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But I do need him. And I do care that he hasn’t shown up to work. But I don’t say that. I’m still angry at him, but the worry is there too.
“I don’t know…”
“Well, think about it. I’d love to help you plan your set. We could get you on a rotating platform. I’m thinking all white on a black bed…maybe even get you some toys to play with. The crowd would eat it up.”
The idea is enticing, and if it wasn’t for Garrett, I wouldn’t hesitate to say yes.
“I’ll think about it, okay?”
“That’s a yes.”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “No, it’s not. It means, I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll see you tonight at ten, so we can talk about it.”
“Eden!”
“Charlotte is sitting next to me. She said it sounds good.”
“Stop,” I reply with a laugh.
“Okay, see you soon!” they both say in unison before the line goes dead.
I try to wipe the smile off my face as I start the shower. I guess Eden doesn’t leave me much choice, but I think it’s really about more than that. There's a chance he will be there. A chance I’ll see him and know that he’s okay. Even if I am mad at him. Even if I’m definitelynotgoing to forgive him.
RULE #33: BEWARE OF BLACK HAIR TIES.
Garrett
Ishould be able to bounce back from this. Go to the club. Go for a run. It’sonegirl. One mistake. It shouldn’t be this hard.
For the past decade, I could do what needed to be done to shake an episode. Maybe hide under the covers for a day or two and then bounce back. I don’t do meds or therapy, and I’ve gotten through every single one of these nasty bouts of depression without any help.
Except forone fucking time.
And I am not repeating that episode again. I’m not.
But no matter what I tell myself, everything right now is hard. It’s like a sickness oozing through my veins. This slimy sick feeling penetrates my mood, turning everything sour and heavy andwrong.It shouldn’t be this fuckinghard.
This whole spell was triggered by her leaving, but it’s just a fucking breakup.Get your head together, Garrett. And kick this mood already.
I should be relieved she dumped me. It’s better this way. The whole thing with Mia is over; she’s free to move on and find someone better. And I can get back to the life I love, the one where I can focus on the shit that really matters to me. Like work.
So why do I suddenly feel like a giant piece of shit?
Rolling out of bed, I walk to the window. Replaying the events of that night, the part I hate the most is the good mood I was in walking up to my apartment door, on a high after confessing everything to my mom, ready to confess it all to Mia. I was in love. I was ready to commit. I was ready to be in a relationship and keep the promises I made, even though the very idea terrified the living fuck out of me.
And then I saw Drake, standing in my kitchen, and I knew it was over.
I had so many chances to come clean, but I blew every single one. Maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe, deep down, I knew that there was no hope, and I self-sabotaged…again. Shocker.
Oh, well, I tell myself for the hundredth time in the last fourteen days. Ohfuckingwell.
This is better for Mia. In fact, it’s the best damn thing I could do for her. She’s free to find someone who deserves her. Someone hotter like Drake. Or smarter like Hunter. Or more confident like Emerson.
I’m a mess, and I tried to tell her that. So now I’ve done her the courtesy of saving her months or even years of trouble. A girl like her can do a fuck-ton better than be with a mess like me.
Goddammit. I need to get out of my head. Muttering a curse to myself, I head toward the bathroom. I have to get back to the club today. The event is tomorrow night, and if I don’t make an appearance, they’re going to cancel it.
