Page 13 of There's No Us Without You
Just as I’m dozing off, my phone dings, alerting me to another message.
I snatch it up and squint through one eye, as though it’s going to be less of a scare.
It’s from my mother.
Great.
Mum: Eden, you need to come home asap. We need to discuss what happened. Kent will forgive you for running out on him without telling him where you were going.
All I can do is blink at the message, my hand shaking, my knuckles turning white under the strain of my tightening grip.
Has the woman totally lost her marbles? Of course, she would make this my fault. And of course, there’s no apology.
I snatch a pillow from the bed and bury my face into it to silence the scream now erupting from my throat.
I’m done.
I’m so fucking done.
After showering and brushing my teeth, I shove all my belongings back into my suitcase and take one last look at the wedding dress hanging on the door—now covered in brown andyellow stains. I never want to see that thing again. Someone else can have it.
Sell it. Or burn it.
I really don’t care.
When I step outside,leaving behind the comfort of the air-conditioned hotel lobby, the humid air instantly clings to my skin. Jeans aren’t made for warm weather, but I had no other option. At some stage, I need to get the rest of my things from Kent’s house. Right now, though, I need another air-conditioner and some quiet.
My issue, though, is deciding which way I should go. I’m frozen to the spot, my brain unable to make my feet move in any direction, until someone on their phone slams into me, knocking me backwards. He even has the audacity to glare at me as though it’s my fault for his lack of concentration.
Sure, I am standing in the way taking up unnecessary space, but fuck you, buddy. Can’t you see I’m having a mental breakdown here? The least he could have done was dart around me like everyone else.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and follow the crowd to the right. My suitcase drags behind, every now and again snagging on a loose rock or uneven concrete, slowing me down even further.
Why can’t life be more like a recipe? You follow each step exactly, and when you get to the final one, you have a perfectly put together chocolate fudge brownie. If you’re lucky, you may even get to put a cherry on the top.
But no, that’d be too easy. My life has somehow ended up on the floor, then trampled on several times before being hosed down the drain.
The crowd thins as it moves further out of the city centre, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of the bar from last night. I lift my hand to shield my eyes from the glaring sun as I take in the dark-red brick of the building, to the large black-and-white sign at the top.
The Beer Bunker.
This is probably the last place I should be. What if I run into Emerson again and I’m not at all who he thought I was? Not that I know what he thought of me, but we had something.
I think.
It’s too late to change my mind, though. I’ve already sweated through my thin cotton shirt, and where the hell else am I going to go? It’s not like I have a home.
I’m already pushing on the heavy glass door when my phone vibrates in my bag. I grab it out, freezing in the doorway like a deer in headlights when I notice who the message is from.
One word.
Kent.
Kent: We need to talk, babe. I’m begging. Just let me know you’re okay.
The door swings back and smacks me in the arse, almost sending me stumbling face first onto the tiled floor.
“Bastard,” I say under my breath while shoving my phone back in my bag.
