Chapter 27
A lthough Hazel and Mari convinced me to shower and rejoin the world, I still felt stuck and numb and lost and a host of other emotions I’d never been good at handling.
What would I do now? I’d reluctantly agreed to let Hazel hire a new assistant.
So the very next day, after an excessively long night of sleep, I turned on my phone.
I cleared all my notifications without reading them—I didn’t need to heap on more guilt—and proceeded to write my job description on my phone.
This productivity provided a momentary boost in my mood, but by evening, I was restless again.
My computer beckoned, but I was determined to resist any chance of seeing Jeff online.
Or even being reminded of our shared interests, the game we’d spent hundreds of hours planning and talking about, our many personal conversations, and …
all the feelings. Attraction. Hope. Betrayal. Disappointment. Humiliation.
I tried to imagine what I’d tell a therapy client in my situation. I might tell them to look into hobbies, reading, yoga, exercise, journaling … all the things I had zero interest in right now.
After another full day of twiddling my thumbs, I finally decided to get out of the house. My fridge and pantry were nearly empty, I was sick of ordering crappy delivery food, and a walk to the store would be good for my body and my mind. Or so they always said.
But the problem was … Jeff lived a block away. I couldn’t face him, knowing what a complete fool I’d been. I probably co uldn’t avoid him forever, but I’d try as long as I could. As a disguise, I wore large sunglasses and stuffed my telltale long, dark hair under a thick hat and coat.
The first time I ventured out, I didn’t see him.
And I realized the fresh air and movement were exactly what I needed.
Granted, it was freezing fresh air, but nevertheless, this was the best I’d felt all week.
So I resolved to start a daily walking ritual, which I’d attempted before but never in the dead of winter. I was motivated.
It was only day two of my new walking regimen when I spotted him across the street.
My pleasantly heightened heart rate turned into a stampede pounding into my chest as I dashed the last twenty steps to my apartment building. I pulled open the heavy door that led inside.
I stood inside, staring through the fogged-up window between the front door and the mailboxes. He was now facing my apartment building and—
Oh, no. No .
He was starting to cross the street!
I fled, panic flooding my veins as I rushed out of the entryway and into the hallway leading to my apartment. Halfway down the hall, I was out of breath and didn’t see my neighbor Jenna until she was right in front of me.
“Roxy! I haven’t seen you in forever. We should catch up. I have to—”
“Sorry, Jenna, I have to go,” I rushed out the words as I pushed past her down the hallway and then unlocked my apartment with shaky hands.
Before opening the door, I glanced backward and saw Jenna still standing and watching me, looking crestfallen. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she turned on her heel and walked away.
Swallowing the bitter taste in my throat, I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the shame as I pushed the door open and took heavy steps inside. I quickly slammed the door shut and put the deadbolt on.
I leaned against the door for a moment, panting, and then threw off my winter coat and gear. I was still hot, my heart still racing, my breaths still coming short, so I removed most of my clothing and ambled over to the bathroom.
Throwing off the rest of my clothes, I avoided the mirror and climbed into the bathtub. The heat in my body turned to a bone-chilling cold as I wrapped my arms around my shaking knees and finally turned on the tub faucet.
What a coward I was.
Even worse, I was a jerk.
Being a coward was nothing new for me, but I genuinely tried not to ever be a jerk.
My empathy had initially drawn me to the mental health profession, but eventually, it became a hindrance.
I couldn’t cope. I hated the thought that I couldn’t always help someone.
And I never, ever wanted to be the cause of someone else’s pain. But Jenna’s face …
And Jeff. Had he planned to approach me? Was he, even now, pounding on the door? I couldn’t hear anything beyond the rushing hot water filling the tub.
That’s when I noticed the water was about to spill over the edges. I quickly switched off the faucet and pulled out the drain plug.
When the water returned to a normal level, I replaced the plug and leaned back.
I waited to hear the sound of him knocking or ringing the doorbell, but all I heard was blissful silence.
Except … it wasn’t that blissful.
Especially when the heat in the water dissipated.
And then I was left with cold water, and a heart that was anything but.
I gripped the edges of the tub, the loneliness becoming a physical ache.
Was this really my life?
My one life. The only one I had.
And here I was, hiding in a bathtub, shivering and fighting back tears from eyes that burned from sobbing every day for the last ten days.
I pushed everyone away. Everyone. Even the people who, for some reason, were determined to be in my life—they would eventually give up. Because I’d keep pushing them away too. Because that’s what I did.
I breathed in and out unsteadily, rocking back and forth as I hugged my knees again.
You’re being overly dramatic.
You don’t need other people.
“No,” I whispered.
You can just set another silly New Year’s resolution.
“No.”
You’re better off staying —
I screamed, over and over again, “No!”
There you go again, being too dramatic. As if your life is so hard.
“Shut up.”
And that internal voice—the one that had always reminded me I was worthless—didn’t stop.
At first.
But I kept shouting back. Again and again until …
All was quiet.
Inside and out.
Peace.
With my limbs shaking but feeling lighter, I stood up slowly and grabbed a towel.
“Finally,” I whispered.