Chapter 18 #2
We leave the store, and I’m pleased to see the French cafe is still open. I’ve been in there before, and the food is always good, so I take her inside for a snack.
We talk for hours. We have to keep ordering drinks so they don’t get pissed off with us for taking up a table, but it’s worth it.
We talk about D it's so good to reminisce over something I used to enjoy a lot as a teenager, and I’m looking forward to playing it with her.
We also talk about New Orleans, and I promise her, and myself, that I’m taking her with me the next time I go home for a visit.
She’ll love the French market, and the Mardi Gras museum.
I can’t resist pulling her knuckles to my lips for a kiss every so often. The memory of everything we said and did last night heats my blood as I watch her smile. There are times when we just silently look at each other with raw need.
I don’t want to push her, though, so when I walk her home when dusk sweeps over the horizon, although I spend ages kissing her at her door, I don’t try to come inside.
I don’t think I can resist much longer, though.
Dean is arriving just as I get back. He smirks at my face, which, if it reflects how I’m feeling at all, must look like I’m on cloud nine.
How did it go? He asks, giving me a knowing look.
“Mmhmm,” I say with an absent grin.
He laughs silently. You look like a lovestruck teenager.
I sigh. “Well, except for the teenager part...yeah.”
He raises his eyebrows. Oh yeah?
I lean against my front door and smile at him, happily resigned to my fate. “Dude, I am so in love.”
He claps, grinning at me with glee. Knew it. At least you picked the right woman this time.
I grin back. “I sure did,” I say as I let myself in, digging my cell out of my pocket so I can text the woman I’m already impatient to see again. “‘Night.”
Goodnight, he responds, chuckling as he walks up the stairs to his apartment.
Emily
He’s too freaking adorable for words.
For a second I honestly wondered if he was going to take me to the sex shop I noticed as we approached, but he seemed very keen to avoid me noticing that, so I pretended I didn’t see.
As much fun as it would have been to visit with him, I think I’d rather wait until we’ve at least slept together before we go inside.
It’s definitely on my to-do list, though. As is he, I joke to myself.
I can’t believe he bought me the Dungeons and Dragons book. I hug it as I fall backwards on my bed, enjoying how puffy my lips feel after his kisses at my doorstep.
Right now, I wish I’d invited him in.
But I also think things are progressing as they should.
It’s really nice not to feel any pressure to perform for him, and to get to know him properly first rather than race to get his rocks off to keep him liking me.
I smile, daydreaming about our conversations in the cafe.
I’ve never been to America, and it’d be so wonderful to go with him.
He spoke with such affection about his hometown, and I want to visit the place that had such a huge role in shaping him.
My email alert tone goes off on my phone, and I pick it up idly, hoping it’s him.
But it isn’t.
Frowning, I sit up and read it, going cold as my stomach starts to churn.
It’s Gav.
Hi Emmy, I read, and ugh, I hated that nickname, and I hate that I can practically hear his voice as I read on.
You’ve deleted your social media. I can’t reach you by phone. You’ve vanished without a trace. It’s just sheer chance that I remembered I can still contact you by email. Do you have any idea how that feels? To be just...cut loose? Like I’m nothing?
I can’t believe that after all those years, this is what you think I deserve.
I fucked up, OK? I get it. I wish I could say this to your face so you could see that I mean it, and so you could see what you’ve done to me by running off.
But I don’t believe in my heart that I fucked up badly enough for this. To be ruthlessly deleted from your life. I know we said we’d leave it for you to make contact when you were ready - that was when, Emmy, not if - but there’s some stuff I really want to say to you.
And I’m hurting too, sweetheart. I admit there’s a lot I could have done differently, but you can’t say you were perfect, either.
You pushed me to give more than I was ready for.
I tried my best to give you what you wanted, but you put me through a lot of strain.
So you can’t lay all of the blame and shit on me.
But look, I really hope that you’re OK, and that wherever you are you’re safe and well.
Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come see you so we can talk.
Whenever I call your number, I get put straight through to voicemail, and that eats me up inside.
You blocked me? Really? It’s not like I was violent and knocked you about, for fuck’s sake.
Even when I was provoked, I never laid a hand on you.
Throwing away four years is just unnecessary drama. You remember us, right, babe? The sex was good, wasn’t it? I could get you off so fast, and I can still hear you screaming my name.
So I’d say we’ve got plenty to talk about, and we’ve both got stuff we should work on, but don’t you think it’s going to be worth it? Or are you really going to just chuck it all out without even having the decency to hear me out? Surely that’s the least you owe me?
I love you, Emmy. Always have, always will.
Your Gav xx
My heart is facing and I can’t stop shaking, but this time, it isn’t in fear - at least, not entirely.
This time, it’s in piping hot rage.
Piece of shit.
I sneer at my phone and delete the email.
He’s getting nothing from me. ‘Your Gav’ indeed.
What a manipulative arsehole. I shake my head, knowing exactly what’s happening here.
He’s missing his emotional punching bag.
Can’t help but notice he didn’t say the word ‘sorry’ once.
Just more of the same. Everything’s my fault, and he’s taking none of the blame on himself.
After experiencing just a few days with Eli, where I’ve been respected, listened to, and just basically liked, there’s no way I’d ever go back to that stifling misery.
And even if I’d never met Eli, if Gav thinks even for a second that I would so much as entertain the idea of him again, he has another think coming. He doesn't have to worry about me 'provoking' him anymore.
I add his email address to my blocked sender list, surprised that I forgot to do that when I left - but then, he was never a big one for sending emails, to me or anyone else, so it didn’t occur to me.
My phone chimes, and this time it’s from the right person.
Eli: How do you feel about a home cooked meal tomorrow? I have a family recipe for authentic jambalaya that I’d love to make for you. Best you’ll ever have, I guarantee it xx
I bounce slightly on the bed, gradually calming, all thoughts of my ex discarded like yesterday’s trash.
That sounds wonderful, I text back. Count me in. xx