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Then, the door slams and I’m all alone in my hotel room. The silence is overwhelming as I lean back against the headboard, fat teardrops rolling down my cheeks. Have I completely messed things up? Even worse, am I the person who’s responsible for this shit show? Brant’s words ring again in my head, and it’s then that I collapse into wrenching sobs.
CHAPTER 9
Peyton
I take a sip of hot tea, and swallow hard as tears brim in my eyes.
“I really fucked up this time, Rae,” I whisper. “It’s bad.”
My friend rubs a hand in circles on my back.
“It’s not that bad, Peyton. You went in with the best of intentions, it’s just that things didn’t turn out the way you thought they would. But I’m sure you’ll sort this out.”
I look up at my friend with teary eyes.
“Yeah, but how?” I ask in a broken whisper. “I mean, I accused Brant of cheating but my allegations were way off. I mean, he was cheating but he genuinely didn’t know about my dad because it never came up. Plus, my dad’s a hermit now, so I guess the door to the home office basically stayed closed the entire time.”
Peyton shoots me an empathetic look while rubbing my back again.
“It’s going to be fine, Pey. You’ll figure it out,” she repeats again. I let out a trembling sigh while staring into my mug of hot tea. We’re currently at my friend’s house, sitting on her twin bed like we used to do back in high school. Rae’s room still looks the same with the boy band posters on the walls and a girly white coverlet, not to mention the enormous dollhouse looming in one corner.
“I know, I know, I need to get rid of the dollhouse, but it was my grandfather who made it for me, so I don’t just want to throw it away,” Rae explains with a sigh. “I want to sell it or something, but it has sentimental value, so maybe not. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that behemoth.”
I nod, still staring morosely into my tea.
“No, it’s fine. Besides, it’s no big deal. It’s just a dollhouse so someone will take it off your hands, if that’s what you want. Oh my god, I’ve completely fucked up.”
Rae merely pats my shoulder.
“Cheer up, Peyton. Things will get better, I promise!”
I merely stare at my mug again as tears well in my eyes.
“But how? When?”
Rae sighs, but then shoots me a direct look.
“Well, do you love Brant?”
I snort.
“Brant and I have known each other all of ten days, Rae, and for most of that time, we’ve been in bed together with not a lot of talking going on. So how do I know if I like, much less love, him?”
Rae nods, idly twirling one long brown curl.
“That’s a good point. Well, would you want to see him again at least? Talk to him maybe? Spend time with him outside of the bedroom?”
My face crumples as a wave of sadness washes over me.
“I’d love to see him again,” I confess in a low whisper. “I mean, it’s only been two days since our fight, but I miss him so much already. I just don’t know if he’s open to seeing me because I accused him of all these terrible things and basically screamed at him until I was hoarse. So why would he put himself through that again?”
Rae nods thoughtfully.
“He wouldn’t want to, but it could be worth a try. If you care about him, then he probably cares about you too. I mean, give it some time, but I’d consider starting the conversation again and seeing where you both stand.”
I shake my head piteously.
“He hates my guts,” I whisper. “And for good reason too.”
Rae nods.
“Pey, we’ve all made mistakes in life. I’ve screwed up even worse than you, but what I’ve learned is that time will rub the hard edges off anything. But since you’re feeling so miserable, then you should take action. Talk to Brant yourself. Make the first move, even if it’s scary, and if he throws you out, then that’s what happens.”
I close my eyes as tears squeeze out from beneath my lids.
“I know,” I say in a choked voice. “I’m just so petrified that he hates my guts. What will I do then?”
Rae shakes her head, her expression sympathetic.
“I don’t know, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, okay? I just hate seeing you hurting so badly right now, Pey. I genuinely think it would be better if you talked to Brant and at the very least, explained your side of the story.”
“I already did that,” I say in a broken whisper. “It’s just that I was screaming at him and calling him names while I explained myself.”
“Well, this time, do it in a normal tone,” my friend encourages. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be more than okay, trust me.”
