The haze of last night still fogs my mind as I sit and stare at the crumpled blanket on the floor. A flash of Kane standing over me taking off my makeup makes me clutch my stomach, the mixture of butterflies and alcohol churning.
I glance over at my nightstand to check for my phone and spot a Gatorade bottle I don’t remember grabbing, with a note tucked underneath. I reach for the ripped notebook paper, immediately recognizing the slanted handwriting that’s almost too messy to read.
Good morning, pretty girl,
Drink this and take the medicine. I got you some breakfast and fixed the dishwasher, so I won’t be coming by later.Feel better.
K
Something is scratched out, but I can’t read it. My heart clenches as I read the messypretty girl, that one simple phrase as familiar to me as the back of my hand. A small smile curls on my face. I read the note two more times before opening my top drawer, where a couple of other—recently reread—notes from Kane rest. I place it on top of the others and close the drawer.
I stare at the wall, trying to recall everything that happened last night. I remember going to The Grunge—after an hour of Morgan insisting and basically dragging me to the door, dressed or not—and Kane delivering drinks, and meeting the blonde who isnothis girlfriend. Everything after that is blank.
Fuck, I drank way too much. I was tired of feeling, tired of pining and thinking, and I just wanted a break from the constant noise inside my head.
The thoughts all come at me way too fast. The doubt that’s ever-present. I almost drown in self-pity of never feeling enough for anyone. How my parents have always put everything before me, the way being their child was never enough for them to slow down and reallyseeme. How complicated and messy things are with Kane.
I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts before they ruin my day before I even have a chance to get out of bed.
I take the drink and medicine Kane left for me on the bedside table, swallowing it down before slinking back under the covers.
He was sweet last night. But that has never been Kane’s problem. He can also go quiet, retreating so deep in his head that I can’t reach him. The weeks leading up to the breakup, I was lucky to get a few full sentences from him. He was always withdrawing from me or brushing me off.
I tried to reason with myself that he was just tiredor overworked, picking up random bar shifts when he could. We still had sex, he still cooked for me, still did the little things such as reach for me on nights out and during our shows together. But the physical connection could only sustain us so long, and I craved the emotional connection I always valued with him.
I felt that the more he pulled away, the more I latched on, fighting for theusthat was still there.
Tears start to well in my eyes, and I furiously wipe them away, sitting up and choking them down before the grief decides to dig its claws into me again.
How could he let me walk out of his life without a fight, but come to me last night as my knight in shining armor, whisking me away with so much care?
For the first few weeks, I let the grief overtake me, finding a strange comfort in the numbness. I lost not only my boyfriend but my best friend, the person I spent the past four years intertwining my life with. The person I gave my heart to before I even realized I had one, that organ I kept tightly locked in my chest for so long. I willingly handed it over to him on a silver platter that autumn day when we were hidden among the leaves. With the kiss that changed my whole life and tilted my world on its axis.
I miss the soft smiles he would share with only me. The way he’d look at me first when he found something funny, or when something was happening that we knew we would debrief later. The way he would always look for me in a crowded room, and the way a smile would spread across his face when he finally spotted me—the one reserved just for me.
Kane has always been hard to the world, walking around with a tough exterior, but he would soften for me.And I loved being the only one who could bring that out of him.
It was as if I gave him somewhere he was safe to be himself.
I miss his deep voice when he would whisper filthy things in my ear at the worst times and walk away with a chuckle, knowing he was leaving me flustered and thinking of him.
His actions the night we broke up don’t make sense when I think about last night. He slept here all night just to make sure I didn’t get sick again. He turned back intomyKane. The man I so desperately fell head over heels for, with no way of stopping myself. But where was he months before that and the months since?
It seemed so effortless for him to let me walk away. I can’t conceptualize how we got here.
I startle slightly when I hear Morgan banging around on the other side of the wall our beds share. Which can be unfortunate at times, given that Morgan is a night owl and comes and goes at all hours of the night and day. But I appreciate the grounding feeling that hits my chest when I hear her, knowing I’m not alone if I don’t want to be.
I know now I only have a few minutes of peace before she decides to check on me after the events of last night. I’m still a little upset with her that I ended up in Kane’s arms, but also relieved by how right it felt to leave with him, knowing I was safe wrapped in the quiet comfort of his truck.
I blow out a big breath, then pull myself up and into the bathroom. Refusing to see what a mess I appear this morning, I adjust the dial to the shower, letting the mirror fog up and obscure me from view. I click on my more upbeat breakup playlist, sliding myself into the shower. Thebanging on my door begins just as I begin lathering my body, and before I have a chance to say anything, it crashes open. Why Morgan even bothers to knock when she never waits for a response, I will never know. The lack of boundaries between us could shock any normal person, but we’re more like sisters than friends—there’s very few things we don’t share.
Besides the unfortunate events of my breakup.
A moment later, the shower curtain is yanked back, and Morgan is staring at me, hands on her hips.
“It’s cold,” I say, trying to grab the curtain to close it, but she holds on to with a death grip. I step back under the stream, rinsing off the soap and any lingering tears, then reach over and shut the water off before turning back to Morgan.
“Are you going to say whatever you came in here for, or are you just here for a show? Because the cover fee just went up to twenty dollars,” I joke, grabbing a fluffy pink towel from the rod and drying myself off.
