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I refused therapy from right before the wedding until now. Megan was on vacation a couple of those weeks, but it was mostly me cancelling last-minute, forcing my feelings down and not wanting this to be my reality.
I give her a soft smile. “Yeah… I guess you could say that.”
“First of all, I’m proud of you for trying things with Bordeaux. I know how much you’ve struggled ever since the situation with Manuel. I still don’t know if going to the wedding, or attempting to go to the wedding, was the best thing for your mental health, but I applaud you for taking a stand.” Megan sets her notebook face-down on the table between us. “I’m so sorry about Flynn. How is he doing now?” She cocks her head to the side, looking genuinely concerned. Maybe if Flynn had someone like Megan to talk to, he wouldn’t have taken it so far.
I’ve gotten numerous texts from Declan, asking me to visit Flynn with her, telling me he’s doing really good in the treatment center he was discharged to. He was in the hospital for two weeks before he was finally able to transfer. If there’s one good thing that came into my life because of Bordeaux, it’s definitely Declan. It’s been years since I’ve had a friend, a real, true friend who seems like she actually gives a shit.
Part of that is probably my fault. I’m the queen of not letting anyone in, of remaining detached, of isolating. But Declan was the first person who forced her way into my life, aside from Bordeaux, and force he did.
“My friend Declan has tried to get me to go see him. He’s doing really well from what she says. I talk to her almost daily now, and she gives me updates. Declan is also in Reckless Desires with Flynn and Bordeaux and another guy named Miller.” I tell her this as if she doesn’t know who they are. How could she not? Everyone knows them. It makes Bordeaux that much harder to forget.
He’s everywhere.
“But you don’t want to visit?” she asks, and I know there’s more to her question, I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.
I shake my head. “Of course, I want to,” I tell her. “I just don’t know how appropriate it would be. Flynn and I didn’t form too much of a connection because he wasn’t doing well when I met him. But I care about him.”
“Why do you care about him if you aren’t connected to him?”
There it is.
There it is.
Ugh.
I answer her, and it’s like pulling teeth. I admit to myself what I’ve been trying to block out for the last month.
“Because I care about Bordeaux, so I care about his best friend, and I want him to be okay.”
I do care about him. As much as it kills me to say it, I still love him. I fell hard and fast, and I haven’t been able to get over him. The way his eyes felt like they penetrated my fucking soul. His lips on mine and the way he sounded when he moaned my name. How he opened up to me, and how I know it was painful to do so. How could all that mean nothing to him?
It meant everything to me.
And I guess that’s the reality of heartbreak.
You don’t get to choose who hurts the most. And this time, I lost.
I sit on Megan’s couch and silently reflect on everything that’s transpired, and it’s the first time I’ve realized just how in love with Bordeaux I am. The love I feel for him isn’t even comparable to the love I thought I shared with Manuel. Part of me thinks I was never in love at all before I met Bordeaux. That everything else was a goddamn sham. It was mediocre and cheap and never meant to last.
My heart pangs in my chest. We were supposed to last.
“You got a new tattoo,” Megan says, breaking the silence. I look down and realize I’ve been running my fingers over my wrist where the two little words are inked into my skin like a permanent stain.
I drop my hand from my wrist and change the subject, not wanting to think about our semi-matching tattoos. “Bordeaux has called me every single day since I ran out of his hotel room,” I tell Megan.
She looks at me, narrowing her eyes. “And you haven’t picked up.”
I nod slowly, knowing she knows me well enough by now to know there’s no way in hell I’d pick up the phone. As if she reads my mind, she adds, “I know you aren’t talking to him right now, but can I ask why?”
I shrink back into the leather and shoot her daggers with my eyes before I close them, breathing in the lavender and eucalyptus blend before I lose my shit on her.
“I haven’t answered his call because what he said wasn’t right, Megan.” I use her name and we both know I mean business. After all, she’s the one who taught me how to stand up for myself.
“I whole-heartedly agree with you, but I want you to put yourself in his shoes. Just for a moment. And us doing this doesn’t mean he was right to say what he said, because he wasn’t. He crossed a major line and that may be why he’s called you every single day for a month,” she says, giving me a look like, ‘hello, earth to Isla.’ “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you said his friend attempted suicide. You were all in the hospital after a show in Indiana. He set off a code blue. Everything was very much up in the air to the point where Flynn’s mother came in and told all of you that things weren’t looking to be in Flynn’s favor.”
I nod, waiting for the grand finale that I know is coming. And then he lost it.
“And then Bordeaux left. He wanted to be alone and process what was happening. And he knew in order to do that, he needed to be by himself. But you followed him. You tried to invade his space when he clearly wanted to be left alone in his hotel room. You then proceeded to sleep against the door of said hotel room. You may have pounded and raised your voice more than you are proud of,” she says with a pause, looking to me for reassurance. I may have under-exaggerated how much hitting the door and screaming I did. “You got wind of the article that completely exposed your entire past to potentially hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people, and you immediately saw red. He finally opened the door, with still no word on Flynn, and you blamed him for the article.”
