9. Remy
9
Remy
“ I need a restraining order,” I growl into the phone, slamming the door of my truck and aggressively clicking the lock button on my key fob five times. A girl smoking on her balcony shoots me an annoyed glare, but I’m too riled up to give a shit.
Andrea’s chuckle filters through the speaker. “I think that’s a little extreme.”
None of this is remotely funny.
“You know what’s extreme? Stalking is fucking extreme.”
For weeks now, Win has been following me around like a certifiable psycho. Everywhere I turn, he's there with this look on his face that softens the harsh definition of his features. It's beyond irritating and for some reason, my best friend finds it hilarious .
Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck the universe for this cosmic joke.
I stomp up the stairs, the echo of my footfalls like a war march.
She sighs. “I’ll admit, he’s certainly not going about it subtly. ”
“About what ?” I hiss, fumbling with my keys. I’m shaking with fury and gripping my phone so hard it’s about to shatter into a billion tiny pieces.
“About getting you back, you Neanderthal!”
A manic, sarcastic laugh erupts from me. “No, no, no, he’s trying to ruin my fucking life .”
She’s silent.
I barge into the apartment, kick off my shoes and throw my keys on the counter.
“I don’t fucking get him. He ghosted me and now what? He’s back to haunt my ass?”
She snorts. “Have you considered that maybe he regrets it?”
Nope. Not going there. I’m shaking my head even though she can’t see me. He doesn’t get to reappear under the guise of a dream when he’s only been a nightmare.
But he’s already crawled beneath my skin again. Had he ever really left? Lost grey eyes are forever imprinted behind mine. His voice whispers endlessly in my ears. Phantom strands of raven hair tangle between my fingers. He’s in every song with violins. Every aimless late-night walk. Every shy smile. I didn’t think it was possible to hate him or myself more.
Short, choppy breaths barely get me enough oxygen.
“Why now?” I choke.
Andrea blows out a long sigh; the speaker crackles.
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Iron fills my mouth. I’ve bitten my cheek to the point of bleeding.
She makes it sound so simple. Like I have the strength to look him in the face without drowning in memories.
“I can’t.”
His words. They taste bitter on my tongue.
I don’t wait for her response before ending the call and chucking my phone at the couch. It bounces once— twice— tipping off the cushion and landing screen down on the rug. I stand for an eternity staring at it as I will myself not to deteriorate into dust.
Ask him? That’s Andrea’s genius solution? No. He doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing my brutalized heart clings to the Win of my past.
I sink to the floor, back resting against the couch as I hug my knees to my chest. I’m a fucking idiot for thinking he would get fed up and leave me alone if he saw me out with another guy. Now everything is exponentially worse.
The only place I want to be is here with you.
A curious meow and the brush of soft fur against my thigh draw me out of a Win-shaped breakdown.
Barely.
“Mitz,” I groan, scooping up my overweight tabby cat. During my first semester at FMU, I noticed her lurking around my dorm, skinny as hell and covered in fleas. I took her in and she’s been with me ever since.
Mitz melts like a liquid in my arms, her little white paws stretching toward my face like she wants to bop me for being hung up on that gorgeous, toxic asshole.
If I were her, I’d be over my bullshit too.
“What do I do?”
She blinks at me with those terrifyingly intelligent eyes. I can almost hear her say, “ How the fuck am I supposed to know, Cretin? ”
My head tips back to the couch cushion.
“Maybe he’ll get bored,” I muse. Mitz smacks my chin. She obviously doesn’t agree.
Footsteps echo from the hall.
I sit up straight.
Mitz lurches from my arms, tail pointing to the ceiling as she trots to the door to sniff at the threshold.
Something rustles.
The footsteps retreat.
I'm not sure how much time passes while I sit and stare at the door.
Maybe Ma ordered me something online. Or maybe the delivery driver dropped someone’s package off at the wrong apartment.
Yeah, it has to be one of those.
Because anything else…
I haul my ass off the floor and creep to the peephole.
The hallway is empty.
A shaky breath slips from my lips.
With excruciating slowness, I unlock and pull the door open.
On my welcome mat sits a little brown bag and an iced coffee.
My heart is in my throat.
I snatch the cryptic delivery and slam the door, triple-checking the lock. I should order a camera. And a security system. A gun sounds like a good investment. You know what? Why not just hire a fucking bodyguard while I’m at it?
Dropping everything on the counter like it’s contaminated— it very well may be— I notice a piece of paper taped to the bag.
Mitz hops up to examine it, her happy little meow like a thunderclap in the silent kitchen.
I rip the note off, rolling my eyes at her. “It’s probably a receipt.”
It’s not.
I recognize the indents of familiar jagged print.
I’m fucking trembling and I can’t tell if it’s from anger or something else. I don’t want to read it but my fingers have minds of their own, unfolding it.
The words blur.
My Sunshine,
You didn't eat anything yet today so I wanted to make sure you got something. I wish I was sorry I ruined your date, but I'm not. I'm only sorry my actions took away your beautiful smile. I hope you still love chocolate and ridiculously sugary coffee.
— Your Starlight
The note falls.
Stinging tears soak my cheeks.
My arm sweeps across the counter, knocking everything to the floor with a spectacular crash. Coffee sprays the cabinets, the tile, the appliances. Mitz vanishes with a high-pitched squeak.
The strangled sounds of my sobs surround me as I fish the note from the remains of my tantrum, smoothing out the soggy paper.
It’s like he’s reaching into my chest with his words and tearing my broken heart out.
“Bastard,” I whimper and shred it.