Page 34 of Love You Madly

Now I’m getting way ahead of myself.

For now, I need to take it slow, one step at a time. I stand up, stretch, and head to my bedroom. As I close my eyes, I think about Callie and her smile from her pictures that I can only imagine is even more infectious in person. I hope she actually responds when I text her tomorrow. With that thought, I finally drift off to sleep, feeling lighter than I have in a long time.

fifteen

CALL ME MAYBE - CARLY RAE JEPSEN

CALLIE - MAY 25, 2013

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. I reach for my phone, half-hoping there’s a “good morning” text from Owen. Instead, my screen lights up with a name I wish I could erase from my life—Adam.

My stomach drops.

Adam:

Callie, are you serious? You’re on dating apps? You’re fucking pregnant. What the hell is wrong with you?

A cold and relentless anxiety creeps its way in as I stare at the message. I know I shouldn’t let him get to me but my now deep-rooted instinct to shrink and make myself smaller is still there. It’s been there for so long now I’m not sure I’ll ever fully be over my fear of him lashing out if I say the wrong thing.

His words cut straight through me, sharp and drippingwith judgment.What if he’s right? What if I’m wrong for wanting something more, something outside this mess with him? Does it make me a bad mom?

My hand trembles as I set my phone back on the nightstand, desperately trying to push away the rising panic, but the room feels smaller and I swear my own heart is trying to beat out of my chest.Just ignore him, Callie. Today is supposed to be a good day. Don’t let him take that from you.But that voice–his voice in my head–won’t shut up. It never does, always reminding me how worthless I am in moments like this.

Another buzz, another message.

Adam:

This is not okay. You’re carrying my child and you’re out whoring around? Unbelievable.

The knot in my stomach tightens then unravels on repeat as anger burns through my fear. My fingers itch to respond, to call him and scream at him through the screen.

But I can’t.

As angry as his messages make me, my instinct to make myself smaller because of him infuriates me even more. I’m sick of my emotions being dictated by Adam.

Biting the inside of my cheek, tears fill my eyes. My fingers stay frozen over the keyboard while his words blur on the screen in front of me and memories of who he used to be flood back.

What the fuck happened to him that made him so hateful?

A part of me wonders if he’s like this because of how I broke up with him when I was still in high school. Maybe that’s exactly it. What else could it be?

There’s a battle inside me between the familiar fear pulling me down and this new, fragile part of me that wants to fight back.

He doesn’t own you anymore.

It’s hard to remember that, especially when his words wrap around me, a suffocating hold I cannot break free from. He makes me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself. He makes me doubt my strength and my resolve.

I sit up in the bed, still staring at my phone and settle into a new position. When I look up from the screen, I catch my reflection in the mirror on the old vanity across the room. “He can’t control you,” I tell my reflection over and over again.

Taking a shaky breath, I straighten a little more, repeating a new mantra to myself silently.He doesn’t get to control you. You don’t owe him anything.

I finally type out a response.

Me:

Adam, we’ve been over this. We’re not together anymore. You don’t get to control what I do anymore. You lost that right when you started looking elsewhere to get your dick wet.

I hit send before I second-guess myself, heart still pounding out of my chest. Or fall out of my ass.

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