Chapter 13 – “History Of Man” - Maisie Peters
ELENA
“HISTORY OF MAN” - MAISIE PETERS
AGE TWENTY-FOUR - SEPTEMBER
“I got a job in Wyoming, and I leave on Sunday.”
The words ring through my skull, ricocheting off the corners of my brain, but I can’t make sense of them.
Sure, months ago Zach told me we needed to end things because he didn’t want to chase my dreams with me, and I didn’t want to have his babies, but after that night, we never spoke of it again.
He continued working various temp jobs; I got published, did my book tour, and settled into my life as a full-time author.
He didn’t ask me about my writing, and I didn’t ask him where we stood. For the first time in our lives together, we were uncomplicated.
Until now.
“What’s in Wyoming?” Despair funnels itself into the depths of my body as I stare him down.
“I’m going to work on a cattle ranch, for a year to start, and see if I like it.”
“Doing what?” My tone comes out cold and snappy.
“Whatever they tell me to.”
My teeth clench hard enough to crack, jaw trembling beneath the weight of what he’d just dropped on me. “And that’s better than being here? With your friends and family? With me?”
“You mean the friends who are traveling the world? Or opening their own businesses? Or my parents, who just bought their second home in Palm Springs and are hardly ever in town? Or how about you, Elena? Your deadlines where you shut yourself inside your office for weeks at a time? Your book tours and signing events on the weekends? I never see you either.”
Because you never come around .
I know it’s hard for him to watch everyone else succeed when he feels he’s failing himself, but if he gave me a chance, I’d make time for him. I’ve always made time for him.
“Everyone is surpassing me, and I’m the oldest.” He slaps his chest. “I’m the big brother. I’m the one who’s supposed to have it figured out, the one they look up to, and I’m a fucking mess. I’m lost. I have no clue what I’m doing or which direction I’m going in. I need a change.”
“So you’re just going to leave? No notice? No warning? Is this supposed to be your goodbye?”
Zach texted me an hour ago asking if he could come over and talk. Prior to that, I hadn’t seen him for three days, but the last morning we spent together was wrapped up in my bed. This was the last thing I could’ve expected to happen.
He grabs my hands, offering no other explanation than, “I’m sorry,” before standing and heading toward the front door.
“I won’t wait for you,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
To my surprise, he laughs. Laughs . “Okay, Elena.”
I stand, spinning to face him. “You don’t believe me, do you? You want to pack up and leave without notice, move across the country, go off grid, and leave me sitting right here, waiting to welcome you home with open arms when you show your face again a year later?”
He’s staring at me blankly, zero emotion in his deep brown eyes. “I didn’t say I wanted that.”
“No. You just expect it.”
He doesn’t respond.
Now I’m the one laughing. “Because that’s what I’ve always been to you, right? The girl you lie to, cheat on, use like a toy. You leave when you get bored, and every time you come back, I’m right where you left me.”
Zach’s nostrils flare, eyes on fire. “That’s all you fucking care about? Really? I just spilled my fucking guts to you, and your only concern is how it makes you feel?”
“I empathize with you—really, I do!” I shout. “But there are a million different ways you could’ve gone about this, chief among them, communicating with me. Springing this on me two days before you plan to fucking leave is cruel. We’ve been together for a decade, Zach. You owed me more.”
My voice breaks on those final words, and I watch Zach’s face shudder at the sound, the only evidence he’s aware of how much he’s hurting me right now. That he’s hurting too. “I don’t owe you anything, Elena.”
Those words split me open, and the expression on his face digs the hole he’ll bury me in.
“Then I don’t owe you anything either. You walk out right now, and this is done. For good.” My vision blurs through the mess of my tears, and I realize—I won’t even get to see him clearly when he shuts that door on me.
“I know,” he whispers, grabbing the handle.
“Are you threatened by it?” I ask, voice a desperate plea. His brows shoot up in question. “The way you love me. The power I hold over you because of it,” I continue, grasping for any excuse to prolong this moment. Of making him stay. “Or were you never in love with me to begin with?”
Zach shakes his head, and I imagine how I look right now: a broken girl with stars in her eyes, begging for the only thing she ever truly wanted from him.
“You know how I love you.”
“I asked if you were in love with me.”
There’s genuine pain on his face when his gaze meets mine, burning into my soul for the final time, leaving it branded and bleeding. “I can’t give you the answer you want to hear.”
My eyes fall closed, unwilling to watch this ending. For the first time, he doesn’t slam the door when he leaves. The click of it falling into place is gentle and soft, echoing through the chamber of my chest like the hammering of a final nail in my coffin.