“Are you coming back to my place?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Absolutely.”
21
Breaking
“Happy birthday, babe.”
“It’s not my birthday yet.” I snuggle into Aiden’s side, my smile mashing into his chest hair which tickles my lips. My phone is vibrating incessantly on the floor. I’m guaranteed to find a hundred missed calls and texts wondering where the hell I’m at. A girl’s gotta get laid.
I force myself away from his warm embrace and sit up. The air is cool on my exposed skin and my nipples pucker from the chill. Or they could be reacting to the proximity of my dream man. Either way, I could cut glass if need be.
“Come on. We have to get to my friend’s house.” I got in my birthday romp and my much-needed alone time but now we have to socialize.
“Yeah, about that…” My stomach drops at his tone. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. He can’t be doing this again. I wrack my brain, going over our conversations to call him out, to tell him he promised me this time.
But he didn’t. He never did, and he never has.
Dread fills my gut and agony is close to consuming me. I double over, clutching the covers in my hand as I beg myself to wake up from this nightmare. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“I’m not coming. Chels, I can’t.”
WHY? I want to scream at him. I want to yell and kick and fight and make him feel an ounce of the pain he’s continued to cause me the past few weeks. Over and over again he lets me down and I keep coming back for more. I’m a sadist for the pain and I give him all the power.
And boy, does he abuse it.
“Why? Please, come. Please. I don’t want to beg you, but I’m begging you. This means the world to me.” I know deep in my gut that all the begging in the world won’t cause him to change his mind. It hasn’t before. Why would it now?
“Chels.” He exhales my name and a piece of me breaks.
A fissure forms in my heart; it’s loud and painful. I fear he can hear the crack splitting through my aorta because of how he’s letting me down. How many cracks can one heart take before it shatters? I can’t even count the individual cracks anymore. It’s more pieces hanging on by a thread, barely connecting to one another to form any resemblance of a heart.
That’s why he had me come back to his place, so he could still get laid but get out of the party. The realization crushes me more than a broken promise ever would. He never intended to be there for more. For any of it.
I shake my head to keep the tears at bay because I don’t want to cry in front of him even if my heart is screaming with emotion. I can’t look at him. Even if I could or I wanted to, I wouldn’t want him to see the disappointment and devastation settling on my face.
I’ll be the only person at my own birthday party without a date. I’m embarrassed at the thought.
I get up and get dressed. “Chels.” He doesn’t get up, doesn’t even move. “Look at me.” I shake my head again. I can’t. What doesn’t he understand?
“It’s fine.” I harden my voice to keep the emotion out. I’m shutting down, yet my walls are building up. Why do I keep allowing him to do this? Because I love him and that’s all that matters.
“Don’t be mad.” I understand what parents mean when they say ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.’
“I have to go.” Please, stop me. Please, please, please. Don’t let me go.
“I’ll walk you out.” I didn’t think my heart could sink any lower.
∞ ∞ ∞
I wipe the stray tears off my cheeks and get out of my car, texting Ali and Callie I’m here!
They come running out of Ali’s front door to greet me and I plaster on a big, fake smile. They falter for a moment, exchanging an obvious look. I catch it and understand the meaning behind it. Where’s Aiden and is she okay?
It’s like they’re screaming at me. My not-so-boyfriend is a total dick who bailed on me on my birthday, yeah, I get it. No, I’m not okay. But I won’t let it bring me down tonight. I’m going to get trashed and forget Aiden was even supposed to be here with me.
“Sorry, I got a little caught up.” Now I’m apologizing because I got laid. I shouldn’t have to apologize for having a healthy sex drive. Plus, birthday sex is an acceptable excuse to be late, and it’s my party anyway—I can be late if I want to.
“Where’s your boy?” Ali asks, and Callie gives her a nasty, pointed stare. I almost laugh because being blindly dense is so Ali.
“He can’t make it.” There’s a brief awkward moment, but I don’t let it linger. “Is everyone here? I need a drink.” I link arms with my girls and we head downstairs to Ali’s basement.
A small part in the back of my brain is reminding me I’m still late and there’s a chance I’m pregnant. But… what are the chances?
I’m sure it’s fine. I plan to forget all about it for tonight. Fuck it.
“Happy birthday!” I’m greeted to a chorus of wishes, some more enthusiastic than others. The girls are loud and excited while their boyfriends are timid and weird. A bitter taste forms in my mouth as I see them all paired up, but I force it down. I won’t be a party pooper at my own birthday.
I take a shot of vodka to start the night, wincing as it goes down. “Let’s do this.” I can tell Callie is worried about me, but I blow her off. Not tonight. I won’t let the pain fester. I love my birthday and I intend to celebrate the shit out of it.
We take a ton of pictures we can’t even post because we’re underage and drinking, with beer bottles and red solo cups littered in the background. Not to mention the boys’ presence wasn’t allowed by pretty much anyone and yet, here we are.
We play card games until I’m drunk as a skunk. I glance down at my phone, expecting a ton of groveling to have begun. In reality, I don’t have one fucking message from Aiden since I left, and that sets me on fire. I’m livid.
How fucking dare he? I asked for one goddamn night from him. One night where he stops being a ridiculously selfish asshole and puts me first. He never has before, so I guess I was stupid to assume this one time he would. Why would he ever think my birthday deserves a celebration?
Insert internal eye-roll here.
I wish it didn’t hurt so fucking much and I wish I didn’t love him so much. I wish one of my friends took my phone away and hid it until morning until I was thinking more clearly. I wish. I wish. I wish.
The lights are off and everyone is passed out on the couch or the floor, cuddling with their boyfriends. Callie and her man are on one side of the couch and I’m lying by myself on the opposite end. Sarah and hers are on the floor. Ellie and hers are on another couch in the back of the basement. And since it’s Ali’s house, she has the liberty of sleeping in her own bed with her boyfriend.
I’m alone and harshly aware of that fact. I bring up my texts though the room is spinning and my screen is blurry. I want to yell and scream and hit. I want to say mean things I can’t take back, things I don’t even mean.
I want to cry and show him how much he hurt me. I want him to feel an ounce of my devastation and for him to explain why he never ceases to let me down. Why has he never fought for us? Why am I killing myself trying to hold on to him?
Hi.
God, I fucking hate myself. I pussy out and send him the most unoriginal, unemotional word in the English language. Of all the millions of combinations of things I could say to him, out of every emotional response I could give him, I end up on hi. How pathetic.
I wait and wait and wait some more until my eyes grow heavy and then my phone vibrates.
Hi.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. I waited up for hours for that? I deserve an apology of epic proportions. Yet, deep down, I know it won’t matter. He doesn’t have to even verbalize his excuse and I’ll still forgive him, anyway.
Because I love him. And that’s all that matters.
Sometimes love sucks.
I wish you
would’ve come.
I’m drunk and it’s late, which means I’m being brutal in my honesty. Part of me wants to hide behind my emotions and not express how hurt I am by him or how in love with him I am. But the other part of me is glad to get something, anything off my chest. For him to have even the smallest inkling of what he’s putting me through.
If he experiences even one ounce of remorse, I would feel the slightest bit better. It’s a horrible sentiment, but he should feel guilty. If he doesn’t… he’s either a sociopath or he has no emotion toward me whatsoever. If those are my two options, I’d rather he be a sociopath. That’s how fucked up I am over him.
Love’s a funny thing. A person can break you down until you’re nothing but a shell of a person and still, no matter what they do to you, you’ll defend them. You won’t stop loving them. You keep taking them back despite all the heartache they’ve caused.
All because you love them. And love conquers all, right? I mean, I have a tattoo on my back saying so; it must be true. Except, I don’t know if it is anymore.
I used to believe it with every fiber of my being—no matter what life threw at me or us, we’d come out stronger. That our love could conquer the world.
And maybe love can mend heartbreak and it can absolve one’s faults and guilts, but there’s a huge caveat no one ever mentions: it has to be reciprocated. Unrequited love doesn’t heal or conquer all. It hurts. It breaks. It shatters. It destroys.
Maybe I love Aiden but he doesn’t love me. He’s told me how much he likes me and wants to be with me. He’s risked his job for me. He’s met my dad and Callie and told Reese about us. But in comparison, those actions don’t outweigh his others.
Not coming to my parties, not supporting me, ripping my heart out repeatedly before sewing it back together—those are big signs. I could never guess which Aiden will win out on any day. Will he want me today or will he give up on us?
I shouldn’t have to live like that. It’s not fucking fair. I’ve put everything on the line for him. I broke up with my boyfriend after cheating on him. I’ve transferred stores and jumped through hoop after hoop. I wear my heart on my goddamn sleeve for him, always affirming my feelings for him.
And in return I’m a fucking booty call.
He doesn’t respond to my text. I keep thinking I can’t get lower than I already am and somehow he pushes me down deeper.
The basement is silent except for steady breathing as all my friends sleep and dream beside their loved ones. I cry. No, I sob. It’s ugly and I fear I’ll wake everyone up with my gasps and sniffles.
I grab a tissue box off a coffee table and set it on the floor beside me so I can grab a Kleenex as I need them. It’s pathetic. Happy birthday to me. What a way to bring in my nineteenth year.
I must fall asleep because I’m woken up by Callie shaking me and whispering my name. “Chels. Wake up!”
“WHAT?” I yell, my sleepy brain not registering her whisper and therefore I too need to be quiet. I notice her scramble back to the other side of the couch and curl back into her boyfriend’s side.
I blink several times, adjusting to the dark room. The sun isn’t yet peeking in from the tiny windows in the basement. I illuminate my phone—noting I don’t have any unread messages—and see it’s just after five in the morning.
I abruptly realize why Callie woke me up so early when moaning and slapping of skin from behind the couch fills the space. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. The wet smacking makes me want to gag and Sarah’s voice calls out her boyfriend’s name on a breathy whisper. She’s unable to contain herself and I’m close to retching.
“I want to leave,” Callie whisper shouts and I nod in agreement. I have to drive her home since her parents don’t know the guys were at my party.
We get up, no longer caring if our horny friend sees or hears us. Still, we tiptoe up the basement stairs and our expressions are matching, horrified grimaces.
One day it might be funny but for now I’m disgusted. Sarah gets laid at my birthday party when my boyfr-whatever couldn’t even show up. The irony is not lost on me.
I don’t know what Callie will tell her parents when she gets home. Her parents are pretty strict and her coming home at this hour will raise red flags. However, I’m too damn tired to care.
I thought I’d be used to waking up at all hours of the night and driving around since that’s what I do with Aiden. But no, I’m fucking exhausted and I can’t wait to go home and sleep more. I’m sure it has something to do with my crying fit last night, but I’m hoping the evidence has worn off by now.
I drop my best friend off and rush home before I fall asleep on the road. I’m tempted to drive to Aiden’s place and crash with him, but we left things on such a weird note. I don’t even feel comfortable going there right now.
When I get home, it’s a quarter of six o’clock. The sun is rising, my dad is awake, and my dogs bark to greet me.
“You’re home early.” My dad takes in my appearance, but he doesn’t want to talk about my emotions right now, or ever, so he ignores the obvious. This is why I love my dad. If I want to talk to him, he’ll listen, but he also doesn’t pry.
“I couldn’t sleep.” It’s not a total lie. Once I woke up to hearing my friend orgasm I was never getting back to sleep, anyway.
I trek into my room and lie down, turning on the TV for a distraction. I put on One Tree Hill and fall asleep wishing I had a relationship like Nathan and Haley.
22
We Found Love (Hopeless Place)
Saturday is uneventful and flies by. When I wake up on my birthday, there’s a fire in my belly, ready to conquer the world and make nineteen my best year yet.
I’ve always loved my birthday, I mean, what’s not to love? You get cake and presents and it’s a day where people have to celebrate you, even if you’re not the favorite child. I may be biased, but I also think October is the best month, within the best season. The weather is still nice but getting cool—not too hot and not yet too cold. October in Pennsylvania is a beautiful thing.
“Happy birthday, kiddo.” My dad hugs me and places a kiss atop my head. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Two eggs over-easy. And scrapple if we have any.” I wait, scrolling through my phone while my dad prepares my breakfast. “Thank you,” I tell him when he sets my plate down.
My dogs sit on either side of me, begging for food. The telltale sound of a lock clicks out of place and my sister emerges from her bedroom. “Happy birthday, Chels.”
She plops down at the table beside me and our dad makes her breakfast too. She’s latched onto her phone, texting her boyfriend. I’ve never been jealous of my sister, but at this moment I am. I want to be texting Aiden and to be in a happy, healthy relationship like she is.
When my mom gets home from work, she brings me presents. “Happy birthday!” My dogs dig through the bags hopeful that whatever is in them is for them.
I get clothes, money, and books I won’t have time to read because I’m too busy with school or work or pining for Aiden.
“Where do you want to go to dinner tonight?” My mom asks once I finish opening presents.
“I don’t know. Olive Garden sounds good.” I’m a sucker for their breadsticks.
When we go to dinner, my parents tell the restaurant it’s my birthday. My cheeks burn under my skin and I’m sure I’m tomato red. I slink down into the seat as the waiters and waitresses sing a knock-off version of happy birthday. The entire restaurant stares and I want to kill the people who created me.
Throughout the day I get texts from all of my friends wishing me a happy day. My Facebook notifications explode with people who don’t care about me posting on my wall because the website told them I was born today.
My phone vibrates for the umpteenth time today and although it’s not Aiden, it’s Nate and I’m excited he thought of me.
Happy birthday! We have to celebrate when I’m home next.
I wholeheartedly agree.
A few more people from my old store text me and even some new coworkers reach out. It’s sweet and ample love surrounds me and yet I’m disappointed.
There’s one person who didn’t text me, message me, Facebook-wall-me, Snapchat me, tweet me, slide into my fucking DMs or, God, I would’ve taken a goddamn email. The one single person I want attention from more than anyone else. The person who fucked me into oblivion two days ago and then bailed on my birthday party.
Leigh Aiden Venturi. The man I’m in love with. The person I’d do anything for. The one person I’m so desperate to gain approval from couldn’t even take ten seconds to type me a simple birthday text.
How. Low. Can. I. Go?
And no, I’m not talking about the fucking limbo.
I’ve never been so impatient in my life. He’s somehow managed to take control and taint my favorite day. I give him too much power, of that I am aware. But I like when he has power and control over me. Both in and out of the bedroom.
It sucks on a colossal scale when he abuses said power. He has to recognize what he’s doing. I told him how much I love my birthday and for him to not even consider he should say something to me? It’s a dick move for sure, but it’s a power move. He knows what he’s doing. I hate him for it.
∞ ∞ ∞
I’m moving.
That’s the text I wake up to the morning after my birthday. I roll over in my bunk, my back aching from the small, uncomfortable mattress. There’s no mention of my birthday or sorry I forgot. Nothing.
But I guess that also explains why he’s been so hot and cold. He must be insanely stressed between school full-time, work full-time, and now moving.
I stare at those two words on my phone screen and my stomach lurches. What does he mean? Where is he going? It’s the middle of the fall semester. He can’t be dropping out, right? That would be asinine. He’s in his senior year—who would do that?
I ask him and await the reply as I bite my nails. I doubt even awake yet, and—oh, thank God, he responded already.
To a new apartment five minutes away.
My Almost Page 16
