Page 101 of Austen Persuaded

New rule: Self-pity stops at 24 hours.

I sighed, dragging myself up to a sitting position and stretching my arms overhead.

The last bout of sleep and booze and depression had done nothing for me. “Not your style, girl,” I said to myself aloud. “Get the hell up.” I almost grinned as I added, “Talking to yourself is underrated.”

In the shower, the hot water blended with the salty tears running downward. But these were angry tears. The time for sadness and self-pity were over, replaced by molten fury flooding my veins.

Settled back onto my bed in a thick robe, I picked up my phone, ready to send my mother a scathing text message, to tell her to go straight to hell.

But as my fingers were poised above the screen, I exhaled slowly, feeling my heart ache once more.

No.

I’m not my mother. I don’t need to be cruel, just to be cruel.

Even if she deserves it.

Even if—

No.

I counted my breaths for a long moment.

I had to cut ties. Jacqueline would think that was cruel regardless of how I said it. But I had to speak my truth, as neutrally as I could. Email was probably best, so I could explain. A phone call or in-person conversation would be kinder for most people, but I knew what would happen. She wouldn’t let me speak. She’d interrupt and belittle me until I forgot what I wanted to say, until I no longer felt worthy of speaking at all.

An email would have to suffice.

Dear Mother,

Please do not contact me at all anymore. After enduring years of emotional abuse from you, I can no longer handle seeing or talking to you. I need to take care of myself. I would consider reconciling if you were to undergo extensive mental health treatment, both individually and together, but I make no promises.

Best Wishes,

Annie

It sounded kind of awkward, but maybe that was the nature of a communication like this, with a woman like her? Should I tell her I’d be blocking her number? I copied the email into a message for Rafael and Rainn to get their input.

Surprisingly, I didn’t feel the weight of sadness I’d experienced yesterday. I didn’t really feel anything, except … maybe lighter. Perhaps it would hit me later, or perhaps I’d wanted this to happen much longer than I’d realized.

The feeling of lightness vanished though when my other problem surfaced in my mind.

Oh, Kylan.

I sank back into the bed.

It was pointless to try to ignore them, the feelings that had been building, growing louder, every day since we’d become reacquainted.

It was time to be truly honest with myself. Had I ever stopped loving him, wanting a life with him, however impossible, regretting the decision to let him go?

I couldn’t say for sure. Did it matter now? Maybe not. I was hopelessly in love with him. Maybe I always would be. The thought was painful.

Unlike four years ago, he wasn’t in love with me. He might not evenlikeme. We were basically business associates.

He’s my boss.

Iflattened myself on the mattress again and covered my face with my hands.

He was far up the chain, of course, like my boss’s boss’s boss. But my boss nonetheless. He could end my career if he wanted, but … he wouldn’t. He wasn’t a jerk.

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