Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Waverly
Driving back from the cemetery, I’m lost in endless swirls of to do lists and advice. Last year when I was out to lunch with my badass bossbitch friend, Alana, she told me her secret when it came to decision making. Everything she does must check off at least two of these reasons.
1) Help someone you love
2) Hurt someone you hate
3) Learn something
4) Fix a mistake
5) For yourself
6) Makes you money/power
7) Take money/power away from someone who doesn't deserve it
8) Time is finite
I like the way she thinks. Most of her decision making is based on other people, but she doesn’t forget to do things for herself either.
Uri’s right, I don’t have forever to waste on Adam. I need to fix this mistake and if I’m being honest, I don’t know how happy Adam is either. So boom. Decision made. I’m doing this for him, fixing a mistake. And it’s for my own good because there’s no real future for me with Adam. I’ve never imagined marrying him, or having kids with him. Hell, I don’t even want to get a pet with him because his plant care skills are dubious at best.
It’s the right decision, but it feels gross.
I need to leave Adam. It's only a few weeks until the wedding. The last thing I want to do is ruin the most important day of Angie’s life with extra drama. No, we can have one last nice night and then while Angie’s on her honeymoon, I’ll break up with her twin brother. Moving him out is going to be a nightmare. Ugh, but I better get labels so he doesn’t try to take something that’s mine.
The little planner in me loves this.
On the drive home, I swing by Target to get some labels for packing, plus a few necessary candles, candy and a little stuffed cow I got in the clearance section. I’m doing grown up shit- I deserve a treat.
For the first time in a while, I feel free and focused.
With a plastic Target bag around my wrist, I walk into my two story condo, and I instantly feel like something’s off. Very off.
The shower’s running and there are muffled voices coming from that direction. Maybe Adam’s listening to a podcast or something.I open my mouth to call out, but shut it quickly.
Rule one to survival: never announce your arrival.
My blood runs cold when I notice my last sparkling black cherry water sitting on the table. And next to it is last season’s Michael Kors purse.
It's a cute one I've had my eye on.
But it's not mine.
Peeking inside, I find a wallet, a cell phone, a plethora of receipts, and car keys.
Also not mine.
The muffled voices become moans, drifting to my ears from upstairs. Adam's grunts are added to a second voice, female, crying out, “Yes!”
That's not me. I am definitely standing in my kitchen.
I don’t know who she is, but I already hate the bitch. Although, since she's fucking Adam, maybe the punishment fits the crime?
Nope.
I take her cellphone and place it on the table before I pour the rest of my black cherry water into her purse. I'm not a monster.
I AM pissed as hell.
My family always said I walked up the stairs like I was wearing elephants on my feet. I still don’t understand the image at all, because now I’m stalking like a ninja. Three years of mediocre sex and ever growing self doubt comes crashing in.
Her bra lays on the floor—teal with a little bow. It would be cute if it wasn’t on my floor.
I pound on the bathroom door. “Hey, Babe!”
There’s a flurry of activity, definitely some sliding on the tile, a fumble, and a crash. He whispers, “Shit.” It’s taking longer than it should. Of course, he is trying to hide his little fuck bunny.
A few seconds later, he opens the door wide enough to pop his head out, his wet hair flat against his skull. “Hey! You’re home early.” He’s all fake smiles.
“Why don’t you come out here?” I ask. He swallows and nods before shutting the door. A minute later, he exits the bathroom, leaving the least amount of space possible for him to slide out. At least he’s wrapped himself in a towel.
“What’s up, hon?” He grabs my wrists, holding them low and dangerously close to the opening of the towel.
“Is there anything you need to tell me?” I ask, no hint of amusement or anger. One opportunity for the truth.
He squeezes my wrists and flashes me his ‘baby, I love you’ smile. “I’m happy to see you.”
“Uh huh. Who’s bra is that?” My eyes drift to the teal cups on the floor.
“Yours,” he says with such confidence..
Downstairs, a cell phone goes off, but it’s a different ring tone than mine or his. It’s followed by the pattering of feet on the bathroom tile.
I frown. “So you’re not even going to admit you're cheating? Even though I caught you?”
His face darkens. “Maybe I’m cheating on you because you’re into freak-ass shit.”
And that’s it. I’m done feeling like shit over this guy. Wedding or not, I can’t deal with this any more.
The next few moments happen as if in slow motion. My thumb holds back my middle finger as my hand inches closer to the space between the towel and his body. One quick flick against the soft sack of skin with paper football precision and all color drains from Adam’s face. The pain takes a second to register, but the exact moment when it does is obvious. His eyes roll back as he hits the ground. He pulls his knees to his chest and cries out.
I might be tiny and TSA travel-size approved, but at the moment I am a towering mega sized rage and badassery glaring down at him. “You have twenty-four hours to get your shit out of my house. If you can’t manage, I’ll have my cousins help you.”
Stepping over his body, I call into the bathroom. “Hey, please throw out my loofa if you’ve used it. Fucking my boyfriend is one thing, but using my loofa is super gross.”
He’s still on the ground, moaning, as I grab all my important papers, laptop, and a change of clothes.
I'm on autopilot as I go back to my car. I can't go to Angie’s, she's in India and Kyle is visiting his parents. I could call Izzy, but I don't want to bother her and Lance. Sheila’s dropping off Shae at her music lessons. I’ve got nowhere to go.
I start my car and drive. The streets all have haunting memories. Am I mad? Hurt? Numb? I can't figure it out. I guess there's a sense of betrayal. I mean I am supposed to break up with him because I don’t love him, not because he’s a cheating tool. Maybe it’s because I’m coming down from my asskicking high, but the early stages of inadequacy start to seep in. Why would he cheat on me? What did I do wrong? Wasn’t I good enough?
No. Stop. Figure out a fucking plan before I have a meltdown.
I don’t know where I’m going, or even how long I’ve been driving, when I pull up to a coffee shop to try and get my thoughts together. Hmm. Plan acquired: Coffee fixes everything. And cupcakes. Cookies. Food.
In numb shock as I walk across the parking lot.
Get inside the store.
I’m vaguely aware of a screech of brakes and tires. There’s a car awfully close to my body. In a daze, I blink at the hood of the car and then at the driver. No. No. Not him.
“Waverly, what the hell are you doing?” Lukas shouts through his open car window.
I don’t owe him an explanation. My legs or mouth don’t seem to be working either. Why is he pissed? He’s not the one whose life was just turned inside out.
He jumps out of the car and grabs my shoulders. “Are you okay?” He leans down trying to capture my eyes, but I’m doing my best to avoid it. I can’t fall into them right now.
Again, the words freeze in my throat.
He leads me to the sidewalk and orders me to stay, like a dog, then hops back into his car. Oh, he’s leaving. Perfect. But, no, he pulls into a parking space and runs toward me.
“What happened? I almost killed you.” He’s panting so hard and his eyes resemble giant black orbs. “What’s wrong?”
I tilt my head toward the coffee shop. “Food.”
Lukas nods and ushers me into the shop. It’s cute. One of those places that has all the desserts displayed in a glass counter. There’s little turtles on the wall and it’s got an adorable sort of vibe to it.
“Sit.” He gently guides me to a chair, presses on my shoulders until I settle onto the seat, and scoots me in. “I will be right back. Can you wait for me right here?”
I nod numbly. The empty chair across from me hits me hard, and I can’t figure out why. Maybe because I always feel like I’m sitting alone, waiting for something that will never happen. My childhood and teen years, I kept thinking it was going to get better. But it hasn’t.
There’s a chocolate chip cookie on a white plate in front of me. “When you’re ready, tell me what happened,” Lukas says. He sits in the empty wicker chair across the table, trying to solve my issues like a calculus problem.
I break off a piece of the cookie and pop it into my mouth. It tastes like sand and death.
Lukas must be able to tell if something's wrong because he takes a bite, frowns, and says, “Yours are lightyears better.” His compliment warms my soul. Even more so when he moves the plate to the side. “You don’t need to eat sadness cookies.”
Over the counter, there’s a sign: Gluten free, sugar free, chemical free bakery. Next to it, another sign proclaims: As seen on Instagram. Then a third sign reads: We cater for weddings.
Hmmm. “I caught Adam cheating on me and, somehow, this cookie is the worst part of my day.”
Lukas sighs. “Shit. When did you find out?”
Checking my watch I blink a few times at the time. There’s no way I drove around for two hours. Wow, my dissociation skills are top tier. “A little while ago.”
I was so focused on myself, what about the ripple effects this might have on the other people in my life? Will Angie be mad? At me? Or at him. I really was trying to hold off until the wedding was over, but Adam made it impossible. God, I’m going to lose Angie, she’d never pick me over her twin.
I’m losing everything. The mental shelf I’ve been holding all my emotional baggage on starts to bow under the pressure. And who’s comforting me? The one person who’s rejected me time and time again.
Lukas stands, grabbing the plate and dumping the cookie into the trash, then he offers me his hand. “Come on, love, you’re about to have a breakdown and you shouldn’t do it in the city’s saddest bakery.”