32. What Hurts the Most
Chapter 32
What Hurts the Most
I t’s evening by the time I decide to face reality. I get out of bed to use the bathroom and get some water. My phone is on silent, and I check to see if anyone cares at all that I walked out of my job this morning.
There are eleven missed calls: two from Sage, two from Mike, one from Dad, three from Mom, two from Sam, and one from Callum. I have four voicemails, but I ignore those, instead reading the text messages.
Sage: Where did you go?
Sage: Mike is pissed.
Sage: Dad is pissed too.
Sage: At least talk to me, I didn’t do anything wrong.
Dad: Cori, call me back immediately.
Mom: You’ve upset your dad. Call him back, please.
Mom: Cori Lorraine, you’re acting like a child.
Sam: What the hell are you doing? I’ve called you ten times.
Callum: Hey, just checking on you. How are you doing?
I ignore them all and busy myself with chores, because what else am I good for? I am here to quietly serve others. That’s what Mom meant when she told me to find an identity other than Sam’s girlfriend. Do what he needs done, but don’t expect anything in return. And fall to my knees with gratefulness when he blesses me with his attention.
My hands are wet and soapy from the water when my phone rings. It’s Sam this time. I use my nose to press the green button, accepting the call. It takes a few tries, but I finally get it and shout, “Hold on,” while I work on hitting the speaker button. “Okay, I’m good. Are you on your way home?”
“No, I have to work late again.”
“I understand.” I’d avoid me too if I could.
“What the hell have you been doing? I’ve called you a hundred times. Didn’t we just have this issue?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear my phone.” A half lie.
“I was calling because I ordered your favorite from Francesca’s, to make up for me having to work late again. It should be delivered soon.”
“Oh, thank you.” Ugh.
“I’ll always take care of you, Cor. I love you.”
I hear a thud as if he chunked his phone, but he forgot to hang up. I sigh, trying to hit the button with my nose again, but the screen is dark and I can’t get it to light back up. I turn the water off, dry my hands, and reach for my phone. But my hand stills when I hear an impalpable female voice.
Sam’s response is clear. “Yeah, I’ve got a couple of hours at least.”
I don’t know how long I’m locked in place, listening. There’s more talking between her and Sam, but they’re further away from the phone making their words unintelligible. The laughter, however, the playful giggling, is crystal clear. Then moaning. Unmistakable moaning. And banging, the steady rhythm of two things rocking against each other. Like a jar against a counter. Maybe a fist against a table.
Or, a headboard against a wall.
Slowly, I raise my hand to end the call. Then I slide to the floor against the counters, the realization settling like ash. Not the realization that he’s seeing someone else—I already knew. Deep down, I knew. But the realization that I don’t care.
I don’t care that he’s cheating on me. I don’t care that it’s not me he wants. I don’t care if my childhood memories are now ruined. I don’t care about making a scene, or doing the right thing, or acting reasonably.
What hurts the most is that I’ve done this to myself. If only I were more confident in myself, if only I knew my own mind, if only I knew what I wanted out of life. If only I stood up and went after it. Then I wouldn’t still be here to be cheated on.
It would be so easy for me to leave. Not just Sam’s, but this life. I could build a new one, maybe in a cabin in the woods, or a private island. Maybe I’ll send a postcard now and then, just to keep them from looking too hard for me. Not that anyone would; I’m not needed.
After Mom and Dad had Stephanie, they prayed for a boy. Instead, they got twin girls. Not just one unwanted girl, but two. Of course, they loved us. In their own strange way, they loved us all the same. But they don’t need me. I’m the middle child, unsuccessful with no personality, and when I die, some will ask, “ Which one was she? ”
“The shy one ,” the others will reply.
The boring one, the expendable one, the one with no value.
I most likely don’t have a job anymore. But even if I did, there are a million other servers just like me who can fill the position just fine. Better, even.
And Sam. He has someone else to see to his needs now. Maybe he’s had them all of this time.
What I don’t understand is, why not end it with me first? Why juggle me and another woman simultaneously? Is that the reason he’s so stressed—trying to keep his lies straight and his lovers separate?
A knock sounds at the door, but I ignore it.
Instead, I look around at the sink still full of dishes and counters that need wiping. I think of the laundry that needs to be switched. A comfortable bed that calls to me. Books upon books that want to be read. A TV with any show you can think of to watch. But I don’t want to do any of that. I don’t want to sit on the floor, I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to do anything. I don’t even want to do nothing.
My phone dings. I reach up to grab it and see Sage’s name on the screen.
Sage: How’s Sam doing after the accident he was in? He was in someone else’s car, right? Maybe Kenna’s? Apparently, she was in an accident too. Let me know if I need to kick his ass. Or hers.
Along with the text, there’s a screenshot of Kenna’s latest photo shared on social media. The date shows Friday. Her face is cut up, and she lies in what looks like a hospital bed, based on the tan side rails beside her head. The caption says, “ Red means stop. Now I have to buy a new car.”
No. What truly hurts the most, is that I’ve denied myself the one thing I want, while Sam has denied himself nothing.
* * *
I ’ve gone after things I wanted before. But only when I felt I deserved them, and only when I thought the timing was as perfect as it could get. Like dessert, only after I ate a balanced meal. Or a new book, only after working extra shifts. Well, I’m still technically involved with Sam, so the timing couldn’t be worse. However, as I’ve already declared, I don’t care.
For once in my life, where I overthink every decision until I end up not deciding at all, I don’t care.
There’s a knock at the door, followed by the sound of it opening.
“Cori?” Nick calls out.
He finds me, still in the kitchen, still on the floor. He must have found the bag of food outside because he places it on the counter. Kneeling in front of me, he caresses my cheek, and I lean into the warmth for a moment.
“What do you want, Cori?” he had asked me just last night.
I’m ready to admit my answer. You. So I take it. No overthinking. Just action.
I lunge at the love in his eyes, my mouth crashing against his. In an instant, he’s lifting me off the ground and I’m wrapping my legs around his waist. All I know is his tongue stroking mine in a hurried frenzy before he sets me down on the counter. Hands everywhere. Tangled in my hair, mine in his, so feather-soft. Down my back. Possessively, yet softly, around my neck.
I don’t know if this is wrong; it only feels right as he plants soft kisses at my ear and down my throat, sending volts of electricity to every nerve ending.
But he stops. He pulls back. Our breath comes out fast and heavy, dancing together in the few inches between us.
He opens his mouth. To stop this. To say we shouldn’t, that it’s inappropriate.
Before he can, I blurt out, “He’s cheating on me. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop myself from being with you just because of a technicality. I’ve denied myself so much of what I want because I didn’t feel deserving or whatever. So, just kiss me.” The longer he stares at me without moving, the more doubt creeps in. “Unless you don’t want to and I misread things, or imagined-”
His finger covers my lips. “You imagined nothing. I’ve wanted you for a while now, and you know it. But I think I should tell you something first.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and he pulls away.
Too much has occurred today, and I don’t want to sit here and listen to whatever news is making him hesitant. He won’t meet my eyes, and that can only mean the news will shatter me.
“I think he may be sleeping with Kenna. The guys and I… we think it’s Kenna.”
I search his face. “What do you mean? You knew?”
His eyes dart between mine and his breathing quickens. “No. I mean, not for certain. But the guys and I were talking-”
“About my relationship?”
“No, about our friend .”
I hop off the counter, looking around for what, I don’t know. I suspected, so it only makes sense that they did too. But it still stings.
“Cori, I would have told you if I had known for certain, but I didn’t want to alarm you over a possibility.”
I know he would have, and taking one glance at his face extinguishes the shame and hurt.
“Look, it’s not a big deal. I know you would have told me. It just sucks, that’s all.” He pulls me into him, and I bury my face in his chest.
I already know it’s her, but I want all the information I can get. “What makes you think it’s Kenna?” I ask, enjoying his warmth and strong arms wrapped around me. I feel like I’m in a strange dream. One that starts and ends as a nightmare, but with so many highs and lows in between that I won’t be able to make sense of it in the morning.
His voice shakes. “Umm… well, that you might get mad at.”
I pull back. “Why?”
“She told me at the dance hall that Sam was the one she cheated on me with.” He jumps into the explanation. “I didn’t know if I should tell you because it happened before you and Sam got together. I almost told you a few times, but… in the end, I didn’t.”
Calmly, I say, “It’s okay. I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what I would have done in that situation, either.”
He can sense something is wrong though, his gaze is searching, and his body is tense.
“I also understand now why you came. Why you kissed me. Why you’ve slowly been worming your way into my heart.” He’s only just given life to the very fears I’d stifled. How could I ever think, especially after what just happened with Sam, that someone like Nick would be attracted to me?
“What do you mean? I have feelings for you. Cori,” he reaches out, but I back away, “This, us, has nothing to do with that.”
Toneless and emotionless, because my brain is doing what it does best and detaching to protect itself, I say, “No, you did so for revenge. Sam slept with your girlfriend, so you were trying to sleep with his.”
“Cori, that’s not fair. Revenge has nothing to do with it.” He grabs my shoulders, but I shake off his grasp and stumble backward.
“Cori. Please. I swear to you.”
But I can’t think of another explanation. I allowed myself to think maybe he cared, maybe he saw past my flaws, but why would anyone overlook everything that’s wrong with me?
I can’t watch his lips tremble. Either I’ll cry, or I’ll move towards him. And neither option is preferred because decisions shouldn’t be made while my head spins.
I just found out my boyfriend is cheating on me and I’m devastated. Only, I’m devastated because another man’s feelings for me aren’t what I thought.
I’m so stupid.
“Please, just give me some time.” I walk to Sam’s room with Nick right behind me.
“Okay. Yeah, okay, you’re right. You’re feeling a lot of things right now, and you need some time to process it all. But do not think for one second that I don’t care.”
I close the door in his face and move around packing a few things as quickly as I can. Clothes for a few days, toiletries, books. But when I’m done, I can’t get my feet to move.
Where am I going to go? I can’t go to my parents’ house because Dad’s there. I can’t go to Hailey’s because I ruined that friendship. I try calling Sage but she doesn’t answer.
A white corner pokes out from a book lying inside my bag. It’s a book that belonged to Grandma, a collection of popular—albeit, creepy—fairy tales, bound in leather. Necessary to pull me out of my own nightmare.
I pull it out and open it to a photo of Grandma and me, around eight years old, stashed between the pages. We sat on the porch swing, both oblivious to the camera because we had our noses in books. I smile as tears well up. Tears for the little girl in the photo and tears for Grandma, because of what I’d done to her granddaughter.
Returning the book inside the bag, I decide. I’m going to the place that always smelled like peanut butter pie and coffee, where popcorn and ice cream were acceptable dinners on Sunday night, where it was impossible to be anything but happy and carefree. The place where trouble can’t reach me.
I’m going to Grandma’s house.