Page 21 of Selfish Desires

The bright lights of New York City twinkled like an ocean of stars in the black tar sky above me. But it wasn’t home anymore. No place could ever be home as long as Vincent was in it. At least, that was what I kept telling myself. But why was my heart suddenly fighting the logic? He hurt me. What Vincent did three years ago was unforgivable. I didn’t think anyone could break me the way he had. How he left me alone, vulnerable, needing help and comfort. I had none of that and never would.

But why did my heart still harbor space for him? Did I want to be hurt? Did I enjoy being punished?

No. I didn’t. Not that kind, at least. Not the kind that warranted abandonment. I didn’t crave that at all.

What did I really want? I guess…love?

The type of love Vincent and I shared up until the last words he uttered to me. That I believed. He told me he would be right back, but he lied. The last words he said to me were a lie…or were they? Because he was back. Just three years later.

Look at how pathetic I became. Rationalizing a sociopath's behavior because while I wanted to be loved, the only person’s love I still yearned for was Vincent’s.

My chest tightened suddenly, and a cold sweat erupted across my skin, fighting against the bitter air. I wrapped my arms around my body, cursing myself for not dressing appropriately for the weather. An emptiness echoed through me, bouncing off my ribs and rattling my heart. The only way to settle this loneliness I grew to know all too well was to leave. It was the one thing I still knew how to do without a hiccup.

I hailed a cab and got in, letting my head fall back against the seat with a heavy sigh. As we drove through the cityscape, neon lights and bustling crowds blurred into a chaotic dance of colors and shadows. It was hard to believe somewhere in this chaos was Vincent. Shit. I needed to stop. Just please stop thinking about him, I begged myself, but I was going to lose. Anything having to do with Vincent was a losing battle.

The cab halted abruptly, dragging me from my reverie. I handed over the fare and stepped out into the biting cold. The hotel's grand exterior seemed daunting, but it was just a building irrelevant to my twisted love life.

Once back in my room, I found myself pacing restlessly. Back and forth, back and forth—like a caged animal trapped within four walls lined in pretentious denim wallpaper. All these years, I asked myself when the pain would go away. When would my heart heal?

And after seeing Vincent a mere few hours earlier, the answer was clear: it wouldn’t. The only person who could cure me was the one person who broke me, and I just couldn't deal with this harsh fact anymore. My eyes darted to the clock. If I left now, I could return to Newport by 1 AM.

I grabbed my bag and started throwing my things in. There was no point in staying a moment longer. Every minute in this city was another minute my twisted heart could find an excuse to see him again. Something in me kept clinging to the hope that maybe there was this reason larger than life with why he left the way he had. But was it excusable? Could I find it in my heart to forgive him despite never being able to forget? We had so much between us. So much trust, until it was broken without warning.

No. I needed to leave. Now.

I hurriedly changed into leggings and a burnout sweatshirt for the drive, zipped up the bag, and turned off the lights as I exited the room. The hotel lobby was surprisingly quiet, and I checked out swiftly without exchanging a single word with the receptionist. I walked out of the revolving doors into the cold night as if in a trance.

The chill seemed harsher now as it whipped through my clothing. Shivering slightly, I threw the valet a few dollars, got into my car, and bitterly kissed this city goodbye for a second and final time. It was decided. I was never going to return. Not for Blair. Not for Sadie. For once, I was going to put myself first and not falter.

Once on the road, the loneliness seeped back in like a poison, slowly spreading in my veins with each mile that took me farther away from New York—from him. As much as my mind screamed at me to forget Vincent, my heart begged otherwise. Hours passed like minutes as I drove through the darkness, guided only by the dimmed headlights of the car and occasional flashes of high beams.

His voice echoed around my head, saying those four words that had once meant so much but now held nothing but pain: “I'll be right back.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips—how ironic it was for him to be back when I was finally leaving everything behind.

Finally crossing over into Newport, I let out a sigh of relief. The familiar surroundings, less crowded and more serene than the bustling city, comforted me somewhat. I pulled over and sat there awhile, my eyes welling up with unshed tears.

As much as I wanted to forget Vincent, even hate him for what he did, I knew deep down that he still held a piece of my heart. A piece I wasn't sure I’d ever get back.

Newport seemed like a fresh start, and maybe it was time for me to let go of old wounds and embrace new beginnings. After all, the sun would rise again tomorrow, and who knew what it might bring? Perhaps even love...just not his.

Ugh, who was I even kidding to imagine such hope as the clock crept closer to being the middle of the night? This was officially one of the longest days of my life. From fleeing New York to returning home on impulse, nothing was helping. I was trapped. By the time I reached my cozy house, the moon sat high in the velvet sky, and the residential streets were bathed in an ethereal glow.

I dropped my bags at the door. I stumbled toward my bedroom and collapsed onto the mattress without shedding my travel clothes or switching on any lights. The cool sheets felt like a balm to my burning skin, and I buried my face into the pillows, tears streaming down my cheeks. Vincent’s reappearance had changed everything. It had ripped open wounds I thought were healed and revealed a truth I was too afraid to admitI still loved him. But love alone wasn’t enough, not after what he had done.

The clock read 2 AM, but sleep was nowhere on the radar. My mind raced. Every inch of flesh on me wanted to detach itself from my body. My bones screamed from exhaustion, the gravity of the fatigue threatening to glue me to the wood floors.

I would not let Vincent win. Let alone on his terms. He came to New York to destroy me again, but I refused to lose. Reaching for my phone, my raucous instincts taking over, my fingers dialed Stephen’s number. I waited for Stephen to pick up, and that was when the crazy laugh burst from my throat. Of course, he wasn’t going to answer. It was the middle of the fucking night, and I was officially losing my mind. What was even my plan for doing this?

Suddenly, the line connected, a groggy voice on the other side. “Wendy? Is that you?”

“Stephen,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I slapped my hand over my eyes, squeezing them tight. What did I want? What did I want to do? Why did I call Stephen? It wasn’t right for me to call him. But lately, my mind screamed to make all the wrong choices. “Do you want to come over?”

“Now?” Stephen’s voice raised a surprised octave.

“Yes, now.” My voice grew louder, staying firm.

And, twenty minutes later, Stephen knocked on my door with three persistent thumps. I rose from the living room couch and moved toward the door. My heart was racing as I twisted the doorknob and opened it reluctantly. In his tight blue jeans, white Henley, and a hastily donned coat, Stephen stood there, bewildered. His hair was in disarray, but his blue eyes pooled with genuine concern.

“Wendy,” he said softly. “What's going on?”

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