Chapter 33
Monica
I waited in line to pick up my takeout order at Fu Yings, apparently a hot spot on a Friday night for singles of the city because the line was practically out the door. As I glanced around, I wondered if any of them were as miserable as I was. Today had been confusing, between Erica coming to take me to lunch and the big win at the meeting where, for a moment, I lost myself to who I used to be with Troy. For a glimpse of a second, it felt like we were us again. I thought he felt it too because, for that second, he looked happy. There was that twinkle in his eye again. I hadn’t seen it in weeks.
I figured I had just had a moment of weakness. A reprieve from the act I had been putting on since we ended things. The one where I had to pretend I didn’t care, and that I was only there for work. Yes, I needed the money, but I had other options to make it. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready to take my agent’s calls yet. I knew if I didn’t talk to her soon, I would surely be dropped from my publisher. I just wished that threat was enough for me to pull out my laptop and start typing again.
Now, I had this potential opportunity where Erica worked. It would be less pressure than a full-on novel with an already faithful fanbase. The idea of it was intriguing. Maybe she was right. It would be a good way for me to dip my toes back into writing. But it would also mean quitting my job. Which meant not seeing Troy anymore. The torture of seeing him every day was somehow better than the idea of not seeing him again.
My head felt like my thoughts were pounding against it, desperate to get out. Desperate for me to make a decision to give it some reprieve. God knew my heart needed it.
“Monica,” said a man’s voice from behind me. My hair stood up on the back of my neck as I immediately envisioned long blond hair. Stubbly beard. Dingy clothes. Could it be my stalker? If it was, at least we were in a crowd of people. I swallowed hard as I slowly turned around to find it wasn’t my stalker at all. It was the guy who I had gone on a date with all those months ago. The one I had left alone in the restaurant. The forty-year-old puppy dog.
“Oh…” I said, trying to remember his name.
“Dean,” he said with a shrug as he put his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans.
“Right, of course,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Uh, how are you?”
“Clearly, just as good as you to be here on a Friday night.” He looked around the restaurant at the others flying solo.
Ouch. That was kind of a backhanded thing to say.
“Gotta love Fu Yings,” I said with a weak smile.
“I hope you’re feeling better,” he said with a note of snarkiness.
As if our date had been last night and I somehow still had the stomach bug months later.
“Oh, yes. Sorry about that.” I only felt a tinge of guilt because of his attitude. “I had a really—”
“Great time. Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” He rolled his eyes.
Ugh. I looked forward at the line that felt like it was barely moving. I just had one person ahead of me. Then I could get my food and get the hell out of there.
“You still writing those little love stories?” he asked.
“Mhmm…” I lied.
“How is that going?”
“Probably better than unemployment,” I said, before turning to see that it was thankfully my turn at the counter. I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped forward and away from the asshole behind me. I quickly paid and gathered my two brown bags of food, avoiding Dean as I stepped past him and out into the chilly night air where it felt like I was no longer suffocating.
I walked the two blocks to my apartment, annoyed with how my Friday night was turning out. It was freezing cold and I was about to eat Chinese food alone before falling asleep in my cold bed alone. It was moments like this when I really missed Troy. Dean made me miss Troy. Troy was no saint, but he wasn’t a complete asshole who looked down on me.
I let myself in my apartment and turned up the heat before slipping into my fuzzy flannel pajamas. I settled onto the couch and flipped through the channels. I was in no mood for romance, another reason why going back to writing was so off-putting. Tonight, I opted for an action movie and set the white cartons of Chinese food on my coffee table, along with a bottle of wine. I spent the next two hours eating lo mein and egg rolls, while downing a half a bottle of Cabernet and laughing at the ridiculous stunts of this movie that probably should have quit three sequels ago.
I must have fallen asleep because my phone dinged and I woke up curled up on the couch. I groggily looked out the window and saw that the sky was still an inky black. It must have been the middle of the night. I reached for my phone on the coffee table and saw that it was midnight, and there was a text from Troy.
I sucked in a breath. Why would he be texting me this hour? The only times he had done so before was when he was inviting me over for a booty call, which I always gladly accepted. Looking back now, it probably looked so desperate on my part, but I had wanted him just as badly as he wanted me. But since we ended things, those late night calls and texts stopped.
Curiously, I opened the text.
Troy: SOS.
I read the three letters over again as if he had typed a paragraph out, rather than the quick cry for help. I sat up quickly from the couch and read it again. If he was texting me that and at this hour, then it must be a work emergency. I wondered if we had missed something at this afternoon’s meeting. I reminded myself this was my job, and responded: On my way.
Quickly, I stood from the couch and walked to the door, sliding on my winter coat and a pair of warm boots that sat next to the door. I didn’t bother changing out of my pajamas because there was no point. I had stopped trying to impress him, well almost, a long time ago. I did pull my bedhead into a messy bun on top of my head before walking out the door.
I hailed a cab and, on the drive, ran through that afternoon’s meeting, seeing what might have gone wrong. I couldn’t think of anything. We had prepared well. Troy had handled it like the boss he was. Maybe it was our meeting with Mr. Belleview, the one that hadn’t gone so well, until I intercepted.
The cab pulled to a stop in front of Troy’s ginormous apartment building. I hesitated to get out as I looked at it towering over me. I hadn’t been here in a long time.
“Miss?” asked the cab driver, turning to me and lifting his cap slightly.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” I rummaged through my purse and pulled out cash, handing it to him.
“Thank you,” I said as I stepped out of the car and hurried toward the large glass doors, trying to get out of the frigid air.
The doorman opened the door and looked at me in surprise.
“Miss Durall,” he said with a warm smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“You too,” I said softly.
“Go on up,” he said, nodding to the front desk attendant who gave a little wave as he yawned.
“Thank you.” I walked to the elevator and pressed the button for PH.
The seconds dragged on as I watched the floors tick by. I looked down at my pink and blue pajama pants that peeked out from beneath my black coat. I suddenly wished I had changed into something else, but it was too late now. The doors dinged and opened to Troy’s living room, which was oddly dark.
“Troy?” I called out, as I stepped out of the elevator.
The only form of light was a little lamp on a side table by the couch, casting a dim, warm glow where my eyes were drawn to. I sucked in a breath when I saw Veronica lying on the couch in nothing but lingerie.
“Oh,” I breathed. I wanted to run, but my feet were planted to the hardwood floors.
She sat up slightly, propping the side of her head in her hand as she looked at me with satisfied amusement. She ran her hand up the creamy lace that didn’t leave anything to the imagination.
“Are you looking for Troy?” she asked, a slow smile spreading across her lips.
“I…” I stammered.
I couldn’t peel my eyes from the length of her body on the couch I had once lain on, imagining his hands on her. His mouth on hers. The thought made me sick.
“Monica?”
I spun around to see Troy standing in the hallway that led to his bedroom with his mouth open in surprise. He wore the same navy suit he had worn to work that day and held a stack of clothes I assumed were Veronica’s. He looked suddenly to the couch where Veronica was now sitting up, as if she were about to watch this all play out like a movie.
I wasn’t about to give her that satisfaction. I didn’t know what sick game these two were playing, but I refused to be a part of it. I had already been humiliated enough. Hurt enough. I was done.
I quickly stepped back into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby frantically. The doors began to close just as Troy tried to put a hand through. Too late. In the safety of the elevator, I let the tears stream down my face. Everything I had been holding in for weeks now, trying to be strong, came pouring out of me in furious sobs. I could hardly catch my breath as the elevator doors opened to the lobby.
The doorman saw me step out and quickly came over. It was as if my legs had quit on me, and I could barely walk to the doors.
“Miss Durall,” he said, gently taking my arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Fine. I just need to go.”
“You can’t go out there like this,” he said softly, his eyes filled with concern.
“Please. I’m fine.”
“At least, let me get you a cab.”
I nodded and let him lead me to the doors. He scoured the streets for a yellow car that would take me away from here. From whatever had just happened or was about to happen upstairs. He spotted one across the street and held his hand up. The cab made a U-turn and pulled up to the curb.
I heard the doors open behind me, and I knew they were Troy’s footsteps approaching. Without even turning around, I yanked the cab door open and slid quickly inside, slamming the door, but not before hearing Troy yell my name.
“Go. Please, just go,” I told the cab urgently.
I had seen this film before. It had played out weeks ago. Leaving Troy on the curb after he had broken my heart. This would be the last time.