes to tears. Especially not when I'm discussing Darren and me being over.

  "That's not fucking true. And deep down, you know that. That man is smitten with you, Aly. Take it from me, when a man truly loves a woman, there is nothing she can say or do that is unforgivable. Well, unless some other dude's dick is involved. That's like the avada kedavra curse from
Harry Potter, both cruel and unforgivable. Sorry, I got sidetracked for a second. Hannah and I watched a Harry Potter marathon last night."

  I smack his shoulder. "And you didn't invite me?"

  "Nah. It turned into more of a Netflix and Chill kinda thing." He waggles his brows at me as I scrunch up my nose in disgust.

  "Ew! TMI." I fake barf all over his crisp button-down shirt.

  He chuckles before his tone gets serious again. "My point is…he is so fucking in love with you, Aly. He will forgive you for this. All you need to do is ask him. Just go talk to him."

  I shake my head and sigh. "It's not that simple, Logan. I didn't tell him that I applied for the job before I left New York."

  He seems taken aback at my admission. "Why the fuck not?"

  "Because I froze! I panicked. I couldn't force the words up past the lump that formed in my throat. And now that I'm no longer shell-shocked or speechless, I can't get him to answer my calls. I don't want the job at Columbia. Not if it means losing him. I want him, Logan. Only him. He's all that matters to me anymore. He's all I ever needed. I was just a bloody fool who realized this when it was too late. Now, I can no longer have him. He is no longer mine. We're over."

  He darts his tongue out to wet his lip. "Bloody? Is he rubbing off on you?"

  "I don't think you want me to answer that question."

  He stares at me with a bewildered expression on his face and confusion gleaming in his eyes. It takes him a while to catch what I am referring to, but when he does, it's fucking priceless.

  His face contorts in disgust. "Gross! I think I'm going to be sick."

  "You? Need I remind you about my visit to your set?"

  A devious smirk curls at the corner of his mouth as he recalls that event. "Oh, yeah. Good times."

  A chime rings from the pocket of his jeans. Logan slides out his phone and checks the screen.