27. Mila #3
I leaned back and closed my eyes as I let the water wash over me.
The tears streamed down my face, and all I could picture was Ryker’s face as he’d smiled at the waitress—happy and light-hearted.
I’d seen the look he’d given her. It was fun, flirty, carefree, and she’d responded in the same way.
I couldn’t remember him ever giving me that look.
When I was younger, he’d looked at me as his best friend’s kid sister who was dorky, and he’d teased me relentlessly.
Sometimes, he’d looked at me with more emotion when he’d listened to me talk about exams or heartaches or other silly things that had bothered me.
He’d given me hugs, been caring, but he’d never given me a look of instant attraction, of love, of real interest.
And now, now that we were older and doing things I’d only hoped we’d be doing, some of his looks had changed.
I’d seen lust in his eyes. I’d seen bare-naked want, but I’d not seen that innocent attraction, the admiration, the stirrings of a beginning love.
I’d only fooled myself into thinking that we could have something real.
He’d told me over and over again that this was a contract.
He’d told me over and over he didn’t do love.
He’d reminded me that he wasn’t the man for me.
I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t listened to him.
Actually, that was a lie. I knew why I hadn’t listened to him.
Because my heart was holding on to a string attached to the moon and the stars.
My heart was hoping that God would answer my prayers and that Ryker would fall head over heels in love with me.
I guess this was one prayer he wasn’t interested in answering.
I reached over the side of the tub, grabbed my phone, and called Lara. I needed to hear her voice. I needed her to tell me it was okay. I needed her to tell me that one day, I’d meet my Prince Charming. One day, someone would love me as much as I loved them. Even if that someone wasn’t Ryker.
“Hello?” Lara answered the phone, her voice out of breath.
“Hey, you busy?” I hiccupped.
“Just got done jogging. What’s going on?”
“Not much,” I said, my voice barely able to work through the tears.
“Are you okay?” She sounded concerned. “What’s going on, Mila?”
“I want to ask you a question,” I said, my voice wobbly. “You need to answer me honestly, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, her voice light. “What’s the question?”
“Did you ever think I had a chance at a real relationship with Ryker?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Did you ever really think Ryker was interested in me?”
“You mean, did I ever think he liked you before this?” she said, her words slow.
“Yeah, or did you think he would ever really want me? Like a man wants a woman he’ll love for the rest of his life?”
“Why are you asking me this, Mila?” She sighed.
“Just answer me honestly. Answer me as a friend. Answer me as my best friend. And do me the honor of being straight. Not the best friend that wants to protect my feelings, but the best friend that wants to let her best friend know the truth.”
“Mila, what is going on?”
“Answer me,” I cried out. “Just answer the question,” I sobbed. “Please.”
“No,” she whispered, and her voice caught. “I’m sorry, Mila, but no, I never thought you and Ryker would end up together, but that doesn’t mean that . . .” Her voice trailed off as I screamed into the phone.
“Stop. Don’t try and make me feel better. Just be honest with me. My heart is going to break either way. You trying to help my feelings isn’t going to make me feel any better.”
“You can do better than Ryker, Mila,” she said. “Where is this coming from?”
“I’ll call you later,” I said, hung up the phone, then turned it off.
All of a sudden, I felt tired—deathly tired.
My body ached, and I just wanted to lie down on the bed.
I got out of the bath and grabbed a towel.
I dried myself, then waddled to the bedroom, walked over to the bed, collapsed onto it, and started crying uncontrollably; Ryker’s handsome face filled my mind.
I cried and cried until I started punching the pillow with my fists.
I was so angry with myself. I felt so stupid.
Like a fool and an idiot. How could I have put myself in this position?
How could I have even thought for a minute that this was based on anything other than sex?
Ryker had never been interested in me. He’d never wooed me.
He’d never come to me. Never asked me on a date.
This was just a convenient hookup for him.
I wanted to scream and slap myself for thinking that he could ever love me.
What did I have to offer him? I wasn’t beautiful.
I didn’t have a perfect body. I didn’t look anything like the other girls he dated.
I wasn’t super smart. I wasn’t sporty. I wasn’t witty and intelligent.
I didn’t follow the news or international affairs.
We had no real interests in common. I had nothing to offer him.
He had the whole world to give a woman. I was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
My sobs were so loud that I didn’t hear the front door opening.
I didn’t hear him walking toward the bedroom.
I didn’t hear him stop at the entrance to the bedroom door.
I didn’t hear him standing there, watching me cry my eyes out and punching the pillow like I was being killed or that someone in my life had died.
I didn’t hear anything. I just cried and cried because my heart was being pulled out of my body, and I was slowly losing the will to ever feel good about myself or my life again.
I felt like I was being broken in two. I felt like I was losing a part of myself in my despair.
I’d never known what it was like to lose someone important before, but as I lay there crying, I knew that I was losing a part of my heart.
A part of my innocence was forever gone.
And then I heard him. I looked up, my heart pounding, my face red and splotchy. I froze as our eyes met, and his face was a mask of worry and concern.
“Why are you crying, Mila?” Ryker walked into the room, his face grim and twisted as he approached me, his eyes studying my face. “Who hurt you? What happened?”
“No one hurt me,” I said and looked away from him.
How could I tell him that I was crying for myself because of him?
Because he made me feel invisible? Because he’d never once looked at me in the way I’d seen him looking at the waitress in the restaurant?
How could I tell him that I was crying because, for once in my life, I wanted to matter?
I wanted to be the one someone wanted. I wanted to be the one admired.
For all my laughter and plans, I was hurt inside. I was more than hurt; I was broken.
I’d tried to hide the fact that it hurt me that he didn’t care for so many years.
I’d lied to myself that I wasn’t hurt and dejected.
In my head and heart, I’d known that it would happen.
I ignored the fact that he didn’t pursue me.
I made all these excuses to myself for the reasons why, when the real reason was in front of me.
He didn’t care about me. Yeah, maybe he wanted to sleep with me, but I wasn’t his one.
I wasn’t anything special. And knowing that, knowing that he’d never looked at me with that glint in his eyes that I’d seen when he’d looked at Madeline, killed me.
It made me feel weak, empty, and alone, and there was nothing I could do to fix that feeling.
There was nothing I could do to make him love me.
There was nothing I could do to make him feel for me the way I felt for him.
I didn’t understand why. I didn’t understand how I could feel all these feelings, love him so much. I didn’t understand why I would want him so much when, to him, I was nothing.
“Tell me why you’re crying, Mila.” He frowned as he sat next to me. “Who do I have to beat up?”
“No one. I’m fine.” I gulped as he sat down on the bed and gingerly touched my shoulder.
“You’re not fine.” He lay down next to me and reached over to my face. “Tell me what’s wrong, Mila. Please.”
“Nothing is wrong.” I kept my eyes down. How did you tell someone that their not loving you had broken you without seeming pathetic?
“Mila.” His voice broke, and I looked into his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” I tried to wipe my eyes. My whole being felt embarrassed and awkward.
“It matters to me,” he said softly. “Please, Mila, talk to me.”
“You were mean to me tonight,” I said sadly, not knowing why I was letting the words out. “I was just waiting on you. And that guy approached me, and you were mean.”
“I didn’t intend to be mean,” he said stiffly.
“And then you were flirting with the waitress. I thought you were going to ask her out. It was so disrespectful.” I looked down.
“I didn’t realize I was flirting with her.” He sighed. “Is that why you’re crying?”
“I’m just emotional because I’m getting my period,” I lied. I didn’t want him to know I was devastated.
“I might have been flirting with the waitress because I wanted to make you jealous.” He cupped my cheek lightly, and I looked over at him. He had a weird look on his face.