Page 11 of All In
After a few minutes, I pick myself off of the floor and wipe away any evidence of my breakdown from my face. Then, I make a promise to myself.
I will never cry a single tear for her again.
And I mean it. Not one tear.
As I walk over to the fridge to get another beer, my legs feel as heavy as my heart. A wave of emotional exhaustion takes over. Having a total freak out takes a lot out of you, I guess.
I open the door, the light from the inside illuminating my dark apartment. I peer down, and I’m met with a package of wrapped processed cheese, a box of baking soda, and a questionable carton of milk. No beer in sight. I’m out. Because, of course, I am.
I slam the door shut in anger, and it shakes on its hinges. Stepping over the debris of the broken coffee table, I reach for the phone and pick it up. I would go to the store to get more, but I don’t trust that I won’t drive to her houseand break Chad’s face. So, I call the one person who I know will be here with a six-pack in hand. No questions asked.
I dial my best friend Ricky’s number. Ricky and I grew up together on the same street, two houses away from each other. Since I have three sisters, he is the closest thing I have to a brother.
The phone rings a handful of times before he picks up.
“Hello.”
“Ricky, it’s Sam.”
“Sam!” he exclaims. I jerk the receiver from my ear. Loud music and commotion radiates from his end of the line. No doubt a party at his place. “Why are you calling me? Wait, are you wanting me to be your best man? Because, of course, the answer is—”
“She broke up with me.”
Silence.
“I’m on my way.”
“Bring beer.”
The line goes dead.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on my apartment door.
“Come in!” I yell from the living room. I parked my butt here as soon as I hung up the phone, and I haven’t moved. The apartment is pitch black, and I’m staring off into nothing.
Like I said, numb.
The creak of the door echoes throughout the quiet dark space, along with his footsteps. He’s approaching slowly. “Sam, you in here?” Ricky calls out. The clanking of glass follows as he sits the beer on the kitchen counter.
“Yep.”
He flips on the light switch, and I shield my eyes from the brightness. His footsteps grow louder as he gets closer. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse him surveying the room. “Dude, what the heck happened in here?” He takesin the scene laid out before him. Broken coffee table, spilled beer, broken glass littering the carpet.
I take in my surroundings, trying to see things from his perspective.It looks bad.
“I had a moment.” My voice is void of any emotion and a little hoarse. I screamed it all out, I guess. This must be what heartbreak feels like.
I stand and walk to the kitchen counter, zombie-like. He brought two packs of beer.Outstanding!I grab one, rip off the cap, and drink. The alcohol lingers on my tongue, a reminder of my worsening mood. But I down it anyway. Maybe if I drink enough, it will dull this ache.
“I guess so,” he mutters, his eyes lingering on the destruction, finally shifting to me. He gives me a once over. “You look like crap.”
I salute him with my beer. “Thanks.”
“What happened?”
With the bottle in hand, I gesture toward the crumbled-up letter lying on the floor, my motions robotic. He reaches down for it, as I grab the handle of one of the six-packs and sit down on the couch, resting the beer at my feet since my coffee table is now a goner. Ricky grabs the letter and sits as well, the couch shifting with his weight.
He holds out the letter, now crinkled with a wet spot in the corner. Probably beer. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
