Chapter 1 #2
I can feel my head expanding, ready to explode.
Not because I’m heartbroken over him. I’m just annoyed by the fact he’s still here.
I open my mouth to point out the obvious, but I wait to see if the light bulb will flick on above that greasy head of his.
I scan my apartment and see empty soda cans and chip bags littering the floor.
A mysterious, dried brown liquid is caked to the wooden surface of the coffee table.
I already know it will take entirely too much time and muscle for me to scrub it clean.
Sure, I’m aware my place isn’t the best and is on the verge of falling apart, but the fact Adam thinks he can crash at my place like it’s some college frat house during rush week, sets me off.
“Adam.” I close my eyes and force myself to focus on my breathing before the next words find their way out of my mouth.
When I crack my eyes open, I find him standing in the same position, refusing to budge.
“You don’t live here. This isn’t your apartment and this isn’t your food.
We also aren’t together anymore, remember? ”
He jerks his head back again, brows rising. He looks like a wounded puppy. His eyes soften as he rakes his fingers through his greasy hair. It doesn’t budge when his arm drops to his side. “I thought you were joking when you said things were over between us.”
I curl my lip, wondering how I could be any clearer when I told him only last night, using the most straightforward language you can to break-up with someone.
We’re over, Adam. I can’t date you anymore.
“I honestly don’t know how you’re confused.
I made my intentions very clear.” I shrug and tear off a piece of paper towel from the holder next to the sink.
I fish a bottle of spray cleaner out from under it and move to the coffee table.
I spray a good amount of the pungent, citrus-scented liquid on the sticky-brown stain and wait for it to soak in.
Adam’s hand lands on my back, and I freeze.
“I figured you were only saying that because you’ve been going through a lot lately.” His voice is soft and tender. “With your grandmother passing and all.”
I stand, blinking back the tears welling in my eyes. The familiar knot of grief winds itself into my chest.
Dammit, Adam
I look at him and know I made the right decision in ending things with him last night.
I first met him a few months ago through a book blogging account.
He sent me a message—the first to strike up a conversation.
I found his forwardness endearing. I’d never been big on relationships, and I’d most definitely never been the most outgoing person.
After talking for days through social media, we agreed to meet at a coffee shop.
He was kind and soft, with an innocent charm about him, despite him being in his late twenties.
Most men our age are all sharp lines and edges made for intimidation. Adam wasn’t that.
It was then, at that first meeting, he’d told me the truth about how he’d lied to me in our messages.
He wasn’t a writer, per se. According to him.
He was an editor for the New York Times.
I’d brushed off his lie, excited by the idea of finally talking literature with someone other than my eighty-nine-year-old grandmother.
That day in the coffee shop, he’d quickly inserted himself into my bubble.
A bubble I’ve been careful about protecting and monitoring who gets access to my whole life.
I let him in too easily. Maybe it was the common ground I found with him in that moment.
As a rising New York Times editor, we connected on a level most others in my life haven’t been able to.
But I had been a fool, blind to all the other qualities he possessed, including the one where he only thought of himself. Oh, and the fact that he looks like he’s just crawled out of a trash can unless he is forced to get cleaned up for the sake of work.
He pushes out his bottom lip, and his eyes soften even deeper, looking at me with pity.
My stomach turns. “Adam…”
“Sometimes, when tragic, unexpected events happen in our lives, we make rash and poor decisions for ourselves.” He gently presses his thumb to my chin, smiling at me with sympathy.
I jerk my chin away. “Are you implying I’m not capable of making rational decisions?” The knot tightens, gripping around the base of my throat.
“Well, no.” He blinks, sighing, and takes a step back.
“Then, what part of what I said last night left you confused?”
He lazily lifts a shoulder. He smells like stale Doritos. “You didn’t ask for your key back.”
Several beats of silence pass where we simply stare at one another.
I stick my hand out, palm up. “I want it back, then.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“I want my key back, Adam.” I stare at him pointedly, then raise a brow. “Is that clear enough for you?”
His face quickly transforms from soft and hopeful to angry and bitter.
I knew it was a poor decision to give him the spare key to my apartment, but it had been so long since I’d been in a true relationship with someone.
Not the kind where they have a phobia of putting a label on it.
Adam was quick to put a label on us. In fact, he was too fast when I think about it now.
Giant red fucking flag.
He stomps across the living room to the end of the sofa, searching through his suit draped over the arm.
It’s been a habit of his to change out of his suit and tie after work, lounging around in nothing but his white undershirt and cotton briefs for the rest of the night while binging on sports documentaries and junk food.
He digs into the pockets of his pants before he stalks back over to me and drops the key into my hand with an angry grunt. He reminds me of a child who has been told he can’t have his ice cream before dinner.
“Thanks,” I mutter, dropping the key into the side pocket of my leggings. Then I begin scrubbing at the brown stain on my coffee table.
“So, that’s it then? We’re through?”
Stopping, I groan and straighten my back once again.
I’ve never been much for talking, reserving my words for those I’m able to write down versus speaking out loud, but Adam is challenging me today, forcing me to be someone I’m not.
Which is part of the reason I knew we weren’t going to work out. He never has understood me.
“Yes.” I deadpan. “We are over. Now, kindly leave.” I gesture toward the front door, then bend back down to wipe the rest of the brown stain off the table. I try not to gag when it mixes with another mysterious white substance I don’t even want to attempt to identify.
“I don’t understand. I thought we were going somewhere. I imagined proposing to you one day.”
“Seriously?” I shoot up, shocked by the sudden turn in conversation.
“Yes. I was going to tell you that I loved you.”
I press my hand to my forehead, running his confession over in my brain. We’ve only been dating for six weeks. How can he possibly love me? “We are seriously so far apart, it’s quite astonishing the distance.”
“So, you don’t love me?”
Oh. My. God.
“No, Adam, I don’t love you.” I make my point clear before returning to my cleaning. Silence descends upon us, the only sound coming from my scrubbing.
“You wouldn’t want to get married?”
I shake my head. “Someday, and with the right person.” But even then…
“And that person isn’t me?”
“No.”
Tension builds in the air. I can practically feel him stewing beside me.
My rejection must irritate him further because he finally breaks the silence when he says, “Unbelievable. You are unbelievable.”
My teeth dig into the side of my cheek, biting back the tears welling in my eyes. How did I end up here? I refuse to let Adam see them. I don’t want him to think they’re for him.
I really wish my grandmother was still here. Closing my eyes, I try to think of what she would say to me in this moment.
Straighten those shoulders of yours and hold your head high. Don’t ever allow anyone to walk all over you, Selene. You’re too beautiful, inside and out, to put up with shit like that.
I’ve never been the confrontational kind, but Adam has me testing even my own limits.
Aluminum cans crush under the weight of his feet as he stomps his way back over to his suit.
I watch as he dramatically shakes out his suit pants before stepping into them with a huff.
His cheeks are flaming red, and he won’t stop shaking his head.
He’s so unkempt, even his hair still refuses to move.
“It’s going to take me almost two hours to get home at this time of day so I can get ready for the auction tonight.” He narrows his eyes but still refuses to look my way as he gestures toward his face, waving his fingers around. “I can’t go looking like this.”
I keep my thoughts to myself, that it’s his own fault he looks that way, because I don’t have the energy to fight him anymore. I’m hoping the fewer words that spill from my mouth, the fewer reasons there are for him to drag out this breakup more than it already has been.
He scoffs with disgust as he drapes his suit jacket over his arm and fists his tie in his large hands. He’s still covered in orange chip dust, so it’s hard to take him seriously, but if it wasn’t for the anger blazing in his stare, I would think he was joking.
“Again, you say nothing.” He curls his lip in disgust. “Is this how you’ve always been?”
I roll my eyes and pick up a handful of empty soda cans before dropping them into my trash can, which is already filled to the top—another mess Adam has left that I’ll have to clean up.
“Please just leave, Adam.” I mutter, returning to the sticky mess on my coffee table.
The one my grandmother insisted I keep after my parents died.