Chapter 11 #2
I open the second door to the same thing.
It’s honestly all boring. There are no skeletons or creepiness detected.
Just well-made beds that look like they’ve never been slept in.
I debate not even bothering with the last two rooms, but where’s the fun in that?
It’s not like I’m getting my kicks off any other way.
My heart stutters when I open the third door to a child’s room.
It’s beautiful. Magical even. Framed against floral wallpaper is a painting of a swan.
There’s even a chandelier with lilac crystals hanging from its arms. Toys are gathered on the carpet, still diapers and wipes in the changing table caddies.
Whoever Jess is, I hate her.
She had everything: the family, the man, the house, and I hate her. For having everything I want. And god, how I want it all.
I close the door to the room that makes my empty uterus ache and walk down the hall to the primary bedroom. Well, I assume. It has double doors at its entrance instead of a single door like the other rooms have.
The double doors spread, opening to a large space with a big bed and a fireplace. It seems grand but still inviting, in a way. It makes my bedroom downstairs look like a shanty.
Why the hell are the two of us sharing the smallest room in the house when this is up here?
Walking into the private hall to the large bathroom, I pass dueling closets, his and hers.
His is full, not surprising, but when I turn to look at “hers,” I find it’s filled as well.
Clothes hanging up. Gorgeous clothes. Shoes line the shelves.
Everything smells expensive, like a classic floral perfume and a hint of leather.
There’s even a suitcase tucked around a corner. It’s all still here. Like a shrine.
No wonder he never invited me up here. It would feel like a betrayal.
The bathroom is the same story. All his toiletries line the sink beside hers.
The monogrammed makeup bag is what does me in, though. JD. My gut twists. Jess D-something.
Fuck, he’s sick. And I am, too. Sick for being here, thinking I could have any effect against this.
He isn’t ready. And he likely never will be.
It’s been six months, and he’s still holding on to every fragment of her he can. Would he have kept the Christmas presents under the tree if it hadn’t been for Blanks? Probably.
I have a hard time believing Blanks is the one she’s with, but maybe it is him. Maybe all these people are fucked up, and I can’t see it because I hadn’t wanted to. Or maybe I couldn’t because I’m fucked up too.
Yeah, this is hell. Just more and more of the same. Always wanting, but never having.
I walk downstairs, wishing like crazy I hadn’t come up here at all. I should have heeded the unspoken rule. Now that the wool has been pulled back from my eyes, I can’t unsee it.
I grab my phone, change into a baggy tee, and head for the basement to watch a sad movie when I pause.
Slipping the diamond ring and its matching band off my finger, I set them on my bathroom counter as pain radiates throughout me. Okay.
Sad movie night can now commence. Maybe I’ll watch Steel Magnolias or something like that. I feel ready to be gutted by someone else’s pain for once.
Alex
It was certifiable; I’m a piece of shit.
I stare down at her, asleep on the basement sofa, cradling her phone with the screen still unlocked, where she’d been looking at flights. I don’t blame her. Maybe that’s what I should do: just buy her the first ticket out of here. Anywhere she wants to go, she could.
I take a seat next to her on the sofa and hang my head down, my elbows resting on my knees. I don’t deserve her.
Her phone clicking locked draws my attention. She’s staring at me, and I’m looking back, tears already brimming in my eyes.
The sympathy she usually reserves for me is lacking, her stare vacant. Her ring finger is naked. She chews on her bottom lip, fighting back whatever it is she really wants to say.
“I didn’t deserve this,” she finally manages to get out. I agree. “I don’t even want to be your friend right now.” But fuck, that hurts.
“Okay. C-can I explain?” She stares blankly but doesn’t reply. It tumbles out of me before I can stop it, “Jess-she fucked my best friend, and I never got over it.”
“Blanks?” she asks. I shake my head.
“Damian. When things ended between us, I sort of thought it was only a matter of time before they… And it was because she’s with him now. Finding out this afternoon…it was bad timing, I know.”
“Bad timing?” She scoffs. “My whole life is bad timing, Alex. I literally can’t listen to you tell me some sob story. Not tonight. Go find someone else to pretend to be your wife, okay?” She pushes the blanket off her and moves to stand.
But I’m standing with her. “I’m sorry, Emma, okay?”
“Is that a sorry with an ‘o’ and two ‘r’s’? Or just an s-r-y?” She turns around to leave, but I grab her arm.
“I’m sorry, Emma. You didn’t deserve that. I know, and I said I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think you mean a single word that comes out of your mouth,” her tone is mean.
She shakes my hand off her arm, flustered.
“I hate you, Alex. Because I knew my life was shit before, and I’d accepted it.
But then you bring me here,” she motions around, tears clouding her eyes.
“And I see how amazing life could be with you,” she sighs.
With a lower voice, she finally asks, “But how can anyone be with you when you’re still with her? ”
“I’m not with her,” the words are ground out between clenched teeth.
“Because you don’t want to be?” Emma asks the one question I can’t answer honestly. When the words won’t form, she looks away, then says, “That’s what I thought.”
She retreats upstairs, likely to her room, but I just keep standing there, frozen. I wish I could go after her and tell her it’s different. But she’s right. About all of it.
I make sure to head upstairs early so I won’t miss her because I know what’s coming.
At 8:36, she opens her door, carrying her weekender bag over her shoulder.
It isn’t rocket science that she’s leaving. She should.
We make eye contact. She gives me a sympathetic smile, and I give her a sorry one.
I made her favorite for breakfast, motioning to the stack of blackberry pancakes waiting. Fuck, I’m going to miss this. A lot.
“Thanks.” She sets down her bag by the stairs and comes to sit beside me at the eat-in table, putting a pancake and some bacon on her plate.
I’m not hungry, so I just sit with her. My leg bounces, and the knot in my throat feels uncomfortably tight.
“It should go without saying that I don’t want you to leave.” She looks up at me, tears pooling around her blue irises.
“I-” she starts but pauses.
“I know why you can’t stay, Em. I do.” So badly, I want to be this person for her, a better version of me, but I just can’t fucking do it. I can’t keep the tears in, and neither can she. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t still need you.” I wouldn’t have survived without her. I know that for a fact.
I wish you’d stay.
“You don’t need me, Alex,” she says softly, the tears running slowly off her face. I grab her hand, holding it tightly, and shake my head.
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” That’s what’s so fucking painful. She brought me back to life, and I killed her in turn.
She sort of nods along, knowing the truth of the matter.
“You can call,” she concedes, “if you ever really need me. Just-can you please not make a habit of it?” I nod, knowing I would call her. “It hurts to love you right now, but maybe in the future, it won’t.” She shrugs, gutting me because I fucking love her too.
I pull her into a tight hug, and I tell her. “I love you too, Em.” She cries hard on my shoulder, and I cry, too, until we both run dry.
“You don’t need me,” she says, pulling away, “you need a dog…and maybe some therapy.” She smiles, and I laugh.
“Yeah. I think you’re right.”