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Silence again.
“Brock,.” I whisper.
“Go back to your boyfriend, Pocket.” He sighs sadly.
Confusion takes me over and I grab a handful of my hair in frustration. “What if I don’t want to?” I whisper.
“Do you?”
I drop my head and stare at the floor. I don’t even fucking know. “Can I see you tonight, please?” I shake my head. “Please.”
He stays silent for a moment, and I know he’s waiting for me to answer his last question.
“Please, Brock. Will you come over?”
“If you can’t answer that question then I don’t want to see you.”
I close my eyes. “What time will you be here?”
“I told you I’m not coming.”
I look up and stare up the corridor. “So, I’ll see you at eight?” I ask hopefully.
“Bye, Tully.” The line goes dead.
I drop my head and close my eyes. A lump forms in my throat as I try to hold back my tears.
He’s done with me.
I walk up one side of the living room and back down the other, glancing at the clock over and over again. 8:05 p.m.
He’ll come, I know he’ll come.
I clutch my phone in my hand. I’ve been pacing for an hour and I think I’ve worn a hole in the carpet.
“Please come,” I whisper.
My phone rings and I scramble to answer it. When I see the name Simon lighting up the screen, I instantly push reject in disgust.
I don’t want to speak to you. I want to speak to Brock.
I begin to pace again, deciding to text him.
Are you coming?
I’m waiting.
Do I send it? What’s going on with me? I’m turning into this needy person I don’t even like. My mind is scattered, frantic, and I have no idea what to do. Do I have real feelings for Brock? I mean, I must. I’m in panic over here worrying he is out with someone else right now.
I hate this.
I hit send and I continue pacing.
Midnight arrives, and I lie in bed staring at the ceiling imagining somebody else in Brock’s arms right now.
Is he looking at her the way he looked at me?
Are they having sex? Is he doing to her what he did to me?
Because if he is, she’s going to be crazy about him too tomorrow.
My stomach rolls at the thought and I get a vision of some other woman laughing in his arms.
I have no one to blame but myself. I knew he was dangerous, and deep down I knew he would make me question my relationship with Simon, but like a fool, I jumped into the fire anyway.
This is why you don’t fuck guys in the gym toilets, Tully, you fucking idiot.
I roll over in disgust and punch my pillow. Stop thinking about Brock. It’s a blessing that he doesn’t want to see you. If I spent any more time with him it would only make it harder to leave him when I had to.
I get a vision of myself living with Simon, but always secretly pining for Brock.
I close my eyes in sadness. I don’t want to be that person who is married to one man and thinks about another. I’ve opened an ugly can of worms.
What the fuck have I done?
“I’ll have the chicken salad and a Diet Coke, please?” I smile as I hand the menu back to the waitress.
“Hmm, I’ll have the Beef Wrap,” Rourke tells her.
“And I’ll have the hot chips with gravy,” Callie says flatly as she hands the menu back. “With a chocolate milkshake.”
“Got it.” The waitress smiles before she disappears.
I look at Callie. “What’s wrong with you? Since when do you eat chips and gravy?”
“I feel like shit.”
“Why?” Rourke frowns.
“Where do I start,” she mutters. “I’m horny as fuck, I have PMT, and I have so much inner rage that I want to cut somebody up with a scalpel.”
Rourke grimaces and holds his hands up. “Yikes.”
“I’m just waiting for someone to piss me off so I can let them have it.”
Two minutes later our drinks arrive. “Thank you.”
I sip my Coke as I stare at my two friends. “So, I kind of messed things up with Brock,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Why?” Rourke asks.
“I told him I was getting back with Simon.”
Callie and Rourke exchange glances, and then look back to me.
“And I didn’t think Brock would care.” I shrug. “Until he stormed out of my apartment with the shits. I spent all night pacing and worrying that he was out with someone else.”
Rourke widens his eyes and sips his drink, clearly holding back what he wants to say.
Callie rolls her eyes in disgust.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Callie sighs. “Nothing you want to hear, anyway.”
“If you’ve got something to say, just say it,” I fire back.
“Okay, I will. You’re a fucking idiot.”
“What? Why?” I ask, taken aback.
“Because if you wanted fucking Simon you would be with Simon.” She growls.
“I would not. I just wanted a break.” I pause for a moment. “To… travel and—”
