Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel)

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

My mom's apartment is so icy that the vodka's cold even though it's been sitting on the counter for the last three months. There's only about a third of it left. I take a long swig straight from the bottle, ignoring the burning that brings tears to my eyes. I have to drink it fast, there's too little of it left to have any real effect if I don't.

I can't believe I called Gail back. Can't believe I confused her even more by telling her I love her and want to be with her, then refusing to return. Though maybe she's even more pissed off at me now because of it. Maybe my weakness worked for the best for once.

I couldn't face going up into this apartment once I finally reached it. So I sat downstairs in the car, letting it idle, because the moment I turned off the engine that would be it. Once I did that, I'd have left Gail for good. My fingers dialed her number before my thoughts caught up to what was happening. The need was too great, too dire, the pull too strong. But I should've fought it.

I sit down at the table, take another long drink. My throat and stomach are both burning now, but at least that pain masks the other one, the one which feels like my heart's been beaten and bruised, is bleeding now, and not how it's supposed to. I drink more. But I already know it's no good. I'll get messed up physically, sure, but my mind will stay clear. Like it usually does, unless I drink a whole bottle. Drowning my sorrows never actually worked for me.

There's a noise in the hallway, sounds like footsteps on the stairs, and my heart stops. I'm completely paralyzed, my whole body taut, waiting for the knock. Which doesn’t come. And I recognize the noise for what it is now. They're opening the bakery downstairs. The smell of freshly baked bread and pastries is already filling the apartment. It turns my stomach.

I finish off the vodka and take out my phone, stare at the picture of Gail all swaddled up in a huge scarf, fat snowflakes covering her black woolen hat, her cheeks cherry red from the cold. I took that picture in Alaska, and the tall mountains are just barely visible behind her through the falling snow.

I could just call her back. Tell her everything. Maybe we can work it all out together. But the thought sends a cold stab straight through my stomach like someone's aimed an icy cold jet of water at me. The threat is too great.

Instead I dial the number Mike called me from. But it just rings a few times then disconnects. No voicemail. I try again and again. Maybe the guards will find the phone, take it away from him. Lock him up more securely. But that would solve nothing. I have to talk to him, have to make him take his threat back.

Vodka won't solve this, feeling sorry for myself won't solve this. Calling Gail won't solve it. Mike has to take it back.

The sky outside is almost white now, no sunshine, just a shimmering wintery mist. My skin is cold, but my insides are burning. I call Jerry. I've waited long enough. Maybe he knows something.

"What?" he answers groggily. In the background, I can hear his bed creaking.

"Do you have any news on Mike's case?" I ask.

"Scott, it's five in the morning," he says and starts coughing, hacking up a wad of phlegm loudly.

"Do you?" I ask right over his coughing. "About Gail's case?"

"They accepted the diminished capacity plea," Jerry says, his voice raw. "He's already at the psych ward. Haven't you spoken to him?"

"There's no way he's doing time for attempted murder then?" I ask.

"No," Jerry says and lights a cigarette, exhaling into the phone. "It's unusual it went over so smoothly for him. Diminished capacity is hard to get."

"Must be his friends," I mutter, before realizing I've actually spoken aloud.

"What friends?" Jerry asks, his voice sharp and clear all of a sudden. "What do you know, Scott?"

"Nothing," I say. "Forget I called."

He falls silent, probably struggling with himself whether to pester me more or let it go.

"How is Gail?" he finally asks, and I'm glad he decided on letting it go. Tears are in my eyes now, cold because the apartment is so chilly my breath’s misting.

"Fine," I managed to say before my voice cracks.

"She'll get better as time passes," Jerry says, probably to save me the embarrassment.

I just nod, even though he can't see me. I say goodbye, because call waiting is beeping in my ear. And I really hope it's Gail. But at the same time I don't.

"What are you doing calling me?" Mike hisses into my ear.

I clear my throat, keep my voice as level and non-threatening as I can. "I'll do whatever you want me to, Mike, just leave Gail and her family out of it. Please."

I hate groveling before him like this, and my whole body is actually seething with hatred, but I somehow manage to keep it out of my voice.

"Did you break up with her?" Mike asks.

"Yes."

"Then she's safe," Mike hisses.

"Can't we just be rational about this?" I ask. "I'll do what you want."

"I want you not to see her," he says. "She makes you weak and we have work to do."

"What work?"

"I have to go now, we'll talk later."

"Why is it so important to you that I don't see Gail anymore?" I ask anyway. He has to take his threat back. There's no other way.

"Don't call me again. I'll call you," he whispers and disconnects.

Tears are running down my face now, colder than my frozen skin. All anger, hatred, fire, hope, desire to make this alright are gone, obliterated by vast, endless, paralyzing sadness. Gail thinks I cheated on her and I can't even call her and beg her to forgive me.

The vodka's gone and apart from the room spinning slightly as I walk to the bed, I'm as sober as I was when I came here. I get into bed without even taking my shoes off, and pull the blanket up over my head. The two air mattresses sag under my weight, since I should add more air. But I can't move anymore, can't even think.

I keep my mind completely blank, only focus on seeing black. Like that Aikido exercise for falling asleep I read about once. I let nothing touch me, just see the black. But I still have no fucking idea how I actually manage to fall asleep.

Once the sky outside is completely white, I finally get up from the kitchen table, my whole body stiff because I haven't moved for hours.

I slip off my dress, put on my pajamas, take off my make up, brush my teeth. But the bed smells like Scott, his cologne mixed with clear winter air and the faint scent of our lovemaking. Tears well from my eyes, but I don't sob, don't even whimper. They're coming hot and thick, and I'm seeing the floor as though through a sheet of water as I walk to the living room and lie down on the couch, wrapping myself in the blanket.

I wish he'd call back, but mostly I wish we could start last night over again differently, that we never went to Kate's party. But that would change nothing. Certainly not his wish to cheat on me, and be rid of me. So instead, I wish I could rewind time back to late last summer. I'd walk away from him after he refused to go for a drink, and never look at him again this time.

I wipe away my tears on the blanket, and new ones don't come. I can rewind time to that point in my mind. I can pretend Scott was just a distraction. A way to feel better. My stomach clenches at the thought, and my heart feels like it just burst open, is spewing a mess of blood and scabs. Because I can't pretend that.

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