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It wasn’t pretty.
I was pale and splotchy.
My hair was a bird’s nest.
And my eyes were red and swollen.
Red, yes, that made sense.
But swollen?
As my finger rose to touch the puffy eyelids, it suddenly came back to me in a rush.
The puffiness had nothing at all to do with the alcohol.
Oh, no.
That was the crying.
There had been a lot of crying.
Which was likely half to blame for the headache as well.
I don’t remember the last time I really had a cry. The kind that emptied out your soul, that made you genuinely worry about your sanity because you couldn’t quite seem to calm it down, to gain control over yourself again.
That was exactly what had happened last night. I had cried until I fell asleep.
But not before I did something else first.
Something incredibly, ridiculously stupid.
“Oh, god,” I groaned, bringing my hands up over my eyes, feeling my face heat up. “Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.”
I’d called Gunner.
I’d called Gunner… and left a message.
I took a deep breath, trying to stop the swirling embarrassment enough to focus, trying to remember through my wine-soaked brain what I had said.
It came back like a lightning rod when I looked back up at my reflection.
“I can’t do it,” I had started, my voice already starting to hitch. “I had to quit my job. My boss was a jerk and everything hurt. And the pay was degrading. I… I don’t know what to do with myself here. I cook. I clean. I try to draw. But everything feels so empty. I feel empty here,” I had added, my voice cracking finally, the tears starting. “I would say I wish this never happened, that Cortez never came into my life. But if he never had, I never would have met you. But maybe I do wish for that, you know? Because if this never happened. If he never happened, if you never happened, I never would have realized how hollow my life was. But now, it is all I can think about. It’s all I can think about.
And I am so alone. I have no one to talk to. There is no one I can talk to. Because I can’t be me anymore. I can’t feel the way I feel anymore. Because I don’t exist anymore. I don’t exist, but there’s nothing I can do about all these feelings inside that do exist still. There’s nothing I can…” I’d broken off then, choking back a sob, sniffling hard. “I just… why did you leave like that?” I had asked before I suddenly realized what I was doing, hitting the end call button, then falling into the pillow on my couch, sobbing it all out.
And I must repeat… Oh, god.
I wasn’t that woman.
I wasn’t someone who called and cried at men. It was humiliating to realize I had done it, that I couldn’t undo it, that there was no way to take it back, that he would pick up his phone – possibly already had – and heard me sobbing and sniffling and babbling, bemoaning my fate.
What would he think of me?
Not good things, I was sure.
Maybe that he was glad he dodged a bullet by leaving like he had.
It was not the last memory I wanted him to have of me, but it would likely be the most vivid one, one he would tell his buddies – about that chick he laid that called a few days later crying at him.
I was that woman.
Pathetic and laughable.
Which was a hell of a lot worse than being remembered as the cold, rich bitch he likely thought I had been before that call.
But, I tried to reason with myself, there was absolutely not a single thing I could do about what had already happened.
All I could do now was try to move forward, forget what had happened, carve out some kind of life for myself here.
So what if the big box store wasn’t my cup of tea? I had enough money to hold me over for a while. I could be more selective, wait to find something I didn’t absolutely loathe.
There was a knocking at my door, making my heart fly up into my throat, making it feel like I was choking on it before I realized that even if Cortez could find me, he likely would not come knocking.
Taking a steadying breath, I moved out toward the living room, stepping silently so no one could hear me in case I didn’t want to open the door for whoever it was.
But I didn’t find Cortez. Or my old boss. Or Andrew.
No.
I found a woman.
Petite, plump, blonde-haired, bright-eyed.
I knew her.
Well, knew of her.
She was the woman who lived across the hall with her two daughters. No husband or boyfriends. I had seen them coming and going, but hadn’t bumped into them yet.
