36. Carlisle
36
Carlisle
T hanks to Ben’s hush money, I’m financially solvent enough to wallow in my sadness without worrying about my employment status or bank balance for a few months. I have plenty of money to support my boxed wine, potato chips, and ice cream habit—the only necessities a girl needs while nursing a broken heart.
At first, I waited by the phone hoping that Ben would call. Despite Becky’s assertions, I fully expected Ben to call as soon as the initial hysteria over his arrest died down.
But he never did.
I’ve thrown a pity party for myself for the last two weeks, sulking about losing Ben. I’m miserable and depressed. I don’t think I’ve felt this low since my mom died.
Christmas is in three days, and I haven’t heard from my dad at all. So, I have yet another reason to be sad. It's painful imagining my dad enjoying the holidays on the beach with his replacement family. I wonder if he misses me at all. I wonder if Ben misses me at all. Because, God, I miss them both something fierce.
Why do all the men in my life leave me ?
First my dad, then Matt, and now Ben. When the same thing keeps happening to me, I can’t blame them anymore. I must be the problem. I must be inherently unlovable.
My phone buzzes with a social media notification, and I realize that time has gotten away from me. It seems to do that a lot now. I zone out for what feels like a few minutes only to realize that an hour or more has passed. I guess when your life has fallen apart, you have a lot to reflect upon.
Pitifully, I raise my head from the couch as I muster the strength to clean up. I’ve fallen into this pathetic routine of spending my days eating junk food and watching horror movies. I don’t even like horror movies, but I can’t stomach watching anything romantic and I avoid live TV like the plague so that I don’t inadvertently see a news piece on Ben or Willa or a commercial for one of his movies.
There is food debris scattered all around. Grimacing, I sit up, shaking off the cookie crumbs that landed on my mom's old velour robe that I've taken to wearing every day. Gathering up the trash, I toss it into the kitchen garbage can. Then I straighten and fluff the couch’s throw pillows and turn off the television before heading into the bathroom to shower. Harper will be home from work soon, and since I don’t want her to worry about me, I pretend that my heart isn’t irreparably broken.
By the time Harper arrives home, I’m freshly dressed and sitting at our small dining table with my computer open researching recipes for my food blog and there’s a simple casserole in the oven for dinner. I think she sees through my thin veneer of stability, but she’s kind enough not to call me out.
Harper leaves tomorrow to go home to Mississippi for Christmas and New Year’s. She’s invited me to come home with her—numerous times—but I declined her kind offers. She has looked after and supported me ever since my mom died. I don’t want to be Harper’s albatross, dragging her down every time I suffer a heartbreak or setback.
I want to grieve in solitude over Christmas. I need to totally fall apart, to cry until I run out of tears, to feel every painful feeling until I have none left to feel. And then I plan on putting myself back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty, but hopefully sexier. I did it after Matt and I broke up, so surely, I can do it again in the aftermath of the wreckage of my relationship with Ben. We were only in each other’s lives for a month and a half, but somehow healing from this heartbreak feels more monumental.
My relationship with Matt was my first love, but it wasn’t my forever love. We were young, innocent, and entitled enough to believe that life would work out for us. That together we could conquer whatever obstacles laid in our paths. We were too na?ve to realize that sometimes life throws you a series of curveballs, the likes from which you can never fully recover. At least not with your relationship intact. I went into my relationship with Ben without blinders on, aware that sometimes, despite your best efforts, things won’t work out. That your love will be pushed past its breaking point and won’t prevail.
But for some stupid reason, I believed ours would, and it sucks knowing that it didn’t.
When I wave goodbye to Harper the next morning, I give myself a time limit. I’m allowed to fall apart and eat and drink away my feelings for the next two days, but starting on December 26 th , I will move on with my life.
I wake up the morning after Christmas feeling better than I have in weeks, which isn’t saying much, to be honest. My heart feels like it’s being held together with duct tape and staples, but it’s still beating. Though my foundation has been shaken, I’m ready to rebuild.
The grocery store is dead, so I pokily peruse the aisles, carefully selecting my produce and pantry items, without the normal hustle and bustle of shoppers. After being isolated, first at Ben’s house and then in my apartment, it’s refreshing to be out in public again. I can’t help but feel a little sorry for Ben that he can’t do something as simple as grocery shopping without being followed and harassed by fans and photographers.
But then I quickly admonish myself. I’m not allowed to think about Ben, especially not in a sympathetic way. Fuck that guy. He sucks.
As I wait in the check-out line, I stare straight ahead, never allowing my gaze to fall to the side where the magazine racks are located. Out of my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of his handsome face gracing a magazine cover and I growl in frustration. But I remain steadfast and determined and don’t allow my eyes to stray to his face again.
I’ve lived enough Hollywood gossip to last a lifetime, and I don’t need to subject myself to any more of it.
When I get home, I unpack my groceries and begin to cook. After scheduling my twelve Christmas cookie recipes, I stepped away from my social media accounts because I'd lost motivation, and I needed time to wallow. But I’m ready to make up for lost time.
Since New Year’s Eve is next week, I’m making several simple yet elegant appetizers that I think my followers will enjoy. I spend the next few hours listening to upbeat music and happily cooking. After my hiatus from posting, it feels good to be productive again. Before long, I’m humming along and dancing to the music while I cook .
Grabbing my camera and some props from our small pantry, I begin setting up my shots. When I’m happy with the arrangement and lighting, I take tons of photos so that I can find my perfect shots.
When I’m finished, I make myself a plate, pour a glass of champagne, and go into the living room to relax. Feeling brave, I scroll through Netflix and find a non-horror movie to watch while I snack and edit photos.
Depositing my empty plate on the coffee table, I kick off my shoes and curl my legs up on the couch. I feel sated and content for the first time in weeks, so I reward myself with more champagne.
When Harper first mentions Ben by name, it’s late January. My heart jolts and my stomach plummets. I’m doing so much better, but it’s only because I pretend to live in a world in which Ben doesn’t exist. I’m not yet strong enough to acknowledge and accept that we both live in a shared world, but that I no longer have a place in his life.
“Did you see Gravity’s profile on Ben?” My head jerks up when I hear his name coming from her mouth. Harper watches my reaction intently. “The article said that he got the lead in a new movie, that one you told me about.”
“ Losing Love ?” I hate that I still remember every detail of our relationship. As much as I want to erase all memories from our time together, I seem to do the opposite. Instead, every detail, every nuance of our time together is tattooed inside my brain never to be forgotten. It blows .
Maybe I should look into getting a lobotomy. I make a mental note to research that.
“That’s the one.”
“Cool. Super happy for him,” I deadpan. “But I already knew that. Becky,” I spit out her name like I would a sip of rancid milk, “told me that when she broke up with me for him.”
Harper cocks her head to one side. “Just testing the waters to see how over him you are.”
“How’d I do? Did I pass?” My voice is monotone as I pick at a hangnail on my thumb to avoid looking at Harper.
Harper winces. “Nope, girl. You still have more healing to do.”
No shit, Sherlock. I’m better, but I’m not anywhere close to being over him.
“Did you know that there’s a new immunotherapy for kids with food allergies? Basically, the child is given tiny dosages of their allergens in slowly increasing increments. Through the treatment of repeated exposure, the child’s immune system becomes desensitized to the allergen. Cool, huh?”
“Umm, yeah, that’s cool,” I agree slowly, as I grapple with the abrupt change in conversation. Do we know someone with a severe food allergy?
“I think you should start exposing yourself to Ben.”
My eyebrows raise in surprise. “Expose myself?” I choke out a sardonic laugh. My weak attempt at deflection doesn’t work.
She rolls her eyes at my juvenile humor. “Read an article about him, watch a snippet of an interview. Unfortunately, given his level of fame, Ben’s not somebody who you can avoid forever, so you need to build up your tolerance and desensitize yourself to him.”
Outwardly, I scoff at her idea, but inwardly, I mull it over. It’s not a horrible idea, but I’m not sure my heart is mended enough to try it yet. I relent and tell Harper that I’ll think about it.
Since we’re on the topic that I’ve spent more than a month avoiding, I may as well ask the question that's been on my mind. “Hey, Harp. One more thing…”
“Yeah?” Her gaze rises from the magazine she’s reading.
“Are he… are-he-and-Willa-still-together?” My words, when I finally get them out, spill from my lips in a rush. I’m afraid to ask the question and even more afraid to hear the answer.
Did Ben and Willa stick to the original publicity timeline and break up after New Year’s? If so, that would confirm that their relationship really was fake. I hope that they’ve announced their split. However, if they didn’t break up, then it seems safe to assume that they really are dating.
And that Ben lied to me, possibly for the entire duration of our relationship.
“As far as I know, they’re still together.” Scrunching up her nose, Harper smiles sadly because she knows her answer confirms my worst fears. “They were photographed over the Christmas holidays frolicking on a beach in the Bahamas, but I haven't seen much about them since then.”
Damn, that hurts. Ben celebrated Christmas with Willa and took her on the tropical vacation that he’d planned with me.
At least this gives me some semblance of closure.
At least now I know for sure that he dumped me so that he could be with Willa.
And one thing becomes clear. I don't think I ever really knew the real Ben. The Ben I thought I knew never would have treated me this way .
My cobbled together heart trembles and shudders within my chest before splitting wide open again.