Page 30 of From Rivals to I Do

“Don’t say that to me,” I reply. “Because if you did, if you ever had, you wouldn’t have done what you did. And if you respected me,

you wouldn’t be here at my doorstep all over again.”

“That’s not true!” he insists, and he takes a step forward. Heart pounding, I try to slam the door shut, but it won’t close. His boot is

wedged in between the door and the frame.

“Joe, move your foot! Now!’ I yell. “I don’t want you anywhere near me!”

“Come on now, you don’t mean that, Darla,” Joseph says. “I need a place to go, and what better place to go than back into the arms of my lover?”

“I do!” I scream back. “I don’t want anything to do with your cheesy, drunk, cheating, low down, dirty, and no good pathetic self!”

I insist, and his smile fades; I can see the rage begin to filter into his eyes. “You are not welcome here.”

“Who do you think you are?” Joseph spits. “You think you can just talk to me like that?”

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” I reply. “Now leave before I call the cops.”

“You wouldn’t,” Joseph replies, glaring at me.

“Try me,” I say, glaring right back, holding stern even though I am scared out of my wits, and I feel like my heart’s going to explode.

I’ve never seen him so angry. “You wouldn’t do well in jail, Joe,” I continue, steeling my nerves, wanting to drive it home in his brain to

leave me be.

“This isn’t over, Darla,” Joseph says as he slides his boot out from the door, and I quickly close it, deadbolting and locking it before I

run to the window in time to hear his engine rev and his tires squeal as he speeds off. I’m left wondering if his words were talk or if he

meant it.

Chapter eight

Chapter Eight

I hiss as I nick my skin a little with my razor, my hands shaking slightly as I do my best to spruce myself up for my coffee date with

Darla. A part of me is excited, but there’s another part of me that is absolutely terrified.

Maybe this isn’t the best idea. I think to myself as I press a piece of toilet paper to the tiny wound, the blood blooming slowly through

the other side of the thin, ivory-white tissue. I mean, Darla seems like a sweetheart and all, but I’m not sure I’m ready for this. I should call this whole thing off. . .

It still feels like yesterday that Melanie was playing Stevie Nick’s in the kitchen, twirling around while she cut roses from her prized

bushes. The fragrance carried all through the house, and every time I came in from work, she’d be there with a smile and a kiss.

Sometimes, when I think of her, I can almost feel her fingertips on my skin. . .

The phone buzzes, and it brings me back to reality. It's me, staring at myself alone in the mirror, my phone going off again. I pick it up,

and there she is. Darla. And even in my bout of self-doubt, somehow Darla seems to pull me out of it.

Hey! Just wanted to confirm the address for the coffee place :)

I can’t help but smile. I haven’t even seen her yet, but there’s something about her that really draws me in. Maybe it’s because she and I have so much in common, or maybe because I’m just that lonely. Honestly, I can’t be too sure. But the part of me that wants to find out wins over the fear, and I text her back the address before shoving my phone in my breast pocket and heading to the kitchen.

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