Chapter 5
FIVE
Mona
“Lucy, I’m home!”
My voice is loud as I call out to absolutely no one just as I slam the door closed behind me. I got into the habit of doing it, but not every time I get home. I like to keep my neighbors on their toes.
Dumping my bag and coat right where I stand, I step away, ready to get out of my work clothes. My day has been long and tiring, and I am happy to get to some peace and quiet.
As a customer service worker in a call center for a large cell company, I am on the phone for eight hours straight. There is no down time. People constantly call to complain about something. Once in a while, they just need clarification on their account, and those are my favorite types of calls.
While the job in itself is very stressful, the pay is good, and they offer overtime, which I sign up for any chance I can get. I also get a good discount on my cell phone plan, so it’s a win all around.
But I am wiped by the time I get home every night. The stress of the train ride only adds to how tired I am from work.
Now, as I walk straight to the bathroom, I sigh in relief when I turn the shower on and start taking my clothes off. Somewhere in the distance, I hear my phone ringing, but I don’t care. Nothing is as important as scrubbing the grime off me.
By the time I am completely undressed, the water feels warm enough where I know I’m not going to freeze. It never stays warm for long, so I rush in, scrubbing at my scalp and the rest of my body, worried that I won’t be finished rinsing in time.
This makes me miss the shower in Alex’s apartment. It was not a luxurious place, but way bigger than mine, and he never seemed to run out of hot water.
“He was an ass, though,” I remind myself as I turn off the shower and grab the towel from the hook next to the stall.
With my hair up in a soft towel and a terry cloth robe wrapped around my body, I walk out of the bathroom.
First stop is in the kitchen where I throw two slices of cold pizza in the microwave.
I know most people love cold pizza, but not me.
Then, I pour myself a glass of red wine and wait.
As soon as the microwave beeps, I grab the food and walk over to the couch.
Just as I am about to sit down, I remember that I left the phone in my purse that’s still on the floor by the door. I place the plate and glass of wine on the side table before going back to the door. I pick up my purse and coat, dropping both on the two-seat kitchen table.
I sigh in relief when I am finally back to the couch, this time with the phone in hand. I pull on the small ottoman that’s two inches too far, resting my feet on top and my head back against the couch.
I lift the phone to see who called, but it shows a number I don’t recognize, for which I am grateful. That can only mean that I don’t have to call anyone back.
With a slice of warm pizza in one hand and the glass of wine in the other, I flex my toes with excitement and enjoy every bite and every sip, not stopping until I finished it all.
The phone lights up with a notification, and when I glance at it, I see that it’s something from the Holidates app.
“Finally!”
I put the now empty glass down and wipe the greasy hand on the robe I’m wearing. Tomorrow’s laundry day, so I don’t feel guilty about it. Besides, I don’t want to ruin my phone.
I tap on the notification, and it takes me directly to the app. The couple of seconds it takes for everything to load annoy me to no end. Seeing that I have twelve notifications cheers me up, though.
For a brief moment, Alex’s face flashes before my eyes, and I jump.
“Damn it, girl,” I chastise myself. “You are not doing anything wrong. He doesn’t give a shit about you.”
Fortified by that reminder, I tap on the screen, ready to read the messages I have in my inbox. My eyes skim over them, a smile forming on lips. Not bad for only a day on this thing. Just as I think that, a new message shows at the top.
I decide to go from the oldest to the most recent message, so I scroll to the bottom and open message number one.
As far as first impressions go, based on the picture that pops up, this is a seven.
Not bad at all. The message attached to it is pretty basic, nothing special to it.
The next three emails are pretty much the same, followed by one that’s more sexual in nature.
That’s an automated delete because if I was looking for sex, I would’ve just stuck with the other dating apps.
I count how many emails I still have to go through before tapping on the next one.
As soon as it opens and I see the picture showing, I freeze.
I skim over the message within the email, but nothing registers as my eyes keep on going back to the picture showing one of the guys in Alex’s group of friends.
His name is Kyle, and he is a total man-whore.
It is an email showing me guys who are on the app from my area. How is Kyle on this? I thought he had a girlfriend. Last I heard, they were serious.
I throw the phone to the side, my mood now ruined. I was really excited about reading all these messages, and now Kyle freakin’ Kelly ruined it all for me. I guess worse than that could’ve been getting a message directly from Alex.
Oh my God. I sit up abruptly. If I got a message with the guys in my area, does that mean that Kyle got a message with the women in his? Will my picture be at the top of the email, front and center, mirroring the message I got?
What if Kyle tells Alex about this, and then Alex looks me up on there, too? I groan and drop my head in my hands. What am I saying, of course Kyle would tell Alex about this.
I blindly reach for my phone and dial my best friend’s number. It rings and rings, but she doesn’t answer. Since there’s too much that I want to say, I forego the voicemail.
The towel unwraps from around my hair and drops to the floor, but I am too wound up to care. I hate that Alex still has such a hold on me. He lives rent free in my head, and, let’s be honest, if he knocked on my door right now, I would invite him in with zero hesitation.
My eyes go blurry as they start seeing images from the past.
The day I met Alex Connors, I was upset about a job interview I’d messed up.
I knew as soon as I walked out of the building that they wouldn’t call me for a second interview.
With tears in my eyes, I started walking down the busy sidewalk.
I needed to deploy my backup plan, but I didn’t really have one.
I could’ve called my best friend for help. She came from money, and she had a good heart despite her obvious immaturity at times. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up with loads of money. Me on the other hand, I’d always been poor.
Deep into my thoughts, I wasn’t paying attention and slammed into a hard body. It actually felt like I’d walked straight into a wall. The impact almost toppled me over.
“Whoa there.” A deep voice came out of said hard body, and when I looked up, I was met with a pair of intense eyes.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, and…”
I stopped talking mid-sentence because I didn’t even care about the apology I was trying to come up with. He didn’t look like I’d hurt him when I bumped into him, so I just waved him off, and went to walk around him.
A heavy arm stopped me in my tracks, not allowing me to make it very far.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” The guy leaned down, his ear closer to my face. “I didn’t hear you.”
Rolling my eyes, I let out a sigh of annoyance. I didn’t have time for this. Or, it’s not that I didn’t have the time, but I was not in the mood.
“I said I was sorry.” My voice rose as I spoke. “So move it!”
Having been born and raised in New York City came in handy now. I knew not to talk to strangers on the street, and I knew how to fight back. I was prepared to knee him in the nuts and continue walking without a backward glance.
He smirked at me, and I instantly hated him. “How about you buy me a drink, and I’ll forgive you?”
His voice did things to me, and even though I rolled my eyes at him, it wasn’t heartfelt, and he saw right through me.
“If you’re so desperate for someone to buy you a drink, keep on walking. All the rich cougars congregate in the second bar on the left.”
I pointed in the direction that I’d mentioned, hoping that he’d take the hint and leave me alone. But it’s almost as if I was waving a red flag in his face. He took it as a challenge.
“You look younger than me,” he declared as he grabbed me by the arm and turned me around. “Definitely not cougar material.” He started walking us toward the bar I’d just recommended him. “But whatever floats your boat, or however the saying goes.”
I really shouldn’t have gone along with whatever scheme he had in mind, but he was easy on the eyes, and I figured that if he was a criminal, at least I’d die at the hands of a very good looking one.
He ended up paying for the two drinks I had, during which time, I unloaded all my frustrations on him. I told him about the bad interview, and about how much I hated myself for bombing it. He nodded along, not asking very many questions, except for at the end.
“Your place or mine?”
I remained frozen in my seat, unsure of how to respond. Blinking rapidly, I carefully placed the glass I was holding on the table, trying to buy myself some time.
In the end, I decided that I deserved a good time, and he looked like he could give it to me.
“Yours,” I replied, my tone firm.
Alex smirked, a dangerous glint in the corner of his eye. “You’ll be disappointed. Just because I’m paying for these drinks doesn’t mean I’m loaded.”
His words took me by surprise. He was very direct, and, in hindsight, that should’ve been my first red flag about the type of a person he was.
“I’d rather be disappointed in your living arrangements than for you to know where I live,” I deadpanned.
That broke the tension, and I let out a small sigh of relief when he started laughing. I stared at him for the longest time, a little worried about my decision, wondering if I should take it back.
Looking back, there were so many reasons why I should’ve never gone home with Alex that night. One of them was the fact that the two drinks I had got to my head a little. I hadn’t eaten much on that day, and the alcohol soaked my brain in an instant.
Another reason was the fact that Alex was just acting shady, like he was waiting for me to mess up in a way, prove to him that he was right about not trusting me. Because that much was clear. The man did not trust me as far as he could throw me.
Nevertheless, I went home with him that night. He gave me three orgasms that about killed me, and when I got ready to leave, he slipped me his number.
Our first night together started a chain of events that’s been haunting me for four years now. It’s left me with a broken heart and also an addiction to a man I can’t ever have.
My eyes drop back to the phone I pushed to the side after trying to call my best friend.
I am sick to my stomach at the thought of Alex knowing anything about me anymore.
After the last time we broke up, I had promised myself that I wouldn’t even think his name, let alone look him up.
I blocked him everywhere, and it’s been working fine until tonight.
Finding his friend in my inbox hadn’t been on my bingo card, though.
I stand up from the couch and pad to the kitchen where I pour myself a glass of cold water. As I drip some lemon juice in it, I can feel my hand shaking, and my eyes fill with tears. I abandon the glass on the counter and walk to the bedroom where I throw myself on the bed.
“I hate love,” I whisper to myself as I stare at the ceiling. “I don’t want to ever feel it again. I need it to be dead inside of me.”
With that last thought, I turn on my side and bury my face into the pillow, wishing like hell that I could still smell Alex on the fabric. Unfortunately, I made sure to wash everything meticulously and with a different detergent than I’d always used, all in an effort to purge the man from my life.
I hate love.