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I walk away.
30
ALANA
“When is my heart ever gonna stop hurting?” I drop my forehead to the front counter of Ziggy’s metaphysical shop and groan. A cloud of incense dust rises up around my head.
I have Davis in my brain again.
Ever since I ran into him at Jasper’s shop yesterday, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. I won’t admit to how many hours I spent flipping through my phone, staring at the pictures we took at the waterfall in Starlight Springs.
But the image of him interacting with Sparkle, that’s the picture I can’t get out of my head.
Hearing the tender way he spoke to the little girl as he adorably gave her water for her hiccups. Seeing the way his face lit up as he smiled at her.
He’ll make an amazing dad one day. To babies he fathers with some other woman. That hurts so damn bad. Because every part of my soul is screaming out that he’s supposed to be mine.
“Did you even read any of the books I loaned you?” I hear Ziggy ask from where she’s counting out the change from her cash register.
“Every word on every page,” I assure her. “Now, I’m basically a ball of self-awareness. I can write you a dissertation on everything that’s wrong with me according to pop psychology. I’m still no closer to being ‘fixed’, though.”
These days, I’ve been doing my best to avoid going straight home after work. I’m finding that I prefer not having to face my lonely walls at the end of the work day. Since I was way overdue to return the books Ziggy loaned me, I decided to head over here to her store today after work to pay her a visit.
I turn my head to face her. “I don’t know how much longer I can go on feeling this way, Zig, I swear. I’m sick of journaling and deep-breathing and reading self-help books that never seem to help. How fucking broken am I? Seriously?! I dideverythingto get over this man over the past four years. At this point, I don’t know what else to do.”
Ziggy releases a harsh exhale. Then she grabs me by the shoulders and forces me upright so I can look at her. “Okay, bitch. You got to have your ‘sad girl’ moment. But you don’t get to wallow in it forever.” She swipes at the incense grime smudged across my forehead. “At some point, you’re going to have to get off your ass and face your shit.”
I frown at her. “Well that’s not very spiritual.”
What the fuck? She’s my guru. Isn’t she supposed to walk me through a full moon ritual? Or give me a bunch of crystals to wear inside my bra? What the fuck is this tough love?!
She rolls her eyes. “Self-awareness is nothing but a very sophisticated way of beating yourself up. Unless you’re willing to actually make changes in your life. Instead of using all the knowledge you gathered to label yourself and punish yourself, how about using it to…grow? Recognizing your imperfections is only step one.”
“What’s step two?” I question around the ball in my throat.
“Step two is deciding, am I gonna change this shit or not? Am I gonna be the victim or am I gonna be the hero of my fucking story?”
My shoulders droop when I sigh. “Talking about this self-development stuff is easy. Putting it into practice is a whole different story, though. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know where to start.”
She nods empathetically. “I understand, girl. But eventually, you’re going to need to learn to stand up for yourself, advocate for you, and take what you want. You put everybody’s needs ahead of your own. But I’ll let you in on a little secret. And be warned because this won’t sound too spiritual, either.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s okay to be selfish sometimes. Your happiness matters, too.” She bumps her shoulder into mine. “We’ve been over this, Alana. If you can’t validate yourself, you will never be comfortable accepting Davis’s validation. If you can’t love yourself, his love will always feel foreign to you. It all starts with believing you’re worth something, sweetie. You have to believe you’re worth fighting for.”
Her words immediately hit home in a way that knocks me sideways.
More and more, I’ve been seriously starting to wonder if the only one who can save me from the sticky web of self-loathing I’m trapped in in my head is…me.
By the time I get home, I’m feeling tired, hungry, and truthfully, pretty damn miserable. But the idea of going to bed lonely right now sounds downright awful.
After stewing in the near darkness—I couldn’t even muster up the motivation to flip on the lights—I decide to change into some jeans and venture back out.
Without really thinking, I find myself at The Hot Sauce bar. Not only does it have my favorite bartender, but since it’s a week night, it’s relatively quiet. Not overrun by rowdy twenty-year-olds.
I grab a stool at the end of the bar, making small talk with Meghan’s aunt, Jane, as she works.
“Another, hun?” she asks after I’ve made my way through my first bourbon lemonade.
