AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So, I ignore it.
I ignore them all.
And when I go home the next day alone, the seat next to me is painfully empty.
* * *
My house is vacant when I arrive, but I swear I can almost smell him in the space, hear him moving about. It’s depressing. I’ve never minded being alone until now. Now, I can feel the hollowness of my previous life.
At this moment, I realize how unhappy I’d been until he barreled his way into my space and set up shop, how much I needed someone to pull me out of my mundane, redundant existence.
I roll my suitcase into my room and just stand there, letting myself experience the feelings coursing through me. Regret, sadness, fury.
I’m so mad at myself.
Why am I like this? Why is it so hard for me to let people in, let them love me?
When I can’t stand the thought of standing in my room another minute, I move into the living room and sit down at the piano. My phone lies next to me on the bench, and I glance down at it.
Don’t do it.
I run a few D and F minor scales because they match my sullen mood and I’m trying desperately to keep my fingers off that screen. But I pause momentarily, and my hand is reaching for my phone.
“Don’t do it,” I tell myself out loud, and yet I don’t listen to myself. It was a halfhearted attempt anyway. The heart wants what it wants.
Me:I made it home safely.
I glare at my phone, not sure if he will even respond.
I want him to respond.
He’ll respond.
But when he doesn’t, I’m sent into a tailspin. With clumsy fingers, I pull out the sheet music for Rachmaninoff’s “Sad is the Night” and let the gloomy notes float around me as I press the keys. I play the song repeatedly, arching into the melody, my fingers growing numb with the effort. And I only stop when the doorbell chiming has me freezing, the piano notes just an echo in the air.
Quickly, I push myself up and swipe at my eyes, peeking out the window. A part of me thinks it’s Luke.
He came back. He’s here. It has to be him.
But it’s not. It’s just a delivery. Probably those sweatpants I’d ordered for Luke that he would look so good in.
Yep. There it is. A sad box is sitting on my front porch. I’ll just shove it in my closet and never open it. I don’t even have the heart to return them. Maybe I will just leave it there for a porch pirate to steal. But then I imagine some thief running around in Luke’s sweats and get irrationally angry. I move to the front door, wrench it open and cradle the box in my hands.
Then I hide it behind my couch. I can’t even look at it.
Fuck. This is what I’ve been reduced to in a matter of weeks. I’m a weak, crumbling mess. Imagine if I’d let this go on longer than a few weeks. I’d be comatose. No, it’s best that I ended this. Whatever it was.
A relationship.
It’s for the best.
Liar.
I sit back at the piano and play the piece once more. I don’t feel any better at the end.
No. I feel worse.
CHAPTERELEVEN
