27. Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Six
Staring at my cell screen, I curse myself, trying to talk my brain out of this very foolish idea.
I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, legs swinging with pent up nerves as I frown at his name on my screen.
'Don't do it' I tell myself, but my fingers have a mind of his own, clicking the call button before my brain can catch up and stop me.
I'll just ask about his day — see if he's coping okay. Offer the proverbial friendship branch.
I wait with the cell against my ear, frowning when it doesn't ring. Suddenly, it beeps, returning to the call log.
"That's strange," I mutter, trying again.
The same thing happens again, so I decide to send a text message, just in case he sees the missed calls and wonders what's going on.
Me: Hey, it's just me. I just wanted to reach out and see how you were going. I was thinking, maybe we could try the friendship thing. Anyway, I hope you are well.
I hit send, letting out a shaky breath. But suddenly, I suck air back in again as I notice something.
My text messages are green.
The long string of messages before today are blue, but not this one.
It takes me a few seconds, but a crushing realization hits me.
He's blocked my number.
"You fucking asshole," I yell, flinging my cell across the room before I can stop myself.
Tears pour down my face and I sob into my knees, hunched over as fresh pain and anger comes back. I had convinced myself that we could be friends — that I didn't have to lose him completely. And now he's done this.
He knew that it killed me when Jake blocked me. And now he's done the exact same.
I don't deserve this.
Picking myself up, I walk over to my discarded cell, checking for damage. Thankfully it hasn't cracked because of the case and screen protector and I feel a brief wave of relief. It's gone quickly though as pain rips through me.
Another coward, another broken promise.
My crying continues for the next hour, until eventually, I run out of tears. I walk to the kitchen, fetching the bottle of tequila from the cupboard. We're getting low — all our late night shots emptying our coping liquor.
I pour a shot, smashing it back before immediately refilling it. I drink that too, tempted to fling the glass.
If I'm broken, then everything else should be too. It's not fair that I'm the only one. Everywhere I look, people are happy.
Why don't I deserve happiness too?
I'm a good person. My only mistake was loving too hard and fast.
It should be a crime to love. When things go south, the bad outweighs the good, and there's no coming back from a wreckage so colossal.
I know three shots of tequila is usually my limit, but there's enough for five shots — so I drink them all.
I bypass the tipsy stage, going straight to drunk. When Blaise arrives back home, dressed in smart casual business attire, he finds me spread out like an angel on the living room floor.
"Do I even want to know?" he asks, staring at the empty bottle of tequila next to me.
"Tis better not to sask," I slur.
Blaise pops his bag down, walking over so he's looking down at me. I blink up at him, too numb to cry and too drunk to move.
"What happened?" he questions, concern crossing his features.
I wave my hand, mesmerized when little strings of light make a trail path.
"I'm a motherfucking fluffing fairy," I murmur, eyes wide as I stare at my hand.
He purses his lips, looking at me like I've completely lost every ounce of sanity. "Sky, can you stand up?"
"Yeah!" I shout excitedly. I roll over on my stomach, pushing myself to my knees. As I get to my feet, the room sways and the trail of fairy lights get brighter. I try to follow them, spinning around, but I overbalance, falling back to Earth.
Blaise yelps, catching me as I fall back. "What are you doing?"
"There's flights! I mean… lights!"
"There's no lights. You're just drunk," he grumbles, repositioning himself to scoop me up in his arms. "You're going to bed."
I groan. "But I wanna be a fairy queen."
"Alright, fairy queen. Off to your magical chariot you go."
The roof sways back and forth as he carries me to my room, my back hitting the mattress. I blink up at him, smiling brightly.
Blaise smiles back, but it's not a happy one. It's a forced one — and I wave at him.
"Get some sleep," he mutters with a sigh. "I'll check on you later. Do NOT get off the bed."
"What if I need to pee?" I shoot back, groaning as I try to sit up. I fall back down, the back of my head hitting my cell that I left in here.
He doesn't answer, closing the door behind him. I shrug to myself, picking up my cell and dropping it on my face.
After that I just give up, curling up with my pillow as the fairies take me away.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Groaning, I reach blindly for my cell to turn the alarm off, head pounding as sunlight hits me in the face.
I have no idea how long I've been asleep for, but whatever it is, it's not long enough.
Peeking one eye open, I look at the screen. It's not my alarm going off but a phone call.
And Jordan's name is flashing at me.
Fuck.
I forgot about that.
Swallowing, I hit the accept button, putting the cell to my ear.
"Hello?" I mutter, grogginess still in my voice.
"Hi."
The sound of his voice immediately stills me, the familiarity bringing back the old sense of peace.
I sit up, taking a deep breath as I try to ignore the jackhammers in my brain.
"How are you?" I ask, squeezing my eyes shut.
"I'm fine," Jordan says coolly. "I saw that you called."
A vice grips my heart, squeezing it. There's a difference in his tone and it's making me feel uneasy.
"Yeah, I did," I confess. "I think you blocked my number though."
I'm too tired to beat around the bush. This is the consequence of my actions. I might as well face them.
Jordan goes quiet for a second. "Yeah, I did."
"Oh," I mutter, hurt. "Why?"
He sighs. "I was with Jasmine. I didn't want you to call. You have the most opportunistic timing whenever you ring."
It's dripping in sarcasm, and I feel like I can't breathe.
Who even is this guy?
"I'm sorry," I respond quietly. "I didn't know. You could have just asked me not to call."
"I didn't think you would," he admits. "But since you have: what can I help you with?"
I'm on edge, uneasy about this conversation. Never in my wildest dreams could I have pictured it going this way. He's cold, sounding annoyed that I've bothered him.
"How did you even see I called if you had me blocked?" I question, holding onto some small shred of hope.
"It's in the blocked call log. What do you want, Skylar?"
My head pounds and tears well in my eyes.
I've made a huge mistake.
Swallowing, I force myself to stay composed. "I thought about what you said. Maybe we could give the friendship thing a try," I say hopefully.
Jordan falls silent and I wonder if I've caught him off-guard. Finally, he sighs again, clearing his throat.
"Yeah, okay," he starts, dismissively. "We're friends then."
My eyebrows furrow. There's no hint of sincerity or relief in his voice, like he's just telling me what I want to hear.
"We don't have to be," I mumble. "I just thought it would be nice to stay in each other's lives. We got along so well, even just as people."
His voice cracks slightly. "I know."
A heart gives a small fluster as I hear the old Jordan coming back.
It's going to be okay. This could work.
"I've been thinking about you," I say quietly. "I wanted to check that you're doing okay. I'm sure you've been wondering the same."
"Until you called, I forgot you existed."
And just like that, the last single thread of hope turned to ash.
I blink back tears unsuccessfully, shaking my head in disbelief despite the pounding headache. I try my hardest to keep my voice strong, but it comes out croaky and broken.
"You said you wished you were married to me. That you wanted to come home to me every day. How can you say that?"
He exhales — a long sigh again following. "Listen, I said some things in the heat of the moment. It was wrong of me, but I got carried away. I did like you, but I think you liked me more."
It's juvenile, the bullshit streaming from his lips. But even though a small rational piece of me argues he's lying, my chest is aching so loud it silences the evidence.
"Right," I mutter, the word squeaking at the end. "So, that's it then?"
"That's it. We had our time together and now it's time to move on. I'm happy with Jasmine. I just want to spend time with her without worrying about these types of things. But if you want to be friends, we can be friends," he offers again dryly, sounding almost bored.
He's dissociating from the situation, trying to put up a tough front but you don't share a bed with someone and not learn about their wonderful personality traits. Especially when you spend hours talking every day. But despite knowing this whole conversation is heated with hurt, I accept it on its face value, nodding to myself.
"Fine. Friends," I say in defeat, knowing full well that our promise would never come to fruition. Like every other promise and breathy fantasy we told each other, it's another lie we have to tell ourselves to pretend our world isn't shattering beneath us.
"I have to go," Jordan mutters. "Take care, Skylar."
The line clicks in my ear and I slowly lower my cell, resisting the urge to throw it against my bedroom wall again.
Instead, I check the time, noticing it's only 7am.
As much as I'd love to fall back asleep, I can't. I'm hurting so bad — my mind crashing and burning at our call.
I never knew that side of Jordan existed. But I shouldn't be surprised considering what he did to me. I saw only what he wanted me to see, and now the true Jordan is emerging.
A small fraction of me panics, wondering if Kaden told him what happened. Maybe he did and that's why he's mad. But surely he would have mentioned it, threw it back in my face or something.
I can't even bring myself to cry. My entire body feels like it's made of ice, except for my head that's still screaming at me.
I force myself up, heading for the bathroom. As I start rummaging around the cabinet behind the mirror for painkillers, Blaise walks out of his room, dressed in black shorts and a gray shirt.
"What are you doing?" he groans, rubbing his eyes. "How are you even awake?"
Closing the mirror, I turn around to face him. Even though I'm not crying, the conversation is written all over my face, invisible letters and cuts scarring me.
"I'm sorry for waking you," I blurt out, voice breaking. "I just need some painkillers."
Blaise frowns, leaning against the bathroom door frame. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I'm not sure if he's referring to last night or this morning, but I just shake my head. He nods, moving so I can walk past.
I head into the kitchen, filling a glass with tap water. Downing the painkillers and the entire glass, I get to making some pity coffee. It's the least I can do for waking him. We're not meant to start work for another two hours.
My hands fumble as I try to grab the coffee pot and Blaise walks in, stepping in behind me.
"Whoa. Let me do it."
"I got it," I tell him.
Blaise puts the coffee pot down, resting his hands on the sides of my arms. "You're shaking."
"Bad dream," I lie. "And I have a massive headache."
He doesn't question me, using his hands to turn me toward the door. "Go sit down on the couch. I'll sort out the coffee."
Begrudgingly, I give in, walking out to the living room. I flop down onto the couch, covering my eyes with my hand to shield the light.
I hear Blaise moving around the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hitting my senses.
Footsteps stop at the end of the couch and I peer at him through my fingers. His hair is messy, but beside that, he looks a damn sight better than I do.
"I heard you," he admits quietly.
I just stare back, my face void of emotion. "It's over," I tell him. "It's officially done."
Blaise nods slowly. "I think you knew that, but deep down you wanted to hold onto that connection."
"I tried to call him yesterday but my number was blocked."
He scowls. "Coward. Just like his friend."
At least someone gets it…
"Oh, well," I mutter quietly. "At least now I can let him go. I didn't think he could hurt me anymore than he already did, but he's full of surprises."
Blaise reaches for my foot, rubbing it. "What did he say?"
"Nothing important," I mutter sadly. "But at least I know where I stand now."
He squeezes my foot, massaging the bottom of it with his thumb. "You deserve better. Cut him loose now."
I nod, finally agreeing with him. "I want to forget I ever met him," I admit softly. "I wish I could go back and start again."
Blaise leans on the armrest of the chair, still holding onto me. "This will make you stronger. You'll see that one day. Just take it one day at a time. And if that's too hard — one hour at a time."
"When does the pain stop?" I ask. "When did you stop thinking about Nathan?"
His eyebrows furrow as he thinks hard. "Every day that passed, it became less and less. Now, I just feel nothing. I accept it happened and I'm happy it did, but life's too short to cry over assholes."
"I think I'm out of tears."
A tiny smile breaks out on his face. "That's a start."
"We need coffee before work. And I need a shower," I groan. "We're going to have a productive day. I'm determined."
Blaise steps back, looking inside the kitchen to check. "I'll pour you a cup while you shower. And no more tequila — I'm not going to be able to keep up with you if you keep smashing shots like there's no tomorrow."