Chapter 49
“You’re not somebody easy to fall out of love with, Daisy.”
Fuck him for that. For making my once-assured self believe I was ready to move on, move forward, heal. I’m still ready to do those things, but I’m irritated about it. He couldn’t have just left me alone in the elevator? He just had to talk to me?
I’m being selfish, I know. I’ve been pacing back and forth, practically burning holes into my carpet for the past thirty minutes while I wait for my dinner to cook in the oven, a combination of butter chicken, white rice, and garlic naan to heat up. I can’t stop thinking about his stupid face, his bright eyes, the sad look on his lips, and all I want to do is scream at him. That wouldn’t help anybody, but I’m suddenly so angry, the emotions running me dry. This morning, like most, I woke up sad and overwhelmed that I have to move around in the world without him, then I’m highly stressed out because an employee nearly ruined our entire website, and now, by the end of the day, when I should be relaxing with my Indian food and a joint, I’m pissed off and angry?
I’m so angry that I’m angry that it’s making me even more angry. I’m angry that I allowed my anxiety and lack of confrontational skills to ruin something so special. I’ve been slowly trying to understand how my anxiety shows up in different ways through therapy, which I started attending on a weekly basis instead of as needed, and I’m learning a lot about myself that I wish I would’ve known during the time Tanner and I were together. It wasn’t all him, and as I think back to the big fight that made us break up, I recognize that. He had been considerate, patient, and understanding almost every time something came up that caused me to shut down. It isn’t, and wasn’t, fair for me to allow my emotions to get the best of me.
But still. My body is hot, my legs can’t stop moving, and all I want to do is see him. Ask him where we went wrong, what even happened that day to warrant such a…visceral reaction from him. I’m smart enough to realize that it wasn’t the sex that made him leave, but something aboutit all made him disappear without so much a goodbye. It’s not like Tanner, and even if he were arguing that he wanted space, it doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.
I run a hand down my face, groaning in irritation as I walk through my living room and into my kitchen, pulling open the oven to check on my food.
It’s probably ready by now, but I’m suddenly not in the mood to eat it, too fixated on whatever that bullshit with Tanner was from earlier.
Although, to be fair…I was pretty dismissive to him. I wasn’t trying to be. I just tend to have a lot of mixed feelings about our situation.
On one hand, regardless of how badly I don’t want to admit this, I understand why he was so hurt that day. From his perspective, I told him I couldn’t be the best person for him and basically had no intention to, without further explaining myself. What I meant to say was, I couldn’t be the person he, or anybody else wanted me to be, because the way I love people is different. It’s quiet, reserved, guarded because that’s naturally who I am. But with me, he would never know what it’s like to not be loved. He’d always know and wouldn’t have to doubt that it was only him. But I never got the chance to explain.
And on the flip side, I guess I can see why he left. I know in the deepest part of my heart that Tanner is a good man. He is loyal, kind, caring, and compassionate to a fault, almost. I knew when he told me he loved me, he was serious, and even more than that, the pain from that night—I felt it on him as much as I did in my own heart. He was aching and in pain, thinking we were going to be done, too. So who am I, to get mad about him declaring that?
I’m mad because he left. Not only was that our first time sleeping together, but it was such an intimate moment, even after the fact when he helped me shower and took care of my body, that when he left the next morning, I felt empty. I knew then that a lot of our problems stemmed from him feeling like I was trying, me not communicating that I was, and further explaining what that looked like for me. I can talk about my family issues and how it affected me all day, but if I’m not holding myself accountable to my actions, what’s the point? Why would I expect him to stay?
My initial response after I woke up the next day was to disregard our relationship. Even hearing myself think about calling our relationship after the fact, a relationship, when I was unable to do it all those months ago just proves that I have a lot I need to work through. It felt like it was a complete waste of time and that I never truly mattered to him, but even I know that’s not true. He wouldn’t have said he loved me if he was lying, but it still hurts. He could’ve talked to me the next morning, and we could’ve come together with rational heads and try talking it through like adults, but he left me to pick up the pieces and figure out how to exist without him after not sleeping with anybody for years, after opening myself up in every possible way for the first time in my entire life…
But I guess, in some way, I deserved that.
I slam my oven shut, not realizing I’d been so angry and in my thoughts that I was scowling at my food. Turning the knob off on the oven, I snatch my phone from the kitchen island, hurry over to my entryway and shove my feet angrily into my boots, grab my jacket, and leave my house. We’re in shitty weather conditions, apparently, the snowstorm forecasted this weekend coming earlier than anticipated, but I don’t care. I need answers, and I’m going to demand them.
I step out of the apartment and am instantly smacked in the face by frigid winds, tears already filling in my eyes as I squint. Maybe I should get my car and drive there, but it would be worse, risking getting stuck if the roads aren’t salted or plowed, and walking has always been quicker. Traffic in this area sucks, and I don’t want to get stuck and have to call him to mercilessly help me. That’d be stupid and embarrassing, and at that point, I’d just walk home.
I’ve never been a big car driver, especially in the city. People drive like idiots; nobody knows where they’re going, and I don’t like traffic. It makes zero sense to me why we have to sit and wait for a car to move forward when the reality is that if we all kept the same pace, we could get there faster. Walking is more convenient and much quicker in Boston.
Hence why I’m walking to his apartment.
If I make it there alive, I’m sure he’ll kill me for not just calling him, but again, fuck him. I’m an independent woman and don’t need a man telling me what’s good for me or not. I need to say a few choice words to Mr. Tanner Moore, and I’m going to do it my way.
The further I walk, the colder the wind feels against my skin, and I’m kicking myself for not grabbing my scarf and mittens. I usually never leave without them, but I was in such a rage I hadn’t thought about it. My eyes narrow as I watch the winds whip snow back and forth, making my visibility nearly impossible to see, but thankfully, his apartment isn’t far from mine at all. Less than half a mile, if I’m lucky. I slowly step through the snow, arms sticking out so I don’t slip and fall on my ass, chest tight from the harsh winds. Thank God I don’t have asthma or some other lung issue because I would’ve keeled over by now. My fingers start bunching together, shoved deep in my pockets to keep warm as I grit my teeth. Cold tears stream down my face from the wind. The further I walk I realize I’m almost there but not close enough.
The sight of somebody bristling past me veers my attention from walking. At first, it looks like they’re hurrying along, determined to get to their destination like I am, but low and behold, they’re running—in a snow blizzard—at almost 9 p.m. If I could feel my face, I’d make one at them for that insanity, but instead, I drop my head, pull my phone from my pocket, and note the time.
I don’t realize I’m falling until my ass smacks on the slicked cement, my phone flying from my hand at the same time I try catching both it and myself. A muffled cry rips from my throat as I try and fail to catch myself, lying supine on the ground for a second. My breaths are ragged, the pain in my lower back unbearable, and for a split second, I swear the stars are brighter. Feeling around for my phone, I groan and force myself back to a standing position, glancing around slowly as the throbbing in my head burns.
Why the hell did you decide to do this in the middle of a snowstorm? All to yell at a man?
Maybe not one of my finest moments, and the longer I sit on the ground, the dumber I feel. None of this is going to matter to Tanner, and I could’ve texted him or waited until it wasn’t so dark out. I can’t see my phone, I’m pretty sure I have a concussion or a bruised hip, and I’m going to have to get up sooner rather than later because I’m starting to worry I’m going to get frostbite.
I fucking hope that when I’m ready to yell at Tanner, that all of this was worth it.
I made it.
Holy fucking shit. I finally made it.
I’m so happy I could cry, but I’m also freezing and don’t think I have enough energy to. I think the doorman felt bad for me because he pushed the main door open for me without bothering to see if I lived here. I shuffle over to the elevators, legs burning with every step I take and press the up-arrow, stepping in and hitting the button floor five automatically.
It’s weird being back here. The first time I’d been in this elevator, I assumed Tanner would be the same as everybody else who lived here: rich, snooty, boring, when he’s the complete opposite of everybody who lives here. I made assumptions about him before ever getting to know him, and I hate that I wasted time doing that when I could’ve gotten to just know him.
The elevator opens no sooner than it closes, and I step out, taking as deep of a breath as I can before half-walking, half-limping down the hall. My hip hurts, my phone is lost, and I’m so fucking nervous bile works its way into my throat. Anxiety weaves through my achy limbs, the breaths coming out more labored than usual. There’s a slight tremble in my hands, and I’m uncertain if it’s because I’m nervous or still working my way towards not being cold.
What if a girl is inside his apartment? What if he’s already moved on?
Haven’t you already moved on?
I push those thoughts away the closer I get to his door. The gold number on his door stares at me, 9b, and the anger I once felt for his admission is no longer there. The trek was too long, too daunting, and all I want to do is tell him I’m angry, or at least I was, and leave. If I do that, then I’ll be able to happily move on without worrying about what happens next.
One minute, his apartment is halfway down the hall from me, and the next, I’m standing directly in front of the door. Soft music echoes from the inside, and I smile, or at least I try to, when I hear the chorus for ‘She’ by Harry Styles. Fine Line is Tanner’s favorite album, and something about him being at home jamming out to music is vulnerable and makes my heart flutter.
Unless he’s with company, then forget it. I hate everything about that. Pushing out a breath, I raise my fist to the door and knock.