by Wade, Ellie
“So, what are we going to do to get you out of this funk?” Paige asks.
“Convince Loïc to take me back,” I answer with a coy voice.
“Besides that.” She playfully rolls her eyes. “It’s been two weeks since he called. I know it hurts. It totally sucks. But you have to move on.”
“I know,” I state as I twirl the straw around in my glass. “I’m trying.”
“Maybe you just need a change of scenery. We should fly to Cali this weekend and hang out with Georgia. Your sister can cheer anyone up.”
Shrugging, I agree, “Yeah, that could be fun.”
“Well, we have to do something. We can’t have you moping around forever. Babe, I know this isn’t what you wanted, but there are two people in a relationship. You have to respect what Loïc wants.”
“Obviously, I know that.” I let out a sigh.
“So, after dinner, we’ll call Georgia and set up a girls’ weekend. It will be a blast,” Paige says with a smile as she raises her hefty margarita glass. “A toast.” She beams.
I can’t help but smile back. She’s such a great friend.
I raise my now mostly empty glass and tilt it in to tap hers. “To moving on and being happy.”
Paige continues, “To realizing that we only have one life to live and to live it to the fullest.”
I start to say, Cheers, but Paige keeps talking in the never-ending toast, “To friendship and new experiences. And c’est la vie.”
I wait hesitantly, expecting more to come.
“Cheers!” Paige clinks her glass against mine.
“Cheers!” I drink down the rest of my mango drink. Dropping my glass from my lips, I say with a tilt of my head, “Are you seriously using sayings from other languages as advice now?”
“It’s a universal saying, and at least this one applies to the situation.”
“Are you sure?” I throw Paige a smirk, the corner of my lips turning up into a grin.
“Yeah, I think so.” Paige’s eyebrows furrow in the center, like they always do when she’s deep in thought. “Doesn’t it mean, like, seize the day?”
“It means, that’s life.” I shake my head with a laugh.
“Whatever. It still applies.” She tosses a chip in her mouth. “Hey, did you call Maggie today?”
“Yeah, I did…this morning.” I raise my empty margarita glass toward the waiter who’s across the room.
With a smile, he mouths, One more?
I nod. I hardly need a second one of these bad boys, but the feeling is so much more preferable to the deep-seated misery that’s been saturating my mind as of late.
“And?” Paige asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Oh, well…it was weird,” I admit.
“Why?”
“Well…” I think back to the awkward conversation that I had with Maggie earlier. “It wasn’t a natural talk. It felt forced.”
“Really?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s almost like Maggie feels torn between Loïc and me, and she has more history with Loïc. Plus, you know…Cooper and Loïc were so close. So, for that fact alone, I figure, if she has to choose sides, she’ll choose Loïc. I got the feeling that she felt guilty for talking to me, like she was abusing Loïc’s trust or something.”
“Did she say anything about Loïc? Has she talked to him about you?”
“She said that she’s seen him recently, and he looks tired but okay. She said that she brought me up, but he quickly shut her down, stating that he didn’t want to talk about me. So, she didn’t bring me up again.”
“Ouch.” Paige makes a face.
“I know.” I roll my eyes. “Not good.”
“Well”—Paige lets out a large sigh—“it’s not surprising though either.”
I look down to my half-eaten burrito. “I know, but it still hurts.”
“I’m sorry.”
I frown, raising my shoulders and letting them fall. “It is what it is,” I say without conviction.
“Señorita!” Our server places another giant glass in front of me. “You look like you need this.”
“Oh, I do, José. Thank you so much.” I start drinking the cold mango-flavored goodness before José turns to leave.
As I finish my drink, Paige catches me up on her life, which basically consists of work. I’m so proud of my best friend. She has gotten several promotions at her job since she’s been there. We’ve both changed so much in this past year. Last May, our biggest worry was what color nail polish we were going to choose for our mani-pedis.
And, now…
I glance down to my phone and take in the date. I will never forget this date for as long as I live. A year ago today, I was rubbing my bikini-clad body all over a dirty truck in hopes of gaining the attention of a beautiful boy with eyes like the ocean.
And, now…
I feel like I’m drowning in that ocean, unable to escape his depths.
“Paige, can we go?” I say abruptly, interrupting her latest story.
“Um, sure.” She reaches for her purse and pulls out her car keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ll pay the bill and be out, okay?”
I nod. “Okay. Thank you.”
I bolt out of the booth and head toward the exit. Sometimes, when I’m thinking about Loïc, it all becomes too much, and I physically can’t breathe. It feels like the walls are closing in on me, and I’m suffocating. I hate it. I despise my inability to stop it, but when it hits…it just decimates me.
I lean against Paige’s car. The warm spring wind feels good against my skin. The tears come, streaming down my face. I am powerless to stop them.
When the pain becomes too much to bear, the crying ensues. It’s a part of my life now. To be honest, it feels good to cry. It sounds silly, but sometimes, I feel like the tears carry some of the anguish away. It’s my body’s self-preservation technique.
It just hurts so much. Every second of every day, it hurts.
I miss him, and truthfully, I don’t know where to go from here. I hardly know who I am anymore. I’m certainly no longer the girl I was a year ago, before I met Loïc. When one has experienced what it means to love someone with everything they are, they can no longer go back to who they were before.
Since I’ve experienced true, real, unadulterated love, the things that used to give my life meaning seem insignificant now. I’ve come to realize how shallow my life truly was. On the outside, I’m sure I looked like a girl who had it all. At the time, I thought I did, too. All of it was just a facade though.
The reality is, love is everything. It’s the only thing.
Without it, I’m simply empty. It’s the loneliest feeling in the world.
I realize that I’m not the only person who’s ever gone through heartache. I know that people move on from it all the time. I just don’t know how.
Yet…there’s a voice. It’s small and quiet, but it’s there. And it’s telling me that I need a change. I can’t expect to feel whole, to be happy again, if I continue doing what I’m currently doing.
Loïc has been in Michigan for several weeks. It’s been a solid two weeks since that fateful phone call, yet I’m standing here, in the midst of my grief, the same as I’ve been since he told me to let him go. Nothing is changing, and I have a feeling it won’t until I do.
Paige’s face falls when she sees my tear-stained cheeks. “Oh, London.” She pulls me into a hug.
I hold her tight, allowing her unconditional love to fold me in its warmth for a moment.
After a few breaths, I pull back. “Can we drive past his house? Please?”
“London,” Paige protests, carrying a tone of warning.
“I know, but I just need to. Please. We won’t stop. We’re in your car, so even if he’s outside, he probably won’t notice. I need to…just this once. I realize it’s probably not going to help anything, but I feel like I have to see a part of him, even his house, one more time.” I tightly grasp Paige’s arms.
She sighs loudly, an
d I know I’ve won.
“Okay, but just this one time,” she says like a scolding parent.
“Thank you.” I smile.
“Get in the car,” she states with zero enthusiasm.
When we’re both buckled up, Paige pulls out of the parking lot and heads in the direction of Loïc’s house. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”
“Thank you,” I say again sweetly.
“If he’s out in the yard or something, you’d better not jump out of my moving car, or I will never talk to you again.”
“Yes, you will.”
She shakes her head. “Well, I won’t be able to if you’re dead.”
“I’m not going to jump out of your car.” I grin, feeling suddenly lighter with the prospect of possibly seeing Loïc through his window—or better yet, in his yard, on the horizon. God, I sound like a stalker, but I’m okay with that.
The closer we get to Loïc’s neighborhood, the faster my heart beats. I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts as Paige turns onto his street.
“Okay, drive by really slow!” I shout.
“I will. Calm down.” Paige chuckles.
My eyes start to search frantically before his house comes into view. I’m dying to get a glimpse of Loïc, and I know it’s juvenile and bordering on crazy, but I just miss him so much.
When his house is visible, I see a person walking up to his front porch. My body shudders with grief because it’s not him. It’s her.
As Paige passes his house, I don’t get a glimpse of the love of my life; instead, I see the pregnant hooker he’s living with. Sarah is walking toward the house, away from the car in the drive that I’m assuming is hers. She’s wearing short jean shorts and a white tank top. The mounds of her front are clearly visible, all three of them—her boobs and giant belly. And I hate her more because she still looks hot, even with the belly.
Worst of all, she’s carrying light-violet plastic bags, ones that I would recognize anywhere because they are the take-out bags from my favorite Thai restaurant. It’s the one that opened up right after Loïc left. I told him all about it in my letters to him while he was in Afghanistan. I told him how much I loved it and how I couldn’t wait to take him there. But, now, she’s bringing it to him. She’s bringing my Thai from my restaurant to my Loïc.
I hate her. So much.
I understand that the source of my anger isn’t really her, but it’s the fact that Loïc no longer wants me.
But, though I’ve considered it, I could never hate Loïc. I love him too damn much, so I’m going to hate her. And, oh, I do.
As the house, the hooker, and the violet take-out bags get smaller behind me in the distance, all I feel is complete and utter despair.
My shoulders begin to shake as the sobs violently work their way out of me. Hot tears stream down my face like rivers because the sadness is simply too much to contain.
London
“Heartbreak is the most painful kind of torture, and the mind is its greatest ally.”
—London Wright
I’ve had the Notes app on my phone open for what seems like hours now, specifically the entry from New Year’s Eve of last year.
“Oh, Brad. Brad, Brad, Brad, Brad, Brad…” I say with a sigh.
I continue to repeat his name.
Why? I’m not so sure. And, the more I say it, the weirder it sounds.
“Brad.” I nod.
“Brad.” My tone is higher.
“Braaad,” I say, drawing out his name.
It’s official. I’ve up and gone crazy.
I’ve been contemplating calling him all day—truthfully, the better part of this past week. Yet I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it.
It’s been one week since Paige and I stalked past Loïc’s house and saw her walking into the house with the offending bags of Thai food.
Instead of spending last weekend in California with my best friend and sister, like Paige and I had planned last week at dinner, I spent it alone in my room, wallowing in my self-pity and torturing myself by looking at pictures of Loïc and me on my phone.
I hate who I’ve become. This isn’t me, and it’s infuriating. I’ve never let a boy dictate my self-worth or my happiness. Then again, I’ve never been in love before, and Loïc isn’t just any boy. He’s a man.
The man for me, a small voice echoes in my mind.
Oh, stop it!
I loathe myself right now. I don’t understand why I can’t break out of this funk. But I know I need to. This isn’t healthy for me. It’s not who I am. I’m so much stronger than this. I’ve just seemed to misplace my backbone at the moment.
Paige’s words from last week have been on a continuous loop in my mind. “Maybe you just need a change of scenery.”
I think she’s right. Everywhere I look, I’m surrounded by reminders of my time with Loïc, and it’s painful. It’s crazy to think that I’ve spent five years in this city, yet everything brings back images of only the past year. Long gone are the fond recollections of my time in college. As I go through my day, all I see is Loïc, Loïc, Loïc.
I can’t do it anymore. Maybe that means I’m not the strong woman I thought I was. I’m not sure. But I simply can’t continue like this. I’m fading. No matter what I do or what I say, I can’t move on. Thoughts of Loïc consume me, and it has to stop.
Heartbreak is the most painful kind of torture, and the mind is its greatest ally.
I can’t stop thinking about Loïc and how much I love him. The hows, the whys, and the explanations that might never come plague my brain with sorrow. The what-ifs are a constant torment. I might never know what went through Loïc’s mind to make him want to end our relationship, and not knowing is the hardest part.
Yet none of that matters. I can’t control another person. I get that. I can’t make Loïc give me an explanation. I can’t make him change his mind and force him to love me again.
I can only control my own choices, and right now, I’m failing miserably.
So, yes…perhaps I do need a change of scenery. And not just for a weekend. It’s going to have to be for much longer.
I don’t want to leave Paige. I’ll miss her like crazy, but I know that, no matter where our lives lead us, we’ll always be the best of friends. Paige is my family, and distance won’t change that.
And that is why I’m staring at Brad’s contact information. Brad Abernathy, senior editor of the Los Angeles Times. Let’s face it; Brad only offered me a job because he wanted to get in my pants. I know this. I’ve been writing articles for a local online news outlet. That’s hardly the LA Times. But I’d also be stupid not to consider a position there, regardless of why I was being offered it. That is…if the offer is still on the table. It was six months ago. Just because Brad was attracted to me and could use his connections to offer me my dream job doesn’t mean that I owe him anything.
Here goes nothing.
I let out a sigh, full of nerves, as his number starts to ring. I’m hoping it goes to voice mail. It’s much easier to feign confidence over voice mail.
But I’m not that lucky.
“Hello?” he answers, his voice full of poise and swagger, just like I remember.
“Hi, Brad?” The greeting comes out more as a question.
“Yes?”
I clear my throat. “Hi. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met on New Year’s Eve last year. You put your information into my phone.”
“London?” he questions.
My name coming over the phone startles me. For some reason, I was convinced that he wouldn’t remember me. It’s been half of a year since I ran out of that club, and honestly, it feels like a lifetime ago.
“Yeah. London Wright. I’m surprised you remembered my name.”
“Of course I do. It’s not everyday that I meet someone as memorable as you.” His deep voice is thick with sexual undertones, or maybe I’m just reading too much into it, and he always sounds like that.
“Oh…well, I k
now it’s been a while, but I was thinking about relocating to LA. I wondered if the position we spoke about was still available and if there was a chance that I might be able to get an interview.” Goodness, I sound like a rambling idiot. Get your crap together, London.
“No”—he chuckles—“that position has been filled for a while now.”
“Right. Of course.”
I don’t know what I was expecting. Of course it’s been filled. It was silly to get my hopes up, even for a minute.
“I’m sure I could find an open position around here for you,” he says, his voice smooth.
What?
“Really?” I ask in disbelief.
“I’ll look around. Something’s bound to open up. When were you thinking about moving out this way?”
“Honestly, as soon as I can. I just need a job first.”
“I’ll tell you what. I left my email in your phone, correct?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Great. Then, why don’t you send me your résumé and cover letter. I’ll find a position for you and start everything with HR. Then, we’ll send over our offer and paperwork for you to sign sometime tomorrow.”
I can’t believe my luck, but it isn’t adding up. “What about the interview process? Don’t I need to go through that?”
“We’ll consider this a phone interview. I think you’re going to fit in well here.”
I hear the smile in his voice.
This isn’t typically how things work, but I don’t have it in me to care right now. I’m going to be writing for the LA Times! More importantly, I’m going to be living far away from Michigan where my heart will hopefully finally be able to heal.
“That’s amazing. Thank you so much, Brad—um, Mr. Abernathy?”
The rich timbre of his laugh sounds through the earpiece of my phone.
“Brad, London. Definitely Brad.”
“Okay. Well, thank you so much, Brad. I can’t tell you how much this job means to me. I will do my very best for your paper.”
“I know you will. Get that information sent over to me, and we’ll get the ball rolling.”
“I will.” A genuine smile crosses my face for the first time in months.
