Page 4 of Dreams on the Ice

I’ll definitely have to go for a run tomorrow. There’s no way around that. And if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’ll probably avoid eating for a day and then do this shit all over again.

Nothing about my life is consistent, including eating. Well… my inconsistent schedule and my horrible sleep routine are pretty steady. So, maybe I’m more consistent than I realize, but not in any of the good ways.

Once I gorge myself on nuggets, fries, and apples, and after I’ve sucked down all of my shake, I drive home. I shouldn’t do this to myself, but I do it about every two days and hate myself on the third.

Over and over again.

Before I head home, I find a dumpster to throw the trash away in because there is no way I am going to show anyone that I’ve massacred this food. It’s a secret thing I do to myself andthen hate myself for later. I think sharing that part of me would be too much. I’m not someone who overshares when it comes to my own personal demons.

Pulling into the driveway, I shift my car intoParkand flick my gaze to the rearview mirror. I have to look. There’s no way around it. I have to see if he’s there. And he is. His car is parked in its usual space, but as my eyes search the small rectangular mirror, I actually see him sitting in a chair on the porch, watching me.

Grabbing ahold of my purse, I open the door. I really don’t know why I am so obsessed with him.

That’s a lie.

I know exactly why. But I’m not sure why I allow myself to indulge in staring at him and lusting after him because I know I can’t have him. And I won’t let myself have him, either, even if he offered, which he never has.

Hitching my purse over my shoulder, I walk toward the front door. But before I reach for the handle, there is a whistle behind me. Stopping, I look over my shoulder in the direction of the noise.

It’s him.

It’s Forrest.

He’s jogging toward me.

My breath hitches at the sight of his approach.

God.

He’s beautiful.

FORREST

My father doesn’t text, but my mother does, and after an afternoon at the Tipsy Tavern, my mother’s text comes throughand pisses me off instantly. Not just a little bit, but so much so that I grip my phone in my hand so hard that I hear it make a crackling noise.

I almost call her but decide against it. Instead, I reread her text, taking it in, soaking it all in before I respond.

MOM: Forrest, darling. I wish you wouldn’t upset your father so. He truly wishes to give you everything that is rightfully yours. It hurts him like you would not understand when you continue to reject him.

IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH DAD. HIS LEGACY. OR WHATEVER THE FUCK. IT HAS TO DO WITH THE FACT THAT NOBODY RESPECTS MY CAREER.

Leaving the Tavern, I don’t even bother saying goodbye to anyone. I need to be alone for a while and figure out what the fuck I’m going to do. If I stay here, I’m fucked. If I go and do what my father wants, I’m fucked in a different way.

By the time I get home, I have more texts from my mom, and as I read through them, I realize that I’m well and truly fucked. I run my fingers through my hair and close my eyes.

I’LL BE THERE. I’LL HAVE A DATE.

MOM: A date?

A DATE.

MOM: Is it serious?

Since I’m already on a roll of lies, I continue.

YES. IT’S VERY SERIOUS.

MOM: I simply cannot wait to meet this young lady.

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