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Pretty sure I know what… Or better yet,who.
My mom has no doubt told him about Treyton, though I’ve yet to speak to her since our fight or what transpired between Treyton and me this past Saturday.
I’ve been in hiding. Not in the literal sense, seeing as I’ve been extremely busy with work. But in the sense that I’m not ready to talk to her, or to Treyton. Pretty sure I’m not ever going to want to talk to him again.
Okay, that’s not really true. Because I dowantto talk to him. I just refuse to do so. What can I say, I’m a prideful person. No matter what his intention, he hurt me. And I certainly don’t want to give him a chance to do it again.
That hasn’t stoppedhimfrom trying though.
Oh no. Because when a man like Treyton treats a woman the way he treated me, he just expects her to move on like nothing ever happened.
Funny how privileged people feel like they can shit all over the rest of us and we’re supposed to tolerate it and act like nothing happened.
Clearly, I’m not buying into the narrative, as I have yet to answer a single one of his dozens of texts and phone calls. And, I finally put my foot down with the lobby staff and told them if they let anyone up without my approval, no matter how famous, that I would file a complaint with management. So, the two times he’s turned up at my building, I’ve refused to see him and they’ve been forced to turn him away, which I know they absolutely hate. If it were up to them, they’d lay a red carpet out every time he turned up.
Needless to say, when I unlock my phone, I’m not the least bit surprised to see yet another message from Treyton singing the same tune he’s been singing for the last five days.
I’m sorry.
You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.
Why are you being this way?
I’m sorry.
Please call me.
Why won’t you see me?
Is asking you to find your own way home, because I had somewhere to be, so unforgivable?
Yada, yada, yada.
It goes on and on.
I stare at today’s message, having to fight the urge to text him back like I have every other time he’s messaged me.
Treyton:I need to see you.
I type a quicktoo badbut delete it just as quickly.
I will say, I’m surprised he’s still going. Most people with his options would have given up on day two. But not Treyton. It’s like he’s got something to prove.
I just wish I knew what that was.
Backing out of the message thread, I click on the one between me and my father, firing off a quick text to confirm the time and place before dropping my phone onto the passenger seat.
He texts me back moments after I pull out into the road, and I click on the car display so that it reads the message out loud through the speakers.
“Leaving the house now,” the automated voice reads.
Blowing out a breath, I flip on my turn signal and turn left as soon as the car heading in the opposite direction passes me.
I try not to think about Treyton on the drive to the restaurant, but I can’t help myself. If I’m being honest, he’s all I think about anymore.
His touch.
His kiss.
