Page 60 of Deny Me

Me (9:23am): Lu … I’m taking the job.

Lu (10:46am): Have you told Jameson?

Me (10:46am): No.

Lu (10:59am): …. Evelyn.

Me (11:00am): I know.

Saturday was the worst. I thought the worst was Thursday when for the first time Jameson didn’t call, but it was really Saturday. Because that was the day I said aloud that I was taking the job in Italy.

Shouldn’t it have felt better than the hollow pit sinking in my stomach? Shouldn’t I be excited to get out of bed and open my computer to let them know I was coming?

It didn’t.

When I walked past my computer on my coffee table on the way to the kitchen, I just stared at it like it was my worst nightmare. Like if I touched it, it would burn me.

I turned away and kicked on my coffee maker for the first time since the previous Sunday. While I waited, I redid my greasy ponytail. I had showered once that week. And that was only because I was desperate to try and get myself out of my bed. I didn’t care if I was clean or not. I just wanted to feel human again. All week I had been burrowed deep under my covers, ordering food and only getting out of bed for the essentials.

Who was this person? Who was this person who didn’t wake up until eleven each day, only to roll over and grab a granola bar as she turned on the television? I’d cringed each time my phone would go off. I knew it was Jameson, and I thought time would make it easier to not respond. I thought time away would make it easier to tell him I didn’t want to be with him anymore.

It didn’t.

And instead of turning off my phone, I kept it on and let the tears fall as I let the ring continue without answering. My body ached with the need to reach over to pick up and ask him to come hold me. To make me feel better. Instead, my masochism mixed with my depression and I scrunched my eyes waiting for it to end. I started taking a sleeping pill just so I could be awake less. Being awake hurt.

I walked to the bathroom and stared at the shell of a woman in the mirror. My hair was a greasy, tangled mess. The dark circles under my eyes stood in stark contrast against my pale skin and dull blue eyes. My jaw clenched staring at the woman in the mirror I didn’t recognize. I turned away in disgust and reached over to get my shower started.

When I first woke, I started a new mantra for that day. I was going to get out of bed. I was going to stop being a chicken shit and call Jameson. I was going to shower. I wasn’t going to cry anymore.

But I failed as soon as I started thinking about seeing Jameson and not holding him and kissing him. This was what my mother warned me about, and amidst the crushing pain in my chest and nausea rolling around my stomach, I couldn’t think of a way to make it better.

When I thought about asking Jameson to make it work with me, my mom’s words came back, reminding me that it would feel so much worse later, because by then I would have lost myself along with Jameson. Sometimes I would imagine making it work anyway, or even possibly turning down the position. But my mom had never steered me wrong. Never. I had to have faith in her. It had gotten me where I was, and it wouldn’t let me down.

The confusion washed over me and mixed with the hot water. Giving in to the storm of upset raging inside me, I cried. I decided it would be the last time and then I would put makeup on and get dressed, and eat, and email my acceptance to go to Italy.

When I got out of the shower, I looked at my phone out of habit and my plans of makeup and leaving the house flew out the window.

Jameson (1:01pm): I miss you.

Three simple words that hit me like freight train. This was Jameson. My best friend’s brother. The man who I’d teased for years. Who I loved to make blush and frustrated.

This was Jameson.

And I couldn’t let my sadness and confusion about whether or not I would leave him lead him on anymore. I had to end it sooner rather than later.

But, with my finger hovered over the call button, I backed down and brought up a text message instead. I was such a chicken-shit. Jameson would have laughed in my face at how weak I was being.

Me (1:53pm): Jameson. I don’t know if Lu told you, but I’m going to take the job in Italy. I’m sorry I haven’t returned your messages; I’ve just been crazy busy with getting everything ready to go. I leave next month. But with this decision, I realize I need to focus on myself and what I need over the next couple of weeks. You know I’ve had tons of fun over the last couple of months, but we are two different people who want different things in life. Rather than dragging it out, I figured I was going to be so busy, and I didn’t want to have to split my time. I know you understand. You’re my family, my brother, and we will still see each other at Sunday lunches.

I hit send with my trembling finger and dropped my phone to the floor and walked like a zombie back to my room. I’d made sure I laid it on thick. Even going as far as to call him my brother. Jameson was the furthest thing from a brother I could imagine. But he was a stubborn man, and if I showed an inch of doubt, he would wedge his way in and change my mind. So instead, I lied.

Not even bothering to shed my robe, I crawled back into bed and burrowed under the covers, hoping they would give me an ounce of comfort and hide me from the world.

The hardest part was over.

The next day would be easier.

This ache would slowly fade, and each day would get easier.

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