Page 243 of My Rules

But then the coin flips, and I feel insecurity creep in, and I know that I can’t go back to that place.

Not now, not ever.

So I’ll stay in my lonely bubble for one.

It’s safe here.

My finger hovers over his name ... What if I messaged him just to say hi?

Would he answer?

I throw my phone onto the floor to rid myself of temptation and let out a deep, deflated breath as I hold up the remote to the television.

Netflix, my constant companion.

Blake

The light shines through the window, and I squint as I try to get my bearings.

Hazy images of last night dance through my mind, and I look over at the bedside table to see two wineglasses, one with the red lipstick still on it.

Fuck.

My stomach turns, and I pick up my phone and scroll through my numbers. My finger lingers over the name Rebecca.

I have to hear her voice ...

Just once.

I can’t stand it one day longer.

If I can just hear her voice . . . then . . .

I stare at her name, and I desperately want to press it.

Could I . . .

No.

I get up in a rush and tear the sheets off the bed in disgust. I march to the laundry room and throw everything in the washer and fill it with disinfectant.

Every time is the same.

I get into the shower, and I soap up and scrub my skin with vigor until it’s red and raw. I scrub and scrub and scrub.

I feel dirty, so fucking dirty.

The necessary evil is about to fucking kill me.

Why does everything feel so wrong now?

Trapped in purgatory with no way out, I slide down the tiles and sit on the floor.

The hot water falls over me like a dark blanket.

Physically in New York, emotionally back on Kingston Lane.

Mentally fucked wherever I go.

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