Page 33 of Pulled Away

That saying, sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never harm me, is a lie. Words are a powerful thing, and things said in anger can never be taken back. It’s exactly what I told Ryan at the restaurant. An apology doesn’t take away the hurt harmful words cause.

I blow out a deep breath, rubbing the back of my neck. A hangover and stress are so not a good combination. Lucky for me, Piper’s couch is comfortable, although, with the amount of alcohol I consumed, I don’t think an uncomfortable couch would have prevented me from passing out. I borrowed some of her clothes, which I’m thankful for, but the workday dragged, and I’m itching for a shower and my own clothes.

I smooth my face into an impassive mask and open the door, but instead of finding them together, I find…nothing. The house is empty, and Ryan is nowhere to be found. His car is here, so that means he’s with her. In the apartment. I let out a disbelieving laugh. I don’t know what’s worse. Her being here or him being there. There’s no way he didn’t hear my car.

My heart clenches, and I’m at a loss for what to do. I expected him to be here. To be apologetic, begging for my understanding or forgiveness or something…Not this. This complete and utter indifference.

Is he angry at me? He doesn’t have a right to be fucking angry at me. I’m the one that was lied to. That was deceived.

What happened after I left? The house is as neat as a pin, so obviously he cleaned up after their guests left. Did they do it together?

I shake off my thoughts and head to the shower. Instead of dwelling on it while I’m standing like an idiot in the middle of the lounge, at least I can get clean while dwelling on it.

By the time I’m done, Ryan’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He looks up and his eyes are red, his face drawn. He looks like shit. Silence stretches between us, and just as I’m feeling like I’m about to snap, he heaves a breath, his shoulders dropping in defeat.

“Hadley’s dad died last night. Well, early this morning.”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, not knowing what to feel.

Silence stretches again while I clutch the towel, feeling vulnerable.

“I know we’re not in a good place right now. You’re angry and upset, and I have a lot of explaining to do. The word sorry doesn’t even come close to what I owe you,” he says, blowing out a deep breath, and I brace myself. I know he’s going to say “but,” and everyone knows that anything that follows a “but,” completely invalidates what came before it, “but she’s in a really bad spot right now, and she needs me.”

And there it is. There’s a plea in his eyes, begging me to understand, and what can I do other than nod? It doesn’t matter that I need him. That I need us. My needs stopped existing the day she arrived. Defeat is an ugly, ugly thing.

“Do what you need to do,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.

“I’m sorry, Aspen,” he says again, and I want to scream at him to stop saying that. Stop saying sorry if you’re going to go ahead and hurt me, anyway. The worst thing? There’s not even a flicker of compassion in my heart. Not for him. Not for her. If Ryan hadn’t lied to me, we wouldn’t be in this position right now. If he had allowed me to be there for him instead of pushing me away, making it clear that Hadley wasn’t interested in anything from me and supporting her in that decision, we wouldn’t be in this position right now. If I wasn’t treated like an outsider, we wouldn’t be in this position right now.

So many damn ifs.

There’s an ocean between us as he gets up, nods, and walks out of the room without a backward glance. Without a touch.

Later on, I text him asking if I can get them something to eat. I don’t want to, but I will because I know if Mom’s looking down on me, she’d scold me for not turning the other cheek in this situation.

An hour later he responds with a “no, thank you.” That’s it. Nothing else.

And when I get into bed, he’s still not back.

When I wake up in the morning, I’m still alone in the house, his side of the bed undisturbed.

In the following days, I see little of Ryan, much less talk to him. I don’t see Hadley at all unless I’m glancing out the window when they’re leaving or returning from somewhere.

Some nights he doesn’t bother coming back, instead spending the night with her. And unless he’s spending it scrunched up on the single-seater, he’s spending it in her bed.

Each time I go to bed alone, something little inside me dies.

I’m not insensitive to what she’s going through. I know what grief can do to a person, but this whole situation is causing a sickness to fester in the pit of my stomach. It’s undeniable that she still has feelings for him, and now I’m wondering just how one-sided those feelings are.

He introduced her as a friend, omitting the important fact that they were married at some point. Why would he do that? We never got to have that conversation, and it’s there, firmly present in the front of my mind. And then the way he allowed her to monopolize his time from the minute she got here? Not only allowing it but gladly going along with it. I feel like the moment he saw her again; I got shoved to the side.

It’s like there’s a huge stopwatch in my head, ticking down the seconds. To what, I’m not sure. Although, if I have to be completely honest with myself, I do know, I just don’t want to admit it.

Because then I’d have to think of what might be happening in the apartment on the nights that he spends with her. Grief has an incredible way of bonding people.

Before she came, I believed with my whole being that Ryan loved me. That we were making a life together. Now, I’m not so sure anymore. I’m not sure about anything anymore.

The few times I do see him, things between us are strained. Not only that, he looks exhausted. Defeated. And like his mind is miles away. Like he can’t get away fast enough. Instead of confronting him, I close my mouth and swallow down all the words churning in my gut. That’s all I’ve been doing lately. Swallowing everything down.

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