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THIRTY-THREE
ELLIE
“Ugh.”
Why is it always so bright in the morning? My curtains feel so pointless, all pretty in lavender and lilacs, with daylight streaming through the almost sheer material. I climb towards my window to adjust my curtains to no avail before burying myself under my covers once again.
It’s been just over two weekssince my late-night phone call to Rhylan. But the wounds are still fresh. The acidity in his tone that was full of emotionless resentment tore me apart. As if he didn’t give his hateful words a second thought and they came out naturally, with him pointedly meaning every bit of it. The paparazzi that have been following me from my home to school have died down since they haven’t seen me with Rhylan. But the fear of them popping out from the bushes, digging into what little amount of privacy I have left, lingers like a predator ready to pounce on their kill. I feel watched. Like every move that I make is open for anyone to pick and prod.
In the meantime, my recovery has been time-consuming and painful. Each day is still passing by, going back to long stretches of dark haze. The hours blend into each other, disorienting me into oblivion.
My phone buzzes. I already know it’s Claire. She’s been checking in on me every morning since. Her outrage towards Rhylan was evident as she had repeatedly called him a “selfish bastard” over and over as I poured my heart out to her.
“Hey, El. You up?”
“Yeah, I just got up.”
“You want to grab some coffee before class?”
“No, I’m good. I don’t think I have time anyways.”
“Okay. Just call me later.”
“Okay. Bye.” I hang up my phone and pull myself out of bed.
Claire’s daily calls have actually helped. Just as soon as I feel like climbing under my covers and staying there forever, her call pulls me out of my slump and forces me to start my day.Quite honestly, I don’t really have a choice. She would probably barge into my room and drag me out if she had to.
I pull myself up out of bed and trudge to the bathroom. It’s déjà vu all over again as my day starts in a blur and continues in a thick fog. As if everything that happened between me and Rhylan was just a dream. And maybe it was, and now I’ve woken up, feeling the hollow hole in my chest a little too intensely.
Once I’m ready for school, I walk into the kitchen to grab a thermos for my coffee. There’s a note on the counter from my mom.
Morning Ellie, I’m going out to dinner after work with Mark. Don’t wait up for me.
We never talked about our dinner, the one where we were supposed to wipe away our past and lay over a new future in its place, pretending like all the pain from the last decade didn’t exist. Instead, I’ve noticed more nights that my mom comes home a little late, having a quick dinner with Mark after work or leaving the house earlier than usual to have a cup of coffee with him, leaving our pot at home untouched. I can’t help but notice how relaxed and happy she is when she’s at home. As ifnottalking about everything is exactly what she wants, while I’m exploding from the inside out, everything I want to say seeping through my pores in an attempt to keep it all below the surface.
My finger taps on her scribbled message written hastily in blue ink on the back of an unopened utility bill before I fill my thermos and walk out the door.
* * *
“You know, you’re better off without him, Ellie,” Wes says through a mouth full of chips.
Claire swats his arm in response, signaling him to stay away from the topic of my most recent heartbreak.
“What?” he exclaims with his hands extended out. “He sounds like a total douche. Even if he’s a movie star,” he justifies.
“We’re not talking about that asshole Rhylan Matthews,” Claire says, shutting down any further conversation about Rhylan.
“It’s okay,” I assure them. “I don’t mind, Claire. Acting like it didn’t happen isn’t going to make it any better.”
“See! It’s cathartic,” Wes explains, defending himself.
Claire rolls her eyes at him and leans her head against his broad shoulder. Wes smiles down at her, flashing his small dimple, and kisses the top of her head. I smile at both of them, appreciating the time they’re spending with me so I don’t have to be alone.
Even Wes, who usually lets us girls have our girl time, has frequently been joining us to support Claire’s undertaking of my emotional well-being until I’m no longer grief-stricken.
Today after class, Claire called to suggest another happy hour date. We’re already on our third basket of chips and Claire and Wes’s second round of margaritas. I’m still nursing my first.
“You know, before it all went to hell, I really thought I meant something to him. I believed it so much thatIcalledhimto tell him that. I was so confident that…” I trail off. My voice starts to crack, and I can’t continue. If I do, I might break down right into the miniature bowl of salsa.
