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Yes, I’m over thefuck himphase and have jumped straight into the next phase ofself-degradation.
I pour another glass of wine and return to the article, willing to see it through so I can heal. Neither of the love-birds gave a comment, but Tiffany’s father had a lot to say.
“They met through a mutual acquaintance a few months back. Love happened so quickly between those two, there was no need to get my shotgun.”
The couple could not be reached to either confirm or deny a pregnancy.
What?
Did he sleep with her?
He very well could have. What was holding him back? Certainly not me.
Damn, Genesis, he sure did a number on you, my mind snickers.
Pain washes over me afresh. Actually, it never left.
Picking up the remote, I switch the channel to a 70s music station. By the time two songs have finished and half-way into another, I’m on my second glass of wine. I don’t need to get drunk; the music makes me high enough.
I was high on love not three weeks ago…
My lips tremble, and before I know it, I’m deep in the middle of a crying jag the likes I haven’t experienced since my wedding day. It lasts for three songs, and in the end, I’m exhausted.
I pluck a tissue from the decorative box on the coffee table and wipe my tears and blow my nose. After chucking it on the ground, I curl into a ball with my knees nearly tucked to my chin.
I wake up to someone banging on my door atwhat the fuck o’clock.
I sit up and take my time to remove the sleep from my eyes, hoping the person will give up and go away.
After a few minutes of steady raps, I realize I’m not going to get my wish.
“Coming,” I shout.
I try to wet my lips, but can’t. My mouth feels like it is stuffed with cotton and my tongue is a slab of concrete.
I swear, when I get rid of whoever is at the door, I’m drinking a gallon of water.
Scraping back the chain, I’m just about to unlock the door when I decide it would be prudent to look through the peephole.
WTH?
Royce is standing there, his fist tapping out a steady rhythm.
In the Dark
Royce
“Yeah.ThomasandTiffany.She is all he ever talks about and you’re all I ever talk about. We help each other through the mess you both left us in. If this is how you love someone, Royce. I want no part in it. Goodbye.”
I stare at the phone, the pulse of a headache behind my eyes. The white screen with Sin’s details and her picture pops up, telling me she has left the conversation. Still, my brain refuses to accept that she is truly gone. My heart, even more so.
I tap the picture of her as if I can feel the softness of her lips under the pad of my finger. An ache of longing runs through me. The picture, the one I took at the airport, is a little blurry, sure, but it’s all I have left.
She ended us. And she had every right.
Sin had walls. I tore them down. I failed to see mine were still up, a billion feet high.
I can’t use my father and his abuse as an excuse. I have to lay the blame for how I acted on my doorstep. No one else’s. It was my fault that I didn’t have enough faith to believe someone like her—open, honest, and forgiving—could love a person like me. Shit was too big of a pill for me to swallow.
