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I love the idea of being with Zander but not the reality of him rejecting me. Of him choosing to guard his heart over protecting mine, or his past over me, or whatever he’s choosing.
Maybe he loved Quincy so much, he’ll never love again.
Maybe I should be like that. Maybe James should be my one and only love.
“Another shot!” Kelly calls out and I don’t hesitate to down it.
I thought Zander would choose me. I thought he wanted me. I’ve been over his lap, I’ve had his hands everywhere on my body, I want it now.
I want it now.
I want all of it. The conversation floats around me and none of it sinks in. I’m pushing past comfort for my voice, so I stop answering questions and put on a big, fake smile.
No one notices.
Not a single person notices that I’m broken, and that I’m desperately sick of being broken. I’m so tired. It’s a tiredness that sinks into my bones and weighs me down to the floor. I’m so damn heavy with it.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
John. My ex. He’s not like Zander, not dark and handsome. He’s blond and beautiful and an all-American kind of guy who could be in a men’s magazine. I tip my face up to look at his. “Hi.”
We broke up a lifetime ago, right after college. Two different people going two different directions, we said. It took me by surprise, though. I’m always the one who’s surprised. I never see it coming. But who cares about all that? He’s standing in front of me right now, and Zander’s not. Zander didn’t want to be in that place.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you out. How are you?”
“Better now that you’re here to talk to.” I touch his wrist, a little flirtatious touch, just so Zander will see. “Some of these conversations.” I roll my eyes.
“I know.” John shakes his head.
This is how we were. Other people had conversations, and we were better. Up until the day John decided he was better than me. Times are different now. I’m the one with all the mystery. I could cry from how ironic it is. The worst things in your life end up making people more curious about you. I had money before, but now I have whispers and rumors and the ability to turn heads just from walking into a room.
“You look like you could use a drink.”
“I do need one.”
Another lie. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. When is Zander going to step in? When is he finally going to choose me? I know I’m pissing him off every time I put a glass to my lips. I know it, and he’s not doing anything at all about it. I edge closer to John and let him take me to the bar for another shot. I let him lift it to my mouth for me and put my arm around his waist when he tips it up so I can drink.
Choose me.
Just choose me.
He doesn’t.
John starts talking to me about his job, about all the bullshit conversations that go on there, and I make up a story. I make up a story where I’m not under care in my own home, and I’m not struggling every day to keep my head above water, and I’m not suffering through this party with a broken heart because Zander didn’t want to be with me the way I want to be with him.
Zander doesn’t enter into it at all. I never mention his name. I don’t say that he’s the man who’s been watching me this entire time. I don’t say that it’s foolish of me to want him the way that I do, because it’s not allowed. Because he’s always been forbidden. I don’t say any of it.
I bottle it up and touch John’s arm and his waist and I throw my head back and laugh at his stupid jokes even though it hurts my throat to do it. I take another shot even though I’m already too drunk, already past the point where I should have stopped and gone home.
A dark-haired woman who looks put together and not very drunk at all steps between John and me, getting his attention. She has perfect red lips and a dress that’s cut low in the back. She looks hot, and I’m a mess. I’m a mess who wants Zander and wants her life back and maybe I’ll never get it. Maybe I’ll only have Zander in my bed and I’ll never get to have him and I’ll always be this person who wants what she can’t have. Who wants it so badly she breaks her heart every day of her life thinking about it.
“Sorry about that,” John says. “You all right?” he asks with humor in his tone and a short laugh. He cups my chin, and his touch is warm.
