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So then why do I feel so wretched?
“Goodnight, Winter.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, pulling my blankets to my nose like they’ll protect me from this pain. “Goodnight, Aleck.”
And just like that, he’s gone. Tears spill from my eyes uncontrollably, and this time I don’t fight them. I drop my phone, throwing my hands over my face, and cry. I cry until sleep takes me somewhere else. Somewhere where Aleck is still mine, and I have the courage to love him knowing he’ll never love me in return.
THIRTY-SIX
WINTER
ONE WEEK LATER…
Leaving Sephora with a bag in hand, I’m feeling pretty confident. I’ve got a new facial toner, some new liquid eyeliner. Which kind of scares me, but I’m a grown ass woman. YOLO. And I bought a new red lipstick. It’s a slightly deeper red than I’m used to, but hey, cheers to rebirth.
Tonight’s the night, and I’m feeling pretty pumped. Okay, I’m feeling moderately pumped. No bullshit, I’m feeling trapped and annoyed—I don’t want to go. There, I said it. I promised my friends one last week to wallow in my heartache over Aleck, and that week has passed. It’s Friday and we’ve decided—well, three out of four of us have decided—to go to our old spot for karaoke night.
“You just need to sing away the pain. Then go home with a decently attractive man and fuck the memory of Aleck out of your system,”Dottie suggested.
But they don’t know Aleck, not like I do. They don’t know howgoodhe is. How the feeling of his hands on my body felt so delectable it’s lingered, even now after all this time. There will be nofucking him out of my system, not in this lifetime. He’s the man that fucks any and everything out of your system, not the other way around.
So, I know what’s going to happen: my friends will get me out and try to push me off into the arms of others. Many others. And I’ll protest and declare my hatred for the male gender, until I call an Uber to lone-wolf-it home. We’ve circled around to the beginning, before the wedding, before meeting Aleck. I’m back at square one. The most depressing place I’ve ever been.
They’re picking me up in an hour so we can make happy hour, which doesn’t leave me much time. So I scurry into the shower, washing all my major parts, then get out and dry off. Letting my hair out of its claw clip, I spray it down with a healthy dose of dry shampoo, then let it lay in waves over my shoulders. Using my new makeup, I slap on my war paint, then head to my closet to choose an outfit.
I don’t want to be too sexy. My friends’ plans for my libido aside, I have no interest in entertaining the opposite sex tonight.
Tilting my head, I contemplate my options…
“They think I’m going home with someone, they have another thing coming,” I mutter, then choose a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting top.
It’s karaoke, how sexy do I have to be?
My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter a few feet away, so I button my jeans closed and walk to my phone, seeing Dottie’s name.
“Dot, Dot, she’s super hot,” I answer.
“Hey, girlfriend. We’re on our way. You ready?”
“Yup.”
“You’re going toloveour whip…”
“You didn’t rent a limo, did you? Because I don’t think going out for the first time since getting my heart ripped from my chest is enough reason to celebratethatextravagantly.”
“It’s not a limo, it’s better. Trust me. You wearing something sexy?”
I look down at my baggie attire and shrug. “I’m wearingsomething.”
“Winter Elizabeth Sommers, you promised!”
“I promised to wear something sexy to karaoke?”
“You promised to try. Get your hot little ass in the closet and pick out something that shows leg. We’ll be there in ten.”
I roll my eyes with a grunt. “Fine. Meet you at the curb.”
“Love yooou,” she sing-songs, then the line goes dead.
