Page 85 of Caught A Vibe

“I know, but it comes from a place of love. I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Dash.” Nicola’s voice finally softens and I’m talking to my best friend again, not my chief marketing officer.

“Me too.”

Chapter24

Penny

Alone in my apartment, I twiddle my thumbs. I said I would give Nic and the team the time and trust to handle today, but what does that leave me with? An empty apartment that feels too quiet? A brain that can’t stop spinning? This grief beneath my sternum that I’ve been steadfastly ignoring?

If Dash were here, we’d play a video game together, or maybe cook a delivery box meal together. Or maybe we would try Shake Shack again, or head back to Griffith Park once the heat of the day has passed. Or maybe we’d go into the bedroom and play until everything in my head goes quiet.

I poke each memory now to test how painful it is before putting it back away. Nicola was right. I need today to wallow, so I can move on tomorrow.

I don’t know how long I sit, lost in thought, but when I pick up my coffee again it’s gone cold. I give Callie a scratch while I wait for the coffee to reheat in the microwave. She yowls her displeasure and stalks off.

Fine. Be that way.

I open the fridge to scavenge for dinner. A few leftovers from our last takeout nights and my stash of emergency protein drinks that I haven’t touched since Dash began feeding me. Reaching for one now, I drink it like the fuel it is, with alacrity and a grimace. I wish I had ramen waiting for me but didn’t think to order it ahead. I don’t need someone else to get the takeout I want. I am perfectly capable. I stare down the protein drink that calls me a liar.

As I sit back down at my table-turned-office, my laptop calls to me. I could just do a little work to craft another proposal. That way I can hit the ground running on Monday. Nicola’s words ring in my head but I push them aside. I have been guilty of overworking myself in the past, but I haven’t done a thing all day. Just this one letter of interest, I promise myself, and then I’ll go sit on the couch and binge-watch something entertaining like that tiger show or a fresh season with the Fab Five.

That is a promise broken. My coffee goes cold a second time, and the clock ticks past midnight before I look up again.Damn it.I got caught up. Too late for a marathon now. I shut down my laptop and head for bed.

Maybe Nicola has a point. I do find comfort in control. And maybe that’s not the healthiest habit. I’m already falling back into old patterns and coping strategies. But when that pattern is the only thing that feels familiar, it’s hard not to clutch it close.

I thought it would feel better to get back to normal. If I could just get back to the place where my plans were things I could make reality, maybe I could catch my breath.

My bedroom feels different without his presence. Emotions press against my closed eyelids. Why am I missing a dirty clothes pile on the floor? If I’m being honest, it’s the man who’s slept in my bed that I miss, but I cannot admit that right now or I will crumble.

Determined not to let the emptiness of my room mess with my head, I change into my comfiest pajamas, brush my teeth, and wash off my makeup. I climb into bed and starfish right in the middle of the mattress. I can sleep as spread out as I like. Callie leaps off Dash’s pillow and stalks into the dark living room, annoyed I’ve woken her.

Time to recharge before another wild day. My dream is in a death spiral, so trivial things like repairing my heart will have to wait. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll attempt adulting again. Today, I’m just scraping by, and that’s okay. See? I can give myself grace…

I pull my pillow into a hug, and my fingers snag on soft cotton. His shirt is still here. My fingers stroke the fabric of their own accord, and before I can think better of it, I inhale deeply. His scent fills my head, triggering all sorts of erotic neurons. I am flooded with desire and memories of all the ways he made me feel good.Fuck.

I shove the T-shirt under what used to be his pillow and roll back to my side, turned on and exhausted at the same time. I need to work this out of my system so I can sleep. Escaping difficult feelings with the endorphin rush of an orgasm has been a solid coping mechanism of mine for years.

Good thing I have the perfect toy for just this situation. I pull my poor, neglected MiO from my drawer, and the orgasm fairies are smiling on me because it is still charged. I lie back, clear my mind, and let my wonderful machine take me away. In under three minutes, I build and clench and release. The easy climax wrings the tension out of my body.

But my chest tightens when I realize that though my body is taken care of, my toy hasn’t touched the parts of my soul that are aching. The control I’ve been clinging to gives way, and my chaotic feelings break through. Sobs rack my chest, and memories and regrets chase me into the wee hours of the morning. Once again, there is no one here to help me put myself back together. I’ll have to do it myself.

Dash

Ilie on a twin bed and stare at the ceiling.

I am a grown-ass man sleeping in my childhood bedroom because I have nowhere else to go.

The reality of my situation sits like a brick on my chest and I struggle to calm my breathing. Everything about this situation sucks the air out of my lungs. The last thing I need right now is the panic attack waiting to pounce. I’ve held it off since yesterday with a combination of dissociation and denial. But Penny’s angry words combined with the childhood memories of disappointment are almost too much to bear. Add in having to tell my mother that I’m a failure again, and my heart begins to race in time with my worst fears.

Hi, Mom. I have nowhere to live, my job sucks, my relationship just imploded, and I think I’m having a heart attack.

I’m sure that’s exactly what my mother wants to hear. She was very kind when I showed up at her door last night after an eight-hour drive north, and had let me climb into bed without questions. But I have no illusions that the inquisition won’t begin as soon as I head into the kitchen, followed closely by the accusations and recriminations. If I had anywhere else to go, I would have. The memories made in this house pile on top of my anxieties, and oxygen becomes even harder to find.

I can still hear my father’s voice in my head.

“Video games? How in the hell are you going to make a living making video games? Why don’t you put your brains to good use?”

That was the litany after college. When I washed out of game design in under two years, he hadn’t gloated per se, but the criticisms had become more pointed. Contrary to the old nursery rhyme, sharp words do leave scars.

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