Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (2 page)

But I know I can get through this regardless. For the first time in months, I know I’m strong enough to deal with anything. I watched my mom die and survived. Had an abortion, been kidnapped. And I survived. I will survive Scott leaving me too. Get over him cheating on me. Helping his diseased brother without even telling me. Believing I was just a spoiled rich girl using him for a kick. Not trusting that I love him enough to do anything for him, understand everything, work it out, and let it go. Forgive and forget. He wanted me out of his life from the moment I crashed into it. I wish I'd been able to understand just how much he really wanted that sooner. Because then I could have avoided this blinding, jagged, sharp piercing pain in my heart.
 

But he called me back. Told me he loved me. Why?

I let the thought go. That call was all wrapped up in rejection. Neatly, with a bow on top. Frankly, he always sucked at rejection, and maybe that was more about him than me all along. Maybe he just didn't want to be the bastard who chased away a poor unstable girl. Which is just fine. I will never again go where I am not wanted.

Sunlight is hitting my face, and a sweet, faint birdsong starts outside. I close my eyes, listen only to it, think of nothing else, see myself lying in the soft grass of a meadow in springtime, the sun warming my face, birds calling to each other all around me. It's impossible not to see Scott there with me. But it's fine, I'll just ignore him, like I should've from the start.

I wake up shivering, even though sunlight is streaming through the window. And for a single sweet moment I don't know where I am. Then I remember. I still stretch my hand out to the edge of the bed, holding on to the deranged wish that Gail is here with me. But she isn't, and I might never wake up next to her again.

Mike hasn't called me yet. I almost call him right away, before I even get out of bed, because this seriously can't stand. I'm all for facing ugly, brutal truths, but this is ridiculous.
 

The room sort of wobbles around me as I walk to the bathroom, but that's probably just from sleeping on the air mattress. I'm still so cold I can't stop shaking. I really should've turned on the heat when I got here.

I haven't eaten anything in more than 24 hours, I realize after sitting in the silent room for almost half an hour, wearing my jacket and wrapped in the comforter. I can't warm up. No one is calling me.

Figuring I should probably move just to get my blood flowing again, I walk down to the deli, cranking up the heat before I leave. I get a lot of noodle soups, instant mac and cheese, some bread and milk, and a large vodka. When I try to pay, I realize I only have sixty dollars in my wallet. All the rest of my money is in a safety deposit box back in Connecticut. I'm not going back there to get it. I'll never be able to stop myself from going to see Gail if I do.
 

In the end, I can only afford a couple of the soups and the vodka. But that's alright. Because Mike'll call soon and take it all back, and maybe I won't even have to spend another night in the apartment alone. I should get back there now. I can't have that conversation with him in a store.

I eat one of the soups when I get back, and drink some of the vodka. I'm still cold though, and the room is kinda fuzzy now, but that's probably just because I have the heat cranked all the way up.
 

I lie down, and wake up in a sweat. It's already dark outside. I don't remember falling asleep, and the air is so dry now my throat scratches. Still no call though. From anyone. Gail is staying true to her word too. Unless she's in some hospital again.

My heart hammers at the thought, fresh beads of cold sweat erupting on my forehead. How can I do this to her again? What the fuck was I thinking?

She picks up on the third ring. "Scott? It's one AM," she mumbles, her voice all soft with sleep. It's that late?
 

"Are you OK?" I ask.

She's silent like she didn't hear. Like maybe I didn't even call her.

"Why are you calling me?" she asks, her voice sharper. I can just see the look in her eyes too, anger flashing.

"I wanted to know that you're alright," I stammer.

"I will be. Don't bother worrying," she snaps.

"Good," I manage. The selfish part of me really doesn't want her to be alright about this. Ever. But I'm pretty good at silencing that part. I wish Mike would call, so Gail and me can talk normally again.

"Is that the only reason you called?" The accusation is so thick in her voice I have to ignore it, pretend I didn't hear.

"I should go now," I add. "You can go back to sleep."

"You can't just cheat on me and break up with me, then call me in the middle of the night to ask if I'm alright. No, I'm not alright. But I will be," she huffs. I can just see her, sitting up in bed, her hair all wild, her chest heaving, redness rising in her cheeks, her lips wet and glistening. "Why did you even call?"

Because I had to know she was OK, had to hear her voice, can't have her believing that leaving her was anything I wanted to do, can't stand the thought of never speaking to her again.

But I don't say any of that. I just say, “Bye,” and hang up.
 

She doesn't call back, though I'm shaking with anticipation and need for her to.

The next thing I know it's morning again, and I have a serious fever. So I might as well not get out of bed at all.

I stayed awake for hours after Scott's crazy call in the middle of the night, going over all the things I did wrong, he did wrong, we both did wrong. I came to all the same conclusions and woke up sitting up on the sofa, the phone still clutched in my hand and a cramp in my neck.
 

Maybe I should've called him back. He sounded so out of it. Maybe I should do it now.

But I set the phone down on the coffee table and stand, intent on getting some coffee. Because I'm through running after him, I really am. Whatever this weirdness is, I know that. But he sounded so small and so lost last night. So maybe I should call him back. He'd do it for me. Had done, sort of, sometimes.

I'm dialing his number without remembering making the conscious decision to do it. It goes straight to voicemail and I scream, tossing the phone on the couch. This is exactly how it used to be. The next time I call, the number will probably be disconnected. I can't go through this again. I cannot!

I only drink half of my coffee before running out to get some boxes, then spend the rest of the day stuffing Scott's things into them. He's left like half his wardrobe, most of it strewn all over the apartment in the most unlikely places. He also left his video games, and all his school stuff, his pencils and sketchbooks that he hasn't touched since we moved in. I suppose he'll need all that back eventually, but he'll have to call me to get them. I'm not calling him again just to find out his number is disconnected. Maybe that's what I should do this time. Change my number. Then he can chase after me all over the country.
 

I've been such an idiot.

It's night by the time I'm done. My arms are sore from lugging all the boxes into the guest bedroom. All I want to do now is lie down and sleep. But my thoughts are still whooshing in my mind at a thousand miles per hour, and I can't even sit still, let alone lie down.

So I stay up for the rest of the night pacing the living room, researching something for school I've been putting off. I'm really glad my laptop is light enough to do that, because I could not sit down right now.

My fever finally breaks on Wednesday morning. Or maybe it's Thursday, between shivering and jerking awake from nightmares in which Gail bleeds out in my arms, I've lost all sense of time. The world's got that fresh look now like it always does when an illness passes, but I'd actually love another day or two of the feverish stupor. But I guess I can't even have that. I've always been a quick healer.
 

I stumble to the bathroom, take a shower, brush my teeth with my finger because I didn't take my toothbrush from the apartment. Afterwards, I have to force myself to open the suitcase. It’s one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, because it means I've well and truly left Gail. Again.
 

But, no. Mike'll call. Then I can tell Gail everything and we can work this out. We've been through worse. We'll get through this too.

A key rattles in the lock just as I finish getting dressed. Janine's mom shrieks, clutching her chest in the doorway.

"Scott, you scared me to death," she says breathlessly.

"Sorry, Ava," I mutter. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to clean up a bit," she says and walks into the room, the door clicking shut after her. "I didn't know you were here. Your dad didn't say."

"He doesn't know," I mutter. "And I want it to stay that way."

She walks up like she might hug me, but stops about a step away. "You look unwell, Scott. Are you sick? How long have you been here?"

She looks around the room, her eyes lingering on my suitcase.
 

"I told your dad he was wrong to try and force you to help Mike," she goes on without waiting for an answer. "We had a big fight over it. Your girlfriend didn't understand, did she?"