Chapter 8
T ime ticks slowly as I step out of the bar, my mind ricocheting, incredulous, my heart aching, broken.
Off in the distance is a cab driving slowly down the road—likely the cab I took to get here—and with panic surging me forward, I sprint after it, kicking my heels off and not giving a shit at all.
My hand slams against the passenger door and the cab comes to a screeching halt. “I need to go back to where you picked me up,” is all I manage as I get in and fall back against the plastic seat. The driver doesn’t say anything as the car starts to move, and my tears fall.
Did that just happen? Did that honestly just fucking happen?
Three nights ago, we promised forever to each other. We looked into each other’s eyes and swore love and loyalty and a lifetime. A shiver runs up my body and I wrap my arms around my chest, dragging my knees up, but it doesn’t matter. I’m frozen through and yet boiling hot.
I knew he’d break my heart.
I mean, from the start of this, I knew he would. But then everything changed and I just…
I didn’t see this coming.
He wanted me to go to London. Last night, he told me to go to London.
That I had to live my dream, or I’d regret it always.
I told him London would always be there.
He wouldn’t be. Not being with him would be a bigger regret.
I can play cello anywhere. I can always figure that out.
I chose him because I love him. Didn’t he see that?
Or was that just the start of things and he was trying to let me down gently?
God, I’m so stupid.
He was breaking up with me then and again earlier today, and I misread it all. I thought he was looking out for me. Worried about my not pursuing playing professional cello. But no. He wanted a clean slate when he went back to Minnesota. No attachments and nothing to drag him down.
Like the eighteen-year-old kid who fell in love with a notorious bachelor. A playboy. Isn’t that what he said he was? That night in the grass, the night he took my virginity, he told me he dated a lot. That he liked it. Or used to? No, clearly not used to.
I trusted him. I believed the words he was telling me were true—that he felt the way I did.
And that woman. That blonde who stared up at him as if she knew exactly what his mouth tastes like. What his dick feels like inside of her. Are they together somewhere now? Is he taking her back to the estate? Fucking her in the bed I fell asleep with him in time and time again?
The cab pulls up to the front of the Fritz estate.
I pay the driver and get out, running down the long driveway and around it, heading for the staff house.
The door crashes against the wall, but I’m already flying up the stairs, tearing into my room, dragging my suitcase down, and filling it with everything I have here.
“What’s all this?”
I turn and my father sees my face, his growing from curious to heartache and sympathy in a nanosecond. He crosses the room and envelops me in a hug, and any remaining composure I had been clinging to falls away as I absolutely lose it in my father’s arms.
“He ended it then, yeah?” he asks after an eternity of holding and shushing and comforting.
“I think he had been trying to for a couple of days and I was too stupid and blind to realize it.” I wipe my face and pull away from him. “Can you get me to Boston tonight?”
“Boston?”
“I want to go to London as soon as I can. Now, if possible.”
“Oh, Raven—”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “I don’t want the lecture and I don’t want the platitudes. I just want to get out of here and away from him. I never want to see him again. Ever. He wanted me to go to London, so that’s precisely what I’m doing.”
“Is that what he told you? That he wants you to go to London?”
“He told me a lot of things. Tonight especially, but yes. He told me to follow my dream and go to London because he doesn’t want me to come with him to Minnesota. He doesn’t want me at all.”
My father stares at me for a very long moment and then over my shoulder, out the window. He rubs at his mouth and finally nods as if he’s come to some sort of conclusion that’s eluding me.
“I’ll fly you to Boston tonight, we’ll stay in a hotel, and I’ll change our tickets for tomorrow.”
More tears spring to my eyes. “Thank you, Dad. You’re the only person in this world I have. The only one I can rely on.” Because everyone else abandons me. Leaves me the first chance they get. I’ll never be enough to make someone stay and choose me, and that’s just life.
“All right now.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m going to let Dr. Fritz know I’m leaving early for London and get everything arranged. Finish packing and we’ll leave in two hours.”
With that, he closes the door, leaving me here in my mess of a room with my mess of a heart.
I don’t love you. I don’t want you. Get over it and move on. I have.
It’s as if every drop of blood in my body has been replaced with poison. Shredding my veins and killing my internal organs. With each pump of my heart, that poison grows stronger, deadlier. I’ve read about heartbreak and seen it in movies, but it’s one thing to read and see and another to feel it.
It’s as if time has come to a standstill.
As if I made him up in my head because he no longer exists in reality.
We loved for such a short time, but I already know I’ll never be able to fully wash him from my skin.
He’s etched, embedded, and that’s what scares me the most about how this feels.
Because I’m not fine and what if I never am again?
His smiles and laughter. His kisses and forehead presses. The way we held each other, intertwined, any distance too great. The hours of talking—the things we told each other—everything. The way he looked at me. The way he fucking looked at me… as if I was all he saw. All he ever wanted.
I’m so ashamed. So weak and tired and dejected.
His eyes tonight… so cruel. So casual and fucking honest.
I was the needy girl, desperate for his love. And he used that. All of it. Until he was fixed and no longer had a need for me. I’m reeling. Trapped in this avalanche, suffocating and unable to move.
I finish packing everything up and take a turn about the room, touching surfaces and smelling the pillow he slept on. It still smells like him, and a burning pang hits me straight on. It might not have been real for him, but it was for me. All of it. Every second I was with him, I loved him.
Pretending otherwise would be a lie and I will not do that.
I may be young, and I may be that girl who fell for the wrong guy, but I won’t do that. I’ll mourn the loss of him and then I’ll move on because that’s all I can do. London will help. School will help. New friends. New life.
My eyes catch on a stack of Post-it notes sitting in the corner of the tiny desk and before I can think twice about it, I scribble a message, staring at the words. At the swirls of the letters that form my heart.
Peeling it from the rest, I hold it in my hand and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m out the front door, crossing the dark grounds, the wind whipping through my hair.
I punch in the code for the back door and wind my way up through the house.
It’s quiet and even though part of me feels at home here, I know that’s a fallacy.
I no longer have a home. I’m not sure I ever did.
His door sits at the end of the hall and as I approach it, I slow my steps, doubt starting to creep in.
What if he’s in there with her? But I don’t hear anything.
It’s nothing but muted silence and it’s now or never.
My hands press into the wood, running my fingers along the white paint and leaving the Post-it behind, stuck to his door where he won’t miss it.
Even if he never sees it and it’s found by someone else, at least I said it.
It’s my goodbye.
Tears like raindrops fall from my face, but I do nothing to wipe them away.
It feels like I’ll cry forever, but I know that’s not what will happen.
I’ll go to London, and I’ll miss him. I’ll suffer a thousand times over as I question every moment we spent together, but I won’t die.
I will come out of this smarter. A better cellist. A stronger woman.
And no matter what, I’ll never allow a man to do this to me again.