38. Hailee
Chapter thirty-eight
Hailee
W hat are you doing? I type.
I need a distraction. After seeing Dameon choose another goddess and leave with her, I’m desperate to drown my sorrows. Thoughts of him kissing her, touching her, loop through my mind, making my stomach churn. I get why he did it; I’m not angry, just really fucking sad. When did love stop being enough? It’s utter bullshit.
Even though he shattered me last month when he chose me and walked away, my stupid little heart still clung to hope. Living in this perpetual state of limbo can’t be healthy for me. I’m driving myself crazy. It’s time to let go.
My phone dings.
Cora
What do you think I’m doing? It’s 11 p.m. I’ve got a kid attached to my tit.
Me
Give him a kiss for me. Do you think you could meet me at my place?
Cora
Yep, give me thirty minutes. James can handle the next feed.
I “heart” her message and toss my phone into the locker, strip off my dress and pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top, along with my trusty flip-flops. Clients would be shocked to see the state we arrive and leave in—usually in our most comfortable, ugliest sweats, hair bundled up in a messy bun. Grabbing my handbag, I head home, ready to wallow in misery for the last time.
***
A gentle knock sounds at the front door, and I open it to see Cora holding a bottle of Fireball and two tubs of my favorite cookie dough ice cream.
“Did I wake Beth?” she whispers.
“Nah, you’re good. Come in.”
We cozy up on the couch with a blanket, the whiskey, two glasses, and spoons, the familiar comfort of Seinfeld reruns playing in the background.
“So. What happened?” Cora asks, forcing the lid off her ice cream tub.
“Dameon was in Le Jardin tonight. And he picked Michelle,” I say in one breath, and shove a spoonful of cookie goodness into my mouth, followed by a shot of Fireball. Mixing cinnamon whiskey with dairy might not be the wisest idea, but I honestly don’t give a shit right now. That’s tomorrow’s problem.
“You’re joking!” Her jaw drops open, her spoon paused halfway to her mouth.
“Nope.” I pour two shots and pass her one. “I want to make a toast. Tonight is the last night I’ll cry, bitch, and moan over Dameon Hayward.” I hold up my glass and clink it against Cora’s.
“Damn right!” she exclaims.
The whiskey goes down smoothly before the heat inevitably travels back up my esophagus. I wince and wipe the back of my hand over my mouth.
“I need to move on. I can’t be stuck here, pining over his ass forever, when he’s out fucking other women. He’s not ready to let go of his past, and he may never be.”
“I really thought he would get his shit together,” Cora says, shaking her head.
“Me too,” I reply.
“Come here.” She scoots closer, wrapping her arm around me, and I lean my head on her shoulder. “I’ve told you this before, but I’ll tell you again. You’re a smart, hella sexy woman who’s not only compassionate but has the kindest heart I know. And, word is, you can suck dick like no other,” she adds, and we burst out laughing. “Seriously though, Dameon is dealing with his own demons; it’s no reflection on you. You deserve someone who’s willing to go to hell and beat down their demons for you. And who won’t come back up until the job is done.”
I chuckle at her analogy and wipe the few tears that have escaped from the corner of my eyes. She’s right. I deserve better.
“I know you love him. But your emotions are not a light switch that you can easily turn on and off. So, if you do think about him after tonight and mourn the loss of him, don’t be so hard on yourself. Give yourself time.”
Her words sink in, and I understand where she’s coming from. I do love him. And I still have feelings for him; I always will. But as I sit here with Cora by my side, I silently vow to myself that after tonight, I’m back, baby. No more being a shell of who I was, no more waiting with my heart in my throat for him to come back to me or desperately checking my phone for his call or text.
I’m done.