Page 67 of Back to Me

I’m unsure of how long I’m in the shower, but when my skin wrinkles and I can no longer take the constant beating of the water, I decide it’s time to get out. My legs shake as I stand, and my joints ache with every stiff movement. My teeth chatter and my body shakes as I wrap my bathrobe around me, closing myself off to the cold air of my apartment.

I hold my breath as I step out into the hallway. The apartment is quiet, just as it was when I had hurried into the bathroom earlier. Everything is still, the air stifling me, and a chill runs down my spine. I avoid glancing toward the direction of Graham’s room and turn away from it, walking in the opposite direction.

I don’t know if he came home last night. It’s not that I told him to not come home, I didn’t make it a point to say either way. The tiniest bit of logic still lingering in my mind tells me he hasn’t stepped foot inside this apartment since we walked out together, hand in hand.

My mind is a mess of thoughts. There’s no doubt the things I said to him were terrible. It was as if I had somehow opened the floodgates, revealing my deepest and darkest thoughts and secrets. The problem was, I wasn’t absolutely certain whether they were still true or not. Years have passed in which our lives have changed immensely. I was no longer that young teenage girl who did things just to please her family. I was no longer a woman in her early twenties set out to prove something to the world. I was no longer a woman who longed for a man she believed didn’t love her back. I am, however, a woman who doesn’t know who she is anymore. I have no job, no career prospects, and now, no Graham.

My stomach turns at the very thought of last night. Bits and pieces of our argument, the sound of my voice spitting out accusations all come flooding back at once.

Staggering to my bed, I fall onto the mattress in an exhausted heap. I feel like I’ve been run over by a train, my body still aching in places I didn’t know could ache. It’s amazing what kind of pain your heart can inflict on your own body. My body’s betraying me, allowing me to fall into a hole so deep, there’s no light left.

My eyes grow heavy as I curl myself in, burying myself beneath the foreign comfort of my sheets. I lay there, thinking about Graham and all the things that were said out of anger, out of spite. The silence of the apartment travels into my room, echoing through my ears with a piercing beat. The absence of Graham’s body wrapped around mine and the emptiness I feel when he isn’t near presses down on me. Soon, my eyes succumb to the emptiness, and I fall asleep, regretting every single bit of last night.

When I wake up hours later in my own bed, I know Graham still hasn’t come home. I can feel it.

Searching for my phone, I find it buried underneath the mound of pillows piled beside me. I haven’t looked at it since yesterday, so when I pick it up and see no new notifications, my heart breaks. Graham’s silence barrels into me with a force so strong, I slink back against the headboard. How can I blame him for shutting me out when I was the one who showed him the door in the first place?

I sob, letting the uncertainty of my future with Graham eat away at me.

I wish I could rewind back to last night. I wish I could turn back time and return to that parking lot and not allow myself to speak those awful words to Graham. I lie in my bed, imagining how different things would have been if I had read Graham’s letter in front of him as he had planned. Would he have asked me to marry him for real, or were those just words written on paper? Would I have said yes before he lifted me up and danced us around the loft like he had the day he painted my portrait? I don’t even know why I bother asking myself those questions when I already know the answers.

Slowly, I crawl across my bed and pick the letter up off the floor, setting it down beside me. I read over his words three more times before neatly folding it and carry it with me out into the kitchen.

Setting it down on the center island, I think about Graham and how he took the time to write out each and every word. His love for me is written on this single sheet of paper.

When I look around the apartment, my chest tightens.

Another round of tears begins to well behind my eyes, but my cheeks remain dry when my phone rings. I don’t even bother reading the name flashing on the screen as I quickly reach out across the island, hoping it’s Em—or, even better, Graham.

“Hello?” I answer with a breath.

“Sara?”

My shoulders sag, and my chest stills hearing the voice coming through the other end of my phone.

“Allison?” I pause, allowing myself a moment to understand why on earth she would be calling me. I swallow, calmly sitting down on the barstool. “Why are you calling me?”

“Oh, Sara,” she sighs, “You were always one to be so dramatic. Glad to hear that hasn’t changed.”

Rolling my eyes, I slide my finger across the cool granite. Feeling bold and asking myself what I have left to lose, I decide to talk to Allison the way I’ve always wanted. To be truthful, I have nothing left.

“Well, you were always one to be an uptight bitch. Glad to hear that hasn’t changed either.”

My pulse races and the blood drains from my face. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Her heavy breath fills the speaker of my phone still pressed to my ear. I can nearly hear her biting her tongue, holding herself back from the temptation of reacting to my bold comment. I don’t give her a chance and move on with the conversation.

“What do you want, Allison?” I’m already bored with her and missing the comfort and solitude of my bed.

“I’m going to ignore what you just said, seeing how you are no longer my employee, and I am no longer your boss.” I can picture her, spinning around her office chair, staring up at the ceiling, her legs crossed and her body stiff, secretly gnawing on the inside of her cheek at my careless comments.

“If you called me to gloat or shit on me like you did when I worked for you, I’ll gladly hang up now.”

“No, wait!” she blurts out. She sighs again into the phone, and I slowly bring it back to my ear, waiting to hear what she has to say. “Meet me at the bar across from my gallery in half an hour. I’d like to speak with you.”

“You’re joking, right?” I roll my eyes and tilt my head back. “Why in the hell would I want to meet up with you?” I stare at the ceiling, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Because,” she hesitates. At first, her voice is stern, her usual manner of speaking. But the way she says the next few words leaves me stunned. “I need to explain a few things to you. I owe it to you.”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I just sit. I sit in the quiet of my apartment, the emptiness I feel from Graham’s absence swelling between the walls. I should hang up and refuse to give this horrible woman the time of day, but I’m a sucker for my own curiosity. As they always say, curiosity killed the cat.

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