by Tessa Teevan
Letting out a curse, I sit up and focus on my computer, getting lost in my work to keep the unease at bay. This is me. This is my element. Or at least it used to be. But since her, everything’s changed. This is no longer fulfilling, and right now, all I feel is empty. As I bury myself in writing up a new acquisition proposal, I try to keep my mind off Ariana, but even after hours of intense research, it’s no fucking use.
I can’t stop thinking about the things I said to her. With a cooler head, I realize that I didn’t give her much room to explain. And even though all signs point to the truth, my heart’s screaming at me that I’m missing something, but it’s drowned out by the remnants of my anger.
Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s almost nine p.m., and I mutter a curse under my breath, pissed that I let time run away from me. I haven’t stayed at work past five since I came back from disability, and I know I need to get home so we can talk things out.
The entire drive home, I practice my speech, but nothing sounds right. I’m still pissed but I’m willing to hear her out. Hell, even if she tells me that everything Benjamin said was the truth, I’m ready to look past it. She may have started our relationship out that way, but I know she loves me. I just wonder if that will be enough.
I frown when I pull up to the house. It’s dark, and a sense of foreboding washes over me. I practically fly out of my car and sprint up the sidewalk, yelling her name as soon as I get inside, but I’m greeted with silence.
After finding the kitchen and the living room empty, I slowly walk towards our bedroom, trying to remain calm. She’s not in there, but nothing seems out of place. Maybe she just had to clear her head. Yeah, that’s what she’s doing, and she’ll be back in no time.
Upon entering the bathroom, I turn the hot water on, hoping a steamy shower will wash off the shit of this day from hell. My eyes are closed as I reach out for the shampoo bottle and pour some into my cupped palm. The scent of coconut overwhelms my senses, and I open my eyes to see that I’ve inadvertently grabbed hers. Relief swells at the sight of her stuff. As soon as she gets back, we’ll talk this out and everything will be fine again. I know I was a complete asshole, and I need to apologize, grovel even. Even if the things he said were true for them, I know what she and I have is real.
As I’m toweling off, something catches my eye and I turn my attention to the counter. I stop mid-rub as my eyes fall on the Wellington family ring—her ring—sitting on top of a piece of paper. I step back as if creating distance between me and the ring will lessen its implications.
Racing into the bedroom, I take a look around, finally noticing the subtle differences. Her phone charger, which hasn’t left the nightstand in the last two months, is gone. The small jewelry box she picked up at an antique store with my mom is no longer sitting on the dresser. And on the edge of the bed is the folded-up Property of Wellington T-shirt she sleeps in every night.
Soul-crushing dread pounds in my mind as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest at the thought of losing her. Slowly, almost ominously, I leave our room and walk down the hallway to the guest room, where she keeps her clothes. As I open the closet, I realize that I have to amend that statement. Where she kept her clothes. Instead of being full with colorful shirts, dresses, and tops, the closet is completely bare. Empty.
Almost immediately, my heart mirrors it.
Making my way back to my bathroom, I try to deny she’s gone. Even as I pick up the ring and her note, my brain tells me that it’s temporary.
That word triggers something and I throw my fist into the wall beside me, punching over and over again, wanting to feel the pain in my hand so I don’t feel it in my heart. When I finally come to my senses, I lean against wall, sliding down, bringing my elbows to my knees. I ignore the blood trickling down my hand, the pain throbbing in my fingers.
With my good hand, I study the ring, unable to comprehend that it’s no longer on her finger. Wanting it out of my sight but unable to let it go, I make a fist, my hand swallowing it up. I tighten it, feeling the diamond biting into my skin. My other hand holds the note up. Her words are marred by my blood, but I can still make them out. They are simple, but they’re enough.
I hope the next person you give this to earns your trust more than I was able to. You deserve happiness, Branson. I pray you realize that sooner rather than later.
Love Permanently,
A
What the fuck have I done?
TAKING HIS ring off my finger was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
Packing up everything I bought with my own money and leaving anything he owned or the things Amelia purchased was the second hardest.
Getting into my car and driving away without looking back? That nearly killed me.
As much as it pained me to do it, however, I knew it was necessary. Branson didn’t come right out and say that it was over. He didn’t have to. Any semblance of the relationship we’d built flew out the window when he, in not so many words, compared me to his ex-wife.
A blow I’m not sure from which I’ll ever recover.
It’s crazy to think how much my life has changed in a few short hours, and as I sit in the Atlanta traffic, I have nothing to do but reflect. Hindsight tells me that if I’d just have answered that damn question, then I wouldn’t be here.
But it’s more than that. If this hadn’t happened, then something else would have. It’s obvious that he doesn’t trust me—trust us—and I can’t live in a relationship like that. So even though I could kick myself, I made my bed. It’s going to be a cold, lonely one to lie in.
It isn’t until Alyssa opens her door that the tears finally bubble over and spill onto my cheeks. Her arms wrap around me as she pulls me inside, leading me into the living room, where she’s already prepared with a bottle of wine. She hands me a glass and sits beside me, eyeing me cautiously.
“You were rather cryptic on the phone. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
Even though the last thing I want to do is recount what happened, I down wine, refill it, and dive into the story—starting from the very beginning. As she listens, the whole thing feels like a fairytale—only this one’s gone very, very wrong and there will be no happily ever after.
“Wow,” she exhales, sitting back against the couch. “And everything was going so well.”
I give her a wry grin. “Tell me about it. I don’t know, Lyss. I knew about his trust issues and the whole incessant need he had to prove himself to his dad, but he hasn’t been that man with me. And the fact that he blindly believed his ex and Ben without even talking to me first? I’m not sure I can get over that.”
My phone buzzes from my purse, and when my sister reaches for it, her eyes widen as she holds it up for me to see. Surprisingly, it’s Branson calling. I look at the clock and snort when I see that it’s nearly midnight.
“I guess it didn’t take long for him to totally revert back to his old ways. He must’ve just gotten home and realized I was gone.”
“Or he realized what a cockbag he is and is calling to beg for your forgiveness. So he’s a few hours behind? Better late than never, right?” she says, sounding optimistic.
“Whose side are you on anyways?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
She holds her hand up in surrender. “Yours. I’ll always be on your side. You know that. What do you want me to say? Let’s chop off his balls? Key his car? Call him a miserable bastard?”
“No. None of that would make me feel better.”
“Exactly, and I know that. I guess I’m just wondering if your leaving was a rash decision. Perhaps, if you’d stayed, you could’ve talked things out once he cooled down.”
Shaking my head, I shudder as I remember his expression, how cool and disdainful it was. “He’d already decided he wasn’t going to believe me before I walked in the door. The worst part? I have no idea what Benjamin even said to him.”
She sits up and jabs my shoulder. “See! Who knows how that asshole spun it? If you’d have
stayed, you could’ve figured that out.”
“Does it really matter what he said? I can put two and two together. He made it seem like I left him because the company’s going under. Everything I’ve always told Branson I never wanted to be, he now believes I am. I could’ve argued with him until I was blue in the face and it would’ve done no good. You didn’t see the look on his face. His mind was made up.”
My sister sighs. “I just… I really hoped he was it for you. Even just being around you two for a few hours, I could see how happy you were together. I’ve never seen you like that, and I don’t know… Part of me hopes you can work this out.”
Deep down, I know I want that, too, but I won’t allow myself to voice it. Not yet. It’s too raw, too fresh. It’s too soon to hope.
My phone buzzes again, and as she hands it to me, I see that, this time, it’s a text.
Baby, where are you? We have to talk. Tell me where you are.
My thumb hovers over the reply button as the battle between wanting to reach out and wanting space wages in my mind. Alyssa takes pity on me and takes the phone, shutting it off.
“Let’s forget about him for tonight. Lucky for you, I have the latest superhero movie and I hear Chris Evans is extremely delicious in it. Nothing like a little eye candy to make you feel better. Tomorrow’s a new day, and we’ll figure it out then.”
I give her a grateful smile and curl up on the couch, wondering how in the hell everything got so messed up. As Captain America comes on the screen, my heart constricts and I have to laugh at the irony. The memory of our first date floods my mind, and I ache for the Branson from that night. The Branson from all of the other nights. The guy he’s been the entire time we’ve been together—not the one who surfaced earlier today.
Am I really going to let one day ruin what has been the best summer of my life? I thought I’d changed, but have I? Or am I really no different from that girl who began this story by running away instead of facing her problems head on?
AFTER A restless night, I jerk awake to pots clanging in the kitchen. I have to catch my bearings as I look around the room—my old guest room. Tears well in my eyes as everything from yesterday comes rushing back in. I made it about halfway through Captain America before feigning sleepiness, but the truth is that I’d become too accustomed to curling up on the couch with him and all I wanted to do was go to sleep to wipe away the memory of the day. Unfortunately, my body had a different idea as I tossed and turned all night.
It’s incredible how you can live twenty-seven years spending most nights sleeping alone, yet after nearly three months of sharing Branson’s bed, I can’t sleep without him. Every time I rolled over to find him, to place my hand on his chest, I woke up, finding him missing. Halfway through the night, I had to put on sweatpants as I felt cold without his warm body to curl up next to.
They say the first night’s always the hardest. I’d like to know who they are. I don’t see how tonight will be any easier.
Annoyed with myself, I push the covers off and head to the bathroom. A long, hot shower does little to refresh me, and when I go back to my room, I repack my bag, knowing that I need a change in scenery. I need to be alone, and I need to do what I set out to do when I left Atlanta for the first time. As happy as I am that I found Branson, I still need to find myself. I just hope it doesn’t take that long.
As I join Alyssa in the kitchen, her eyebrows rise when she spots my bag, but she doesn’t say a word. I sit down at the breakfast table and she joins me, placing coffee and a plate of eggs in front of me before she hands me my phone. I eye it for a second, unsure of what I want to do, but then curiosity gets the better of me.
“Moment of truth,” I whisper, powering it on.
Twelve missed calls, one on the hour, every hour since he called the first time.
Twelve text messages, at the half, varying from pleading to pissed off to demanding I come home.
Home.
I don’t even know where that is anymore.
“I have to go,” I tell my sister as I stand up and slide my phone into my pocket. “It’s only a matter of time before he shows up here, and I want to be long gone before that happens.”
She sighs, giving me a small shake of her head. “No. What you need to do is stop running. Sure, leaving Benjamin was the best thing you ever did, but six months from now, will you be able to say the same thing about Branson?”
My heart squeezes, knowing there’s no comparison between the two. “You know they’re incomparable, Alyssa.”
“Of course they are. They’re night and day. The same goes for you and his ex-wife, and deep down, he knows that. Ari, you love him. And I know he loves you, too. This was a misunderstanding of epic proportions, and instead of running away, maybe it’s time you face it head on.”
“I just need time. I need to think. I need to know if I’m strong enough to get over this or that I’m strong enough to move on. Either way, I have to do this myself.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “I already know you are, but if you have to figure it out, I get it. Just remember, women are stronger and smarter than men. And we know how to forgive. If every woman walked away the first time her man did something stupid, we’d all be lesbians. Trust me. I tried that in college. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
I give her a shove as I get up from the table. “I seriously didn’t need to know that,” I say, laughing. She grins. “I know you’re right. I’m not going far, and I won’t be gone long. Things have just been intense with us from the beginning, and maybe a little bit of space is what we need. What he needs. I can’t jump right back into his arms because I want to forgive him. He needs to figure this out on his own.”
“Yeah, but how can he figure it out if he doesn’t have the full story?”
“I’m leaving before you start making more sense. Thanks for last night. I’ll call you when I get where I’m going.”
She gives me a hug then tugs on my hair. “I love you, Ariana, and I long for the day a man looks at me the way Branson does you. Keep that in the back of your mind, okay?”
I nod as a lone tear slides down my cheek. “I love you, too.”
I force myself out the door. My feet feel heavy as I walk to my car, but I know I’m doing the right thing. So why does it feel so wrong?
AS I drive out of Atlanta, I can’t help acknowledging the parallels of how this whole thing began. I know that Alyssa’s right. I’m running, but this time, it’s not to get away from an unwanted future. I’m doing it to determine how I can save the one I want more than anything.
When I come to that same choice, north or south, there’s no hesitation. I go north. There’s a gravitational pull that has me steering towards Belle Meade, towards Branson, and I have to force myself not to drive there. Instead, I drive towards the mountains, to the perfect place for my seclusion.
It reminds me of our honeymoon talk. It feels almost like a betrayal going there without him, yet it seems like the perfect place for me to figure out where to go from here.
OF ALL the things I’ve been labeled, ‘psycho stalker’ has never been one of them. But as I throw my phone on the couch next to me, I have a feeling that moniker might soon stick.
Thirty-six unanswered calls. Thirty-six unanswered text messages. Thirty-six long, excruciating hours since I discovered that Ariana was gone. Thirty-six hours since I left my house silently, foolishly hoping she’d walk back in that door. Thirty-six hours to replay over and over in my head how terribly I reacted. Thirty-six hours wasted when I should’ve been chasing after her. If she won’t talk to me over the phone, then I’ll find her and make her listen even if I have to tie her up until she agrees to stay.
Rushing to my room, I quickly pack a bag and hop in my car, racing towards the interstate. The last thing I want to do is spend four hours in the car with the faint scent of coconut teasing my senses, but it’s the fastest way I can get to her.
My nerves are practically fried when I pull up to her c
ondo, and the closer I get to her door, the more my heart begins to race. How do I make her listen? How can I make her tell me the truth? Do I even deserve the truth? Does it even matter? Hell, what I deserve is a door slammed in my face, so I have to figure out how to keep that from happening. I’m unsure of what to say, unsure of what I’m going to hear. The only thing I’m sure of is that I have to fix this.
Bracing myself on the doorframe, I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I knock once, quickly and deliberately, waiting a beat, but no one answers. Two more knocks. Nothing. Fuck this.
I pound on the door, feeling as if the world’s caving in on me as I wait for her to answer. What if I was wrong? What if she’s not here? I have nowhere else to look, and I can’t accept that. I can’t accept that I’ve lost her forever.
My heart falters when Alyssa answers the door, her expression tight. “Can I help you?” she asks coolly, and I know she’s talked to her sister. Even though she’s glaring at me, that gives me hope.
“I need to see her,” I say, my voice low.
She sets her chin and doesn’t move or open the door to let me in. “She’s not here, Branson.”
My eyes narrow, challenging her, and she doesn’t flinch.
“Let me in, Alyssa,” I order gruffly.
She rolls her eyes but moves aside. I rush past her, taking in my surroundings. As I stalk through the condo, there isn’t a single sign of Ariana and I know Alyssa’s right.
She’s not here.
I’ve lost her.
Pain rushes through me, one unlike any I’ve ever felt before. This can’t be it. This can’t be over.
I fall onto the couch, running a hand through my hair, trying to figure out where to go from here. Alyssa interrupts my thoughts by handing me a cup of coffee.
I look up at her in surprise. “What’s this for?”
She gives me a small smile. “You look like you could use it.”
