Gut-wrenching memory!
"Hi," he says, stunned to see me standing at his door.
He doesn't invite me in. Another blow to my already shattered ego, but I stand my ground.
"We need to talk," I say, ice in my voice but dying inside.
"What is there to say?" he responds blasé and stares at the floor.
"Why? What happened, Mike? You just walked away, without a word. Don't I deserve more?"
I wish he'd look at me, but he does not.
He's leaning on the doorframe, his arm stretched out holding the door open, still looking down. The black pants and blue shirt are gone. He's now wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and no shoes.
My heart is beating out of my chest, my pulse racing with the adrenaline coursing through my body. My stomach is in knots, and I fear my resolve is about to betray me, as I fearfully wait for his response.
He finally looks up and stares into the distance. There is emptiness in his eyes. It's hard to witness.
"We just grew apart. We don't see each other enough. You were across the country living and studying in Chicago, and I'm here. Plus, I've seen other people…" he trails off.
I examine him, taking in his words. I break them down syllable by syllable, trying to find clues to what I have done wrong, looking for the signs to when my misstep led him to walk away from us.
I feel overcome and struggle to figure out what I'm doing here, praying I don't fall apart in front of him.
I have just graduated from college, and moved to Los Angeles to be closer to him and to live with Marie. I met him three years ago, when I was visiting Marie on Christmas break, and it had been Mike and Ellie ever since.
This was supposed to be our chance to finally be together full time, to break the distance and time constraints, to move our relationship forward, to…
Clearly, those were my wishes not his.
"I've seen other people too," I respond, trying to abate the sting of his confession.
He finally looks at me, wide-eyed, dismayed.
"I understood that during the time we were apart, you'd do your thing and I would do mine. No questions, no explanations. But it was always you and me at the end of the day," I finish.
He's gaping at me like I've grown two heads.
That hurt him? Really?
His ego is hurt.
Well, my heart is broken!
"I just think the distance did us in," he recovers and looks at the floor again, like a coward, a quitter trying to pass his excuses off as facts. "You know, long distance relationships don't work, not really and…"
Why didn't he break up with me before? Why did he wait until we were living in the same city? Why didn't he break up with me in person? Why just walk away and ignore me? Why?
I study him one last time while he speaks, burning to my memory those dreamy eyes that will never gaze into mine again, the lips that will never kiss mine, the hair I will never run my hands through, the hands that will never hold me. And all I hear is static noise in the form of bullshit coming out of his mouth.
In this instant, I love him and hate him.
I'm not going to get the answers I'm looking for, and I've had enough. I feel sick, literally sick. I fear I will pass out.
I have to end this charade, now.
"I wasted so much time loving you…for this! Goodbye, Mike," I utter with contempt and quickly walk away.
I'm trying to keep a normal pace, but inside I'm running toward the car. Marie is gaping at me from the front seat of Sam's black Honda Accord. Her eyes wide, in awe that I'm still standing, and ready to jump out of the car to catch me if I fall.
I open the back door and get in.
"Let's go," I say quietly.
Marie turns back to look at me, dumbfounded.
"What happened?" asks Sam, trying to catch a glimpse of me through the rearview mirror as we drive away.
"We talked," I reply and let the tears flow.
I'm sobbing like a small child, feeling the weight of the world around me, the loss, my foolishness, and his indifference.
I can't handle so many disillusions at once.
He is my first grown-up love. The first guy I made love to. The only guy I have made love to because he is — was — the one. Three years of my life spent loving someone who didn't love me.
I feel shattered, played, and ridiculous!
"What did you expect? Did you need a neon sign on his forehead telling you it's over?" blurts Sam.
Fuck, thanks a lot!
Guys and their lack of sympathy…
"Shut up, Sam, and take us home!" barks Marie.
CHAPTER 4
I STAND UNDER the warm water a bit longer. It's really over. It's been four months since I spoke with him, five since he left me. Confronting him changed nothing. His words were hogwash, and there's nothing I can do about it.
Now if I could just find a balm to temper the cold in my chest, that dark and bottomless pit that now lives where my heart used to be.
The cure is in my hands. Marie has reminded me enough times.
"You have to love yourself more, Ellie. You have to help yourself, Ellie. You can do better than him, Ellie. You deserve better, Ellie."
I need a way out of this labyrinth of melancholy I'm lost in.
Marie is still in my bedroom when I get out of the shower.
Has she been here the whole time?
"Just wanted to make sure you're okay. You know, make sure you hadn't drowned yourself in the shower," she mocks.
I roll my eyes.
"It's been way too long since you 'confronted' him, Ellie, four eternal months, and it's gotten you nowhere. These stints in bed have to stop!"
Her hands are on her hips, as she's scolding me. Lovingly but scolding me…again.
"I know, I promise I'm trying," I say to placate her. "I was just remembering the day I 'confronted' him," I imitate her air quotes. "I can't believe I actually stood there in front of him, defiant, demanding an explanation. But, God, inside I was falling apart, Marie, begging him to reconsider."
I shake my head in disbelief. I can still feel the anxiety I felt that day.
"I'm glad I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart. At least I have that," I sigh.
"I can't believe it either," she admits. "That was one brave ass move, Ellie."
But she's not done with me and begins her lecture.
"Where's that fearlessness now? It's time to prove to yourself, not him, the kind of woman you are. I know you're smart, strong, resilient, loving, beautiful, and so much more. But do you? Have you forgotten? If you don't get back to the land of the living, Ellie, you might as well have dropped to your knees in front of him and begged him to take you back."
Damn, she's harsh!
Relationships seem to come easy to her. She's a petite, beautiful, outgoing girl, with lovely olive skin and long, dark hair, a firecracker that you don't want to mess with. She's never been hurt this badly, and I don't wish it on her.
She's right. Where have I gone? I gave Mike the best of me, and he threw it away. The rational side of my brain is screaming at me to take back my shattered self and fix it.
Get off your ass and get back to living, Ellie!
The rational side of me has a point.
"Well, if you're done berating me," I give her a weak smile and a wink. "Can we go out for lunch now?"
She exhales sharply, "Good girl!"
CHAPTER 5
MARIE HAS BEEN on my case every weekend. She's been keeping me busy and distracted, so I don't stay in bed moping over Mike.
It's been a month since my last stint in bed.
Today, she's dragged me to NORMS for breakfast, and we hit the .99 Cent store for kitchen and bathroom essentials. We're home by late morning and have put everything away.
I still feel a bit numb at times, but I remind myself that life goes on. It will go on, whether I'm part of
it or not.
Do I want to spend the next year completely unaware and oblivious to life, stuck on the loss of a love that was probably never mine in the first place? Or do I move on, as best as I can, one day at a time, making the best of every day?
I choose the latter, because as overwhelming as the loss of Mike feels, losing a year of my life, or even another day, sitting around wishing for someone who will not come back to me is foolish and just too high of a price to pay.
I haven't arrived at this conclusion solely on my own. Marie and Rob have been there for me every step of the way, patiently holding my hand through every bout of depression. I'm very lucky they love me so much and have been so patient.
All those plans I had when I thought I'd be sharing them with Mike are still viable. I just have to tweak them to work solely for myself, and slowly but surely, I'm becoming okay with that.
I'm even getting back to social media, after shunning it for half a year. I hadn't had the strength to see anything related to Mike. To watch him move on, happy, living his life without me was too much to handle. Why torture myself further?
Instagram is my social media distraction at the moment. I'm checking one of my favorite accounts, when Marie walks into my bedroom.
"Sam texted me and wants to go out," she shows me her iPhone. "I think you should come too. I mean, pity-weekends may be behind you, but you can certainly use a good distraction," she says, with a tinge of sarcasm.
"So go. He wants to see you, not me."
"Oh no, I'm not going to leave you here to somehow rationalize that it's okay to get back into bed and start another pity-party. Please come with us," she pleads with me.
"I'm not a child, Marie," I blurt out. "I'll keep myself busy."
"Stop acting like one and I'll stop worrying about you," she counters.
Ouch, Miss Know-it-all!
The last thing I want is to feel like a third wheel, and I tell her so.
"You're never a third wheel, and you certainly won't be one tonight."
"What does she mean?" I wonder aloud.
"Jack is coming with. In fact, he's driving."
Jack? I barely know him. I don't even remember what he looks like.
"Driving where and why Jack?" I ask confused.
Marie gives me a sly gaze and heads to my closet to rummage.
"Can I borrow this?" She holds up my new, black, cropped top.
"Of course." I don't know why she's asking. Half my clothes are already in her closet — my tops anyway, because the bottoms are too long for her.
"Answer me. Why Jack?"
She explains that Sam knows she'll only go out if I come along, and he suggested Jack could join us.
"So I won't feel like the third wheel," I interrupt her.
"Well, yea, but it's not like that. Besides, he's sweet. You're really going to like him."
All I know about Jack are the off-hand comments I've heard Mike make.
"Jack's got the ladies eating out of his hands." Or "Women love Jack, doesn't hurt he's got a nice car."
From what I've heard Mike and Sam say, they consider Jack the "stunner" of the four. I'm not sure why they've given him that moniker, since they're all good looking in their own way.
To me, Mike is the hot one, obviously.
As hard as I try to remember him, I have no idea what Jack looks like…strange.
My mood's been much better lately, but can I take a night out with someone I don't really know?
Hmm, small talk with "stunner" Jack?
It can't go any worse than the last time I went out with her and Sam, the disastrous wedding that led to the confrontation with Mike.
Marie is insisting that I come, when her cell pings with a text.
"Sam is asking if it's a go. They'll pick us up at 7:00 p.m. I won't go without you," she stresses.
She really wants to see Sam, and I don't want to spoil her plans. I hear my iPhone ping.
Sam: You better say yes Ellie!
Damn, now Sam's on my case!
Marie grins, because she knows he just texted me.
"Fine, I'll go, but I can't guarantee that I'll be good company. You may be asking for it," I say playfully.
"Ha, you put up with me, I put up with you. That's how it works, muñe."
I laugh and make faces at her, because as exasperating as she can be, her intentions are always good.
●●●
I've succeeded at hiding my dark circles and have made my best attempt to style my hair. I've always looked well put together, but the last six months have been a challenge in that department. If I wash my face and moisturize, I consider it a victory.
I've put much less effort into my wardrobe, jeans, a faded blue T-shirt, and old, black Vans sneakers. Marie is also in jeans, but she's wearing the cropped top she borrowed earlier.
"Where exactly are we going?" I ask.
Maybe I should rethink the Vans.
"To a bar in Santa Monica to watch the fight. The guys are deciding which one, don't worry about it. We'll have fun."
The fight?
"I don't even like boxing," I mumble to myself.
"It's not about the boxing but the company," she peers at me from under her lashes.
Yikes, I didn't mean for her to hear that.
The doorbell rings.
Here we go.
●●●
Sam is leaning against a black Mercedes Benz AMG C63 S sedan that's parked in front of our house, his arms folded. He's gone all out to impress Marie, dark jeans, plum shirt, dressy sneakers, hair nicely styled, and he smells fantastic.
"Hello, beautiful ladies," he gives each of us a kiss on the cheek, though Marie gets an extra hug.
Jack is standing by the driver's door.
This must be his car.
Marie walks over to him and greets him with a kiss on the cheek. He tosses a grin in my direction and gives me a half-wave. I reply in kind. He quickly gets in the car and turns on the engine.
"You go in the front with Jack," Sam instructs.
"No, please, I don't know him," I whimper mortified.
He looks from me to Marie, back at me, and finally takes pity. He asks if I'd like him to ride with me in the back. I nod yes.
Marie beams at him sweetly. "Thank you, Sam," she says softly.
He smiles at her, then opens the back door for me and the front for her.
CHAPTER 6
IT'S A SHORT ride from Culver City to Santa Monica, so we'll get to the bar in no time.
Jack doesn't make an attempt to speak to me, nor I to him. He's in deep conversation with Marie about their mutual jobs.
Marie is bragging about her job as a graphic designer at a boutique ad agency. She has every right to boast, it's a pretty sweet gig. Jack, apparently, manages a chain of upscale coffee shops.
"Jack is wicked smart, great with numbers. I don't know why he didn't get an MBA," I recall Mike saying once.
Sam is extra sweet to me. I feel at ease with him, as he keeps me company in the back seat.
"You have such nice hair," I say to him, trying to be sociable and extend my hand to touch it. It's light brown, almost ash-blond, and very soft.
"I know," he answers and playfully rests his head on my lap.
"Do make yourself at home," I tease, running my hand through his hair.
"I'm glad you came out with us," he responds, looking up at me smiling, and I sense he means it.
●●●
"We're here," Jack announces, as he parks the car.
Marie walks alongside Jack toward Sonny McLean's, while Sam and I follow behind them.
An Irish pub to watch a fight? Go figure.
It's early, and we get a table right away.
"This place gets pretty noisy sometimes," says Jack, "but it'll do to watch the fight."
I nod and take a seat next to Marie.
"Drinks, beer?" asks Jack.
I
don't know much about beer and rarely, if ever, drink the stuff. Sam notices my hesitation and immediately offers his expertise, "Stella is a good choice."
We all approve, and Jack takes care of ordering. The beers arrive with enough food to feed ten people.
I'm trying hard to be present, to enjoy the moment, and join in the conversation, but I'm finding it difficult to escape my reveries of Mike. It doesn't take much to pull me into the abyss of my subconscious, a rerun of my memories eternally on auto replay. I catch myself and get back to sipping my beer and eating fries.
Between reaching for fries and taking small sips of beer, I catch Jack watching me. He gives me a polite smile, and I respond with a small grin.
He must think I'm an asshole, a tragic, sad little person he's been forced to tolerate.
I don't care.
He seems nice, though. I haven't heard him make any comments about Mike or the horrible wedding fiasco. I wonder if girls really do take to him. Mike made it sound like he was a stud with a nice car. He doesn't seem arrogant enough to be a player, but then, I've only given him a couple of glances.
"Are you okay?" whispers Marie.
"Sure, I'm enjoying my beer, and these fries are fantastic!" I respond with an extra huge smile, making her laugh.
"Well, at least you're eating. Any interest in joining the conversation?"
I shake my head no and get back to my food.
Most of the night is a haze.
I don't know who won the fight. I don't even know who was fighting. I'm just buzzed from two beers and riding home in the back seat with Sam, softly singing Alejandro Sanz's "Siempre Es de Noche," which is playing in the car.
●●●
"Good night," says Jack. He gives Marie a kiss on the cheek, and I get another awkward wave.
I don't blame him.
I grab the keys from my purse, walk in the house, and head for my bedroom. Marie walks in a few minutes later.
"That was nice, wasn't it?" She sits on the corner of my bed, her expression hopeful that I had a good time, despite my zombie-like state the entire night.
I wish I could say it was a fun night for me too, but the truth is I remember very little of it.
The Thing About Love... (The Thing About... #1) Page 2
