Page 60 of To Her

I'd looked down at my hands, unable to meet his gaze. "I don't know how to be different."

"Yes, you do." His voice had been gentle but firm. "You just choose not to be. And that's your right. But it's also my right to step back and protect myself."

And that was when he'd said it—the words that were now echoing in my head as I sat alone in the café.

"Call me when you get your shit together, Geri. Not before. Because I care about you too much to keep watching you self-destruct."

Then he'd stood, nodded once, and walked out of the café and, I suspected, out of my life.

I finally forced myself to move, gathering my things and leaving the untouched coffee behind. The spring air outside felt too sharp, too bright, too alive for the hollowness inside me.

I drove back to my new place on autopilot, barely registering the familiar landmarks I passed. Derek was out, thank God. I couldn't have handled small talk right now, not with the weight of Con's words pressing down on me.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the emptiness of the room around me. This was what I'd chosen—this solitude, this distance, this safety. So why did it feel so much like punishment?

My phone buzzed with a text from James:

How did it go?

I considered lying, considered not responding at all, but in the end, I went with the truth:

He told me to call him when I get my shit together.

James's response was quick:

And?

And what?

Are you going to?

I stared at the question for a long time. Was I? Could I? What would "getting my shit together" even look like for someone as fundamentally broken as me?

I don't know how

Yes, you do

Came James's immediate response, echoing Con's words so perfectly it made me wonder if they'd been talking about me. You just don't want to do the work.

The accusation stung, all the more because I knew it was true. I'd spent years in therapy, in meetings, in self-help groups. I knew the steps. I knew what healing looked like, in theory. I just couldn't

seem to make myself take the leap from knowledge to action.

It's not that simple

Never said it was simple. Just said you know how.

I didn't respond to that. What could I say? That he was wrong? That I was trying? Both would be lies, and James deserved better than my lies.

I spent the rest of the day in a fog, moving through the motions of existence without really being present. I showered. I ate something, though I couldn't have told you what. I stared at the TV without absorbing anything that happened on screen.

And all the while, Con's words played on repeat in my head:Call me when you get your shit together. Not before.

By evening, the apartment felt like it was closing in on me. The walls seemed to pulse with my restlessness, my regret, my self-loathing. I needed to get out, needed air, needed... something.

I grabbed my keys and headed for my car without any clear destination in mind. I just drove, windows down, music loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I ended up at a beach I didn't recognize, somewhere north of Seabreeze Haven. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that seemed obscenely beautiful for how hollow I felt inside.

I parked and walked down to the sand, sitting just beyond where the waves could reach me. The beach was nearly empty—just a few die-hard surfers catching the last waves of the day and a couple walking hand-in-hand in the distance.

---