Page 42 of Pulled Away

If she convinces him to move away, it will be a blessing in disguise. I won’t have to see them around town, rubbing my face in it.

When did I start thinking of them being a couple as a foregone conclusion?

“Well, good luck with all that,” I say, folding my list and getting up. I have a sudden desire to escape this house of horrors. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my day, but anything is better than being here.

Chapter sixteen

Aspen

The passage of time creeps along the walls. The sunlight fades slowly, casting shadows on the wall. I know I should get up and start packing, but I don’t. I’m numb, not bothering to switch on a light as the room grows darker around me. He’s not here. He’s on a plane to some exotic destination with his ex-wife.

Till the last second, I held out hope that he wouldn’t do this to me. To us. Despite all his assurances—that it meant nothing, that she’s his friend, that I’m the one he loves—the moment he walked her to the waiting car and packed their suitcases in the trunk, he sealed our fate. The little smirk and wave she threw me as they drove away was just the final nail in the coffin.

It’s completely dark outside by the time I wipe the tears from my cheeks and stand up. Feeling lost, I look around at the shadowy outlines of the living room furniture. There’s a memory in every piece—a memory that’s now tainted by doubt, betrayal, and heartache. How much of it was real?

Clenching my fists, I turn my back on the room as if that act alone will block out the images that have taken up residence in my mind. If I start now, I’ll be able to pack my clothes and the few things I have and be out of here long before morning. I’ll never see this place in full sunlight again.

The pain that shoots through me is so intense that it nearly brings me to my knees. I thought it was my home, filled with love and so much hope for the future. But it turns out that thoughts and hopes are just empty wishes in the wind, beaten into obscurity by a destructive storm intent on destroying everything you hold dear.

Somehow I find the strength to steel my spine and leave without switching on the light. Leaving it all behind in a cloak of darkness, just like I’m hoping to be able to one day leave my love behind.

The room is everything you’d expect a budget motel room to look like. A generic brown carpet, worn down from countless sets of feet and faded from many washes. An orange comforter with its explosion of yellow and pink daisies that doesn’t scream, “Come, lie down, rest for a while.” But it’s cheap and beggars can’t be choosers. At least there’s one of those little one-cup coffee makers with a few pods, which I’m sure will be my saving grace. I haven’t eaten today—I can’t stomach the thought of food. But coffee? Coffee I can do.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. This motel is cheap, but every bit of extra money I’ve had has gone into the rescue, and now I only have enough to stay for about a week.

What am I going to do when the week is up?

I need to get my own place. I considered asking Julia for an advance, but it won’t help. It won’t be enough for a deposit, the first month’s rent, and all the essentials I’d need.

Piper would offer me her couch in a heartbeat. So would Maya. As for Rose, she got a new roommate after I moved out, so I wouldn’t dream of asking her.

My friends would want to help me. In fact, I know they’ll insist on helping me. But my pride won’t allow it. Just like it wouldn’t allow me to stay at Ryan’s place a minute longer.

I’m to blame for the situation I find myself in. I allowed myself to become dependent on Ryan. So, I have to fix it.

Then there’s the fact that I’m a mess and I don’t want anyone to see me this way. My skin feels tight—that feeling it gets after you’ve just washed your face and before you’ve moisturized, and just by blinking I can tell that my eyes are puffy. If I had any doubt about my appearance, the check-in clerk and her refusal to meet my gaze would have set me straight.

Stubbornness, pride, call it what you want, but I have lost so much today, that I refuse to lose my pride.

Maybe I should just buy a blowup mattress and sleep at the rescue. But it’s so isolated and the thought of sleeping there is creepy.

Sighing, I drop my overnight bag, letting it lie where it falls, and put Dan the Man down on the nightstand. I should have left the damn thing, but for some reason, I couldn’t.

As I was doing a final sweep—because I never plan on going there again—I saw him. He looked so forlorn, reflecting what I was feeling, and the memory of Ryan handing him to me with a flourish nearly brought me to my knees.

I cried when I picked him up, scolding myself for getting emotional over a plastic cactus. It’s so stupid, but it’s the memory that hurts. How in love we were when we’d just started dating. How proud Ryan was when he won it at a fair, immediately dubbing him Dan the Man, because he was the man.

I sit on the bed, and I’m not sure if it’s seconds, minutes, or an hour that passes while I stare at the nondescript beige wall. Time seems to have lost all meaning to me. All my mind seems to focus on is them. It seems to hate me, showing images of them I don’t want to see in a relentless loop.

Sitting side-by-side on the plane while sipping drinks that come in those tiny bottles, sharing their excitement.

Snacking on tapas and drinking cocktails while she’s in that barely there red two-piece and he’s in his favorite blue and black swimming trunks.

Enjoying the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet with their heads together while planning their activities for the day.

Her on the back of a jet ski with him, her front pressed to his back, arms wrapped around his waist.

Going for a stroll down the beach while taking in the sunset. Holding hands? Probably.

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