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“You can’t blame yourself for what happened, Ashton. You didn’t make him cheat. There’s something messed up in him that made him do that, not something you did,” she coaxed. A few sneaky tears rolled down my cheeks before I had a chance to stop them.
I knew she was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept. Wiping my eyes, I took a deep breath and gave her a small smile. “Thanks. I’ll be fine though. I should probably just call it a night,” I said.
“Do you need me to walk you to your door?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll call you in the morning,” I said and got out of the Jeep. She stayed in the parking lot until I entered my apartment, honking as she left out.
As soon as I locked the door behind me, my stomach churned violently, sending me running to the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet before I came face to face with the drinks I’d consumed earlier in the night. I threw up until nothing remained, my dry heaving echoing in the porcelain toilet bowl. I flushed the toilet and sank to the floor, resting my arm on the toilet seat and putting my head down.
I somehow managed to survive my three-month dumpiversary. Just a few weeks ago, I cried myself to sleep on Ava’s couch, devastated and scared of what the future would hold since I was officially alone. Now I sat on my bathroom floor with my head almost in the toilet, feeling as much pain as I did that night. Nothing had changed other than my car being wrecked and the huge shiner on my forehead that would hurt like a bitch in the morning.
Trying to ease the pounding in my head, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. One thing remained the same though. Just like that night, only one thought swam around in my mind before drifting off.
Fucking Steve.
Go figure.
