Page 6 of Viper

“Goats? Goats poop everywhere. Why would I want that?”

She laughs. “Don’t know, but people do. Apparently, it’s cute.”

“Sounds like a city thing. Thanks for the invite, but—”

“You’ve said no to everything for the last six months. You can’t sit in the house forever.”

“We were married for ten years, Jo. Ten years of my life just… gone.” Pathetic, disgusting tears fall down my cheeks. I’m so sick of crying.

“I know, but it’s his loss, babe. You have your whole life left to live.”

I know Jo means well, but she doesn’t get it. She’s still young. She actually has her entire life left to live. I don’t. My childbearing days are ticking as we speak. At this point, whoever I fall in love with will have to put babies in me right after saying hello. I don’t think that’s a healthy way to start a relationship.

“What about the part where I’ll go out tonight, and he’ll be on my doorstep acting like a lunatic? At least if I’m home, I’m protected inside.”

“That’s not even true. He broke your window last night.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat as I search for excuses.

“He cheated on you. He lied to you. He treated you like absolute shit. And now… he wants to act sorry? The dude is mental, Clem. Don’t let him have anymore of your life. We should call the cops about the stalking thing.”

“I’ve called them. He comes anyway.” I sigh. “Look, I just need some time to get my head on straight. I—”

“No.” Her tone is serious. “I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re sitting at home, sulking, thinking about what could’ve been when there’s something else out there for you.”

“Yeah.” I blow out a breath because no matter what I say, no one gets it. I’m not the same person anymore. Life has changed. I’m not the sunshine girl I used to be. I’m a mess. That said, I can’t blow Jo off again. It’s selfish. She needs friends too. “Sure. I’ll come out tonight. You need me to bring anything?”

“Yay! Just bring yourself… and coffee. Are you stopping for coffee?” I can almost hear the relief in her voice.

“Decaf?”

She giggles. “No way. I need the jolt to get through the class. I have a feeling I’m going to be sweeping up shit all night afterwards.”

“You got it.” I fake a smile hoping it translates over the line, but I’m not sure it does. I should probably knock all this off. I don’t know what my problem is. One second, I’m genuinely happy that I’ve gotten rid of the asshole. The next, I’m lamenting about how many years I wasted and wondering what all of it was for. Between all that, I’m managing the fact that he’s on my doorstep every night of the week.

That part, I really don’t get.

“Can’t wait for tonight,” I say, pulling out the photo album in my desk.

“Same. Love you.”

“Love you too!” The line disconnects and I go back to torturing myself with pictures. I like to study his eyes. They look like the same brown eyes I believed forever. How did I miss it? How could I not notice he had another woman for ten years? I was busy with school, but not that busy.

My heart squeezes and the air in the room becomes too heavy to breathe in.

I lay back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. The fan whirrs above me and the wind pushes through the cracks in the windowsill, making a slight whistling sound that’s almost hypnotic.

For some reason, when I’m in this space, I think about Abe. The way he looked at me, the way I felt that night, the way my body ached for him years afterward. I’ve never ached like that for anyone, not even Craig. I thought it was because we’d met so young and we’d already spent so much time together, but now I wonder if maybe I didn’t feel it because it wasn’t right. Maybe he knew it too, that’s why he was living a life with someone else. I never asked him. I didn’t want to know.

I roll to my side and hold my stomach as I lean into my third bellyache cry of the day. I’m not sure if it’s him, or if it’s feeling so undesirable that’s making me fall apart. Either way, it sucks.

Dragging in a few deep breaths, I stare back up at the ceiling, wishing what little recollection I have of Abe back into my soul. At this point, his memory may as well be nothing more than fantasy because that’s what he’s become — make-believe. In fact, he’s been the one and only fantasy I’ve run to when things got bad over the years. For some reason, knowing someone, somewhere understood me, helped.

That said, it’s been so long, I don’t even remember what he looks like. I mean, I have a vague image. He was tall, imposing, covered in tattoos. His voice was deep behind his thick beard. His hands were rough. He smelled like pine and leather. His eyes were wild. He was… hot.

My breathing picks up as I think about him.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m so desperate for love and affection, I’m fantasizing about a man I knew for an hour… ten years ago?

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