Chapter 8 An Empty Home and an Empty Heart
An Empty Home and an Empty Heart
Alek
How do I even begin to make up for being a total asshole and leaving the woman I love alone when she needed me most? Do I show up with flowers? Chocolate? Or just drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness?
I have no idea what I’m doing, and honestly, this is exactly why I’ve always avoided relationships. All I know is Hayvin is furious. She hasn’t answered a single call or text, which isn’t like her at all. I fucked up badly, and all day I’ve been desperate to get home and make things right.
This morning, David tossed me the keys and told me to get my ass home to Hayvin after I lost it, realizing she’d actually blocked me.
He said Jerica would drop him off to get his truck, and they’d deal with her stuff, maybe put it in storage.
Honestly, I couldn’t care less if they left it on the side of the road.
Her things are the last thing on my mind right now.
I’m running on fumes, and yeah, it’d be smart to pull over and catch some sleep, but there’s no way I’m stopping until I’m back with Hayvin.
How did I let things get this bad? How did it come to Hayvin doubting her place in my life?
I never wanted her to feel that way. Her words have been echoing in my head nonstop, tangled up with David’s, as I try to make sense of it all.
They both think I have feelings for Jerica, but they’re dead wrong.
That ship sailed ages ago—if it ever even existed.
Jerica was just the one thing I couldn’t have, the forbidden fruit.
My mind drifts back again to the weekend before my first date with Charlie, before she and Keaton patched things up after his cheating.
I’d gone to a business conference with David and Jerica.
Char kept pushing me to figure out whether I had feelings for Jerica, so, to be fair to everyone, I promised I’d find out if Jerica was single when we went.
By some twist of fate, Jerica and Reggie were on one of their usual breaks that weekend.
I figured if I was ever going to test the waters, this was it.
I flirted a bit, and to my surprise, she flirted back, but the spark just wasn’t there.
Still, determined to settle it once and for all, I told her on our last night that maybe we could be something more.
My words came out flat, empty, because I didn’t really feel it.
I just thought I should, since Charlie was convinced I had feelings for Jerica.
Jerica looked at me like I was some lost puppy, which pissed me off.
She hugged me and said she was flattered, but only loved Reggie and saw me as a brother.
Relief washed over me, mixed with a sting of rejection, because who actually likes being turned down?
And that was it. I didn’t come home tangled in a relationship I never really wanted. I came back with my friendships with David and Jerica still solid.
What got into Jerica these past few days? What made her think it was okay to kiss me? Sure, she wanted to get under Reggie’s skin, make him think we were together or something. But seriously, what the hell?
The whole thing is fucking maddening. I should have called her out, told her how messed up it was, but all I wanted was to get away. The longer I stayed near her, the heavier that lead weight in my gut grew.
With a yawn, I flip on the turn signal for the road leading to my place and wait for oncoming traffic to clear before turning.
The closer I get to the apartment, the faster my fingers drum against the steering wheel.
I should have picked up flowers. She loves it when I bring them, and I can’t get enough of the way her eyes soften when she buries her nose in the petals.
Shit. Maybe I should turn around.
I sit up straighter as I drive up to our spare parking space and notice her car is not in her spot.
She probably just left, and someone was in her spot when she came home, so she’s parked somewhere else. It happens all the time.
Lifting my shoulder, I bring it up to meet my face to wipe away the sweat that’s rolled down my face.
David needs to fix his air conditioner. There’s something that’s obviously not working with it.
I throw the truck into park, kill the engine, and snatch the keys out.
David’s keys go in one pocket, mine in the other.
I glance at the shit in the truck bed, worry for a split second someone might mess with it, but honestly, my need to see Hayvin drowns out any care for Jerica’s things.
I jog across the apartment lot, heart pounding.
I reach out to open the door, but it doesn’t budge because it’s locked.
Hayvin never locks the door when she’s home. Only if she’s sleeping. That must be it. She’s just napping, recharging after a string of long days. Nothing more than that.
I ignore the frantic clatter of my keys as my trembling hand fumbles with the lock. The sound jars me, the key slipping and snagging until I force myself to breathe and try again.
This time, the key slots in, the knob turns, and the door swings open. Stale, foreign air greets me, prickling my skin and sending a shiver up my arms.
“Vin,” I call out, tossing my keys on the table in the hall.
With each step deeper into the apartment, tension coils tighter in my gut. I pause, scanning the room. Something is wrong, but I can’t place it.
Maybe Hayvin decided to do something different with it.
I drift down the hall, fists clenching and unclenching, ribs tightening with each step toward our bedroom. My feet drag, heavy as if my shoes are filled with cement.
The silence is jarring. Usually, music floats through the rooms, mingling with the swirl of scents from the kitchen.
I’d find Hayvin twirling, singing into a spatula, laughter bubbling up as she cooked.
I’d lean in the doorway, watching until she caught my gaze with those eyes that said everything I was afraid to admit, and that soft, devastating smile that unraveled me every time, and I’d be lost in her until work pulled me away again.
Or until David wanted to hang out.
I lay a hand against my chest as I take the last few steps to our bedroom door.
My brows knit when I find the bed made and her gone, not where I thought she’d be.
Okay. So, maybe she just went to the store or something.
I reach for my phone to call her, cursing softly when I remember I smashed it after learning she’d blocked me.
My gaze snaps to the closed closet doors, a chill sweeping through me so quickly my teeth begin to chatter.
No. There’s no way.
My eyes scan the dressers, widening at the empty space on top. Disbelief swells into dread. Then I see the photo on the nightstand, and relief and longing mingle as a faint smile tugs at my lips.
There. See. The picture of us that Charlie took on a weekend we spent with her and Keaton still sits on it.
It's a candid photo of us, taken when we weren't paying attention.
Hayvin was being goofy, and I was staring down at her in wonder.
Anyone could look at the smile on my face and tell I was fucking smitten.
It had only been about a year after we started dating.
I move closer to the photo, hungry for another glimpse of her playful grin. I pick it up, tracing her bright smile with my fingertip, trying to memorize the joy in her expression.
That smile. I remember thinking I could wake up to it every day for the rest of my life and be happy. The thought terrified me, and I started to pull away soon after.
The plastic frame bites into my fingers as I clutch it, turning away to scan the room once more.
"Hayvin," I call out again, wincing at the way my voice wavers and cracks on her name.
My eyes keep flicking to the closet doors, drawn to those slabs of wood as if they’re summoning me.
My muscles twitch with each careful step I take toward them.
They’re just doors. Two plain pieces of wood. Still, I’m standing here like they might explode if I touch them.
Sharp pain flashes through my hand, cool trails of blood sliding down my skin as I stop in front of the doors. I look down to see shards of glass embedded in my palm, blood seeping around them.
Why am I hesitating?
I replay the warning signs. The bare dresser should have tipped me off. But denial was easier. Ignoring the emptiness meant I didn’t have to face the truth, not until it screamed at me from every room.
I grip the handle and yank the door open, staring at the barren space where her things once were, the cold seeping deeper into my bones.
Gone.
It's all gone.
She's gone.
“Hayvin!” I shout, letting the picture frame fall. I grab a shirt from the closet, not caring which, and wrap it around my bleeding hand before bolting from the room.
Everywhere I look, she’s gone. Not a trace remains. Aside from the photo on the nightstand, it’s as if she never existed. Three damn years, and all that’s left is a single picture.
Time blurs as I slump against the closet door, the broken frame cupped in my hand. Red drops mar the glass, but the pain barely registers.
How can I care about something so trivial as a cut when something inside my chest is ripping me apart? A relentless pressure squeezes my lungs until every breath is a struggle.
My brows knit as I spot a dried drop of blood marring Hayvin’s face in the photo. I scrape it away with my thumbnail, sighing in relief when her smile reappears.
How did I screw this up so badly? Three days ago, I had fucking everything. Now, I have nothing at all.
Somewhere along the line, I fucked everything up, and now I have to face what I should have confronted long ago. I need to dig through my mind, my heart, and this mess of a life to figure out how to piece together what I shattered.
I replay every moment with Hayvin before I left, each memory stinging sharper than the last. It’s painfully fucking clear now that while I was clinging to the idea of picking up where we left off, she was already saying her final goodbye. She never intended to be here when I returned.
A jagged laugh rips out of me as I slam my head against the wall.
She handed me the chance to choose her, to stay and mend what she already knew was broken. But I ran, a coward through and through, because those three words she said scared me more than anything else ever could.
Motherfucker.
For someone who’s got it together everywhere else, I’m a complete fucking idiot when it comes to love.
What is that Hayvin is always saying to me when she’s reading me those damn Reddit posts she and Everleigh are always sharing back and forth?
“You can’t fix stupid, Alek.”
A rough, aching laugh escapes me as I push myself up from the floor.
No, you can’t fix stupid, Vin baby, but you can learn from it. And it looks like I’ve got a hell of a lot of learning ahead of me.