Page 44 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
Even as I thought it, I knew it couldn’t be true. But what could be was that Jamie felt like last night was a mistake. Or worse, that last night didn’t mean anything at all to him — that he wasn’t even thinking about me at all. That was probably why he hadn’t texted.
Or he could be sleeping still.
But he’s likely stripping off Melanie From Orientation’s bra.
Maybe he’s just in class. Did he have classes on Friday?
Nope. He was definitely putting another notch in his headboard. Right next to the one he carved out for me last night.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Wait, it’s Friday?
I smacked my forehead hard with my hand and dragged it down over my face slowly, biting my forefinger as it ran across my lips.
I don’t have classes on Friday.
Grumbling, I turned back toward the dorm but took the path that crossed past the coffee shop. Clearly I needed caffeine. I was losing my damn mind.
My pace slowed a little then, but the thoughts buzzing around in my head like wasps only zoomed faster. How was it that everything had felt so right last night, yet felt so wrong now? How was it that the safety of Jamie’s arms was somehow lost after a few hours of sleeping on my own?
I blew out an exaggerated breath, deciding to put myself out of my misery and text him first. But when my fingers hovered over the keys, I realized I had no idea what to even say.
— Wow. Didn’t even get me breakfast the morning after. What a let down. —
Lame. I deleted it.
— So… last night was fun. —
Ugh, too desperate. I shook my head, settling for one word.
— Hey. —
My throat tightened as I hit the send button, knowing I couldn’t take it back now. Part of me was convinced I was acting crazy and he’d text back in a matter of minutes, but the other, louder part of me said nothing is ever certain when it comes to Jamie Shaw.
I tucked my phone in my back pocket just as I rounded the breezeway that led to the coffee shop, desperate to get some caffeine in my system. But when I spotted Jamie walking out the door, I paused.
It wasn’t as cold at that time in the afternoon, and Jamie had already shrugged out of his jacket. It was draped lazily over one arm while his other arm rested easily around the shoulders of one of the girls he’d hooked up with earlier in the semester. I thought her name was Tina, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t care, honestly. All that mattered was that she was laughing, head tilted back as Jamie grinned down at her, his mouth too close to her neck.
I swallowed, trying to shake the icky feeling climbing from the tips of my cold fingers to the warmth of my neck. But when Tina placed her hand gently over Jamie’s chest, both of them still laughing, I lost any fight I had left to convince myself whatever I was seeing was innocent.
I was going to be sick.
Ducking inside the doors of the breezeway bookstore before he could see me, I sprinted to the first trashcan in sight and heaved, my stomach too empty already to cooperate. A few girls scurried away from me as one of the cashiers rushed over to see if I was okay, but I brushed him off, bracing both hands on the trashcan for a moment to steady myself before racing out the door again.
Each step vibrated from the sole of my foot up between my aching thighs, still sore from him, and I dug my thumbs into the loops of my backpack straps, pulling them tighter and tighter as I walked. I’d never experienced anxiety like that — the crippling kind, the kind that makes every rational thought literally impossible to grasp.
Jamie never did text me back, not in the time I walked back to the dorm or later that night when I stayed wrapped in my comforter, staring at the phone, hoping for something — anything — to prove my gut instinct wrong.
Reassurance never came, no one to break up the party dread, anxiety, and doubt were throwing in my stomach now. Guilt moved in next, and there was only room for one more. I curled in on myself, squeezing my eyes shut and rocking gently, holding out for hope. Finally, at just past midnight, I gave up on waiting. With a shaky sigh, regret slipped in, stealing the last spot.
I didn’t sleep that night.
• • •
I peeled myself out of bed early the next day, showering off the sand and smell of Jamie I’d let myself sleep in all night. The day before, I had practically been a spazz, but a new calmness had settled in, and my stomach had evened out. I was almost sluggish, my body reluctant to wake to the harsh reality of it all.
