I’M NOT CAPABLE OF LOVE.
I’M NOT CAPABLE OF LOVE.
I’M NOT CAPABLE—
“FUCKING STOP! STOP IT! YOU FUCKING LIAR!” I slammed my hands against the steering wheel, over and over and over, shaking the entire car, my bones vibrating from the impact.Harder. Harder. Harder. Harder.Ineededto feel the pain. I needed to feel something that wasn’t him.
At some point, my forehead slammed into the wheel, but I didn’t even notice. Not when I was breaking. Now when I had completely spiraled… not when I could barely feel, think, taste, imagine anyone but him… and because I was a coward, a stupid fucking coward, I let him get away.
Weeks passed.
The exhibit was this Friday.
In the time that passed, I avoided Gavin as much as I could and checked my phone every night to see if I received a message from Beckham.
One would assume I would be happy that he ghosted me since all I’d ever done was tell him to leave me alone, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Scrolling through old messages, my fingers hovering over his name, and… Nothing. Just absolute silence.
It felt like I was now the one with the fixation, theobsession, as I preoccupied my days and nights thinking about his confession and the stupid way I rejected him.
All for a man who essentially rejected me our whole marriage. Gavin seemed to think I was still angry about his request for a baby, but that simply wasn’t the case. I was ignoring him because of Beckham.
Because I was practically tearing myself apart each time I even thought about going back to the way things were, when I would have chosen to be compliant rather than happy.
Even with this revelation, I still couldn’t get out of my thoughts.I needed air. I needed to breathe. I needed to think.Which warranted my four AM runs every morning.
Sometimes, I would stop by Kira’s, who was growing increasingly worried about me. Other times, I’d pass by the museum I was hoping to buy someday. Lately, I purposely avoided it because of the shocking reality that Helen sold it.
Well, not so shocking, actually. She needed to sell the place, and I was broke… well, Iambroke. When I stopped by sweaty and out of breath the other day, Helen seemed upset as she informed me she’d accepted another offer. I should have seen it coming.
After hearing the news,I was devastated, heartbroken, but that’s just how business works. You either have the money, or you don’t. I obviously didn’t… Ineverhad enough… Iwasnever enough.
So to combat my routine rumination that often left me in a downward spiral, I began running.
And to be completely honest, running is all I’d been doing lately.
Whether it was from the man I loved or the feeling I tried to hide, it had been my refuge every morning, and some late nights if I couldn’t sleep.
Gavin didn’t seem to care. He thought my silence was an act of protest, a temporary rebellion before Igave in, before Ifolded like I always did.
He was used to me accepting his empty promises and worthless apologies, but this time, he wasn’t budging first. And as my wedding ring sat on the nightstand for the fifth day in a row,neither was I.
Stopping in the middle of my run, I placed my hands on my knees, dry heaving as I tried to breathe. My stomach in knots, my clothes and hair clinging to my sweaty skin. One thing I hated was my inability to push through my fatigue.
I wanted to vomit.
But I deserved this.
I deserved every second of this pain.
I was pushing my body too much… punishing it almost. Sometimes I knew when to stop and take a breath when I got the sick feeling of wanting to vomit out of exhaustion.
My chest was constricted as I breathed, and my forehead dripped with sweat. But I had to dosomethingto get my mind free to allow me space to think and breathe,somethingto help me outrun my racing thoughts.Despite the occasional pain, so far, it’s been pretty successful.
“Rosenna?” I heard beside me, and I internally groaned.On second thought…
Lifting my head, I was met with Brent, who was removing an earphone as he made eye contact with me. He seemed to be going on a run himself, judging from his athletic attire.
Standing up, I wiped my flyaways as I nodded his way. “Hi, Brent,” I said as I tightened the tracksuit jacket over my waist. The rest of my attire consisted of a cropped gym tank, leggings, and running shoes.
