Chapter 23
The July summer air hums through the cracked window as I put my hand on the steering wheel of the rental car, listening to Andrew Lockington, Wolf Camp, from my playlist.
I’ve been traveling across the country for the past few weeks.
Nothing but driving and sleeping in the back of this big car.
It’s the only thing I could do to bring myself peace. Lincoln and I used to do this sometimes, just drive across the country, mostly when there was an event going on, and we would go together.
All I get are flashes of his smiling face looking at me from the driver’s side.
Aside from using the data, I’ve silenced all of my notifications from people, only checking in with my dad every now and then.
I never wanted to talk about what happened, but my dad figured it out. Wasn’t hard, when apparently he got a call from Lincoln checking up on me and showing up at his house.
Good thing I decided not to stay with my father.
I just needed to reset, and it was so painful going over the last image I had of my husband before I found out that we were separating for good.
On the rare occasions I checked my notifications, most of the text messages were from Lincoln’s mom asking me if everything was okay. Later messages said that Lincoln was a mess, and Lincoln’s mother begging for me to come and talk it out.
Two days after leaving, his mom sent that message, then left a voicemail on my phone:
“Gabina… I’m so sorry for what my boy did to you. I’m so… hurt for you. I wish you were here… … so I can hold you and tell you how sorry I am. No matter… what happens or what you guys choose to do, I will always be your mom-in-law. Love you sweetheart.”
This made me cry. No more checking messages after that, and now I’m about five states away somewhere in the Midwest, making my way back to the East Coast.
The closer I draw to it, the faster my heart thrums.
I’ve gone around to different events, and bars, campsites, landmarks, music festivals where I got to hang out with different people, meeting and drinking and frolicking with people I knew I would never see again.
I danced the pain away in every state I visited, whether it was sunshine or rain; cried at night when I was alone, perused through the pictures Lincoln and I took together when our life was happy, before he threw everything away that we worked so hard to keep.
People always say that there’s nothing more painful than the current thing they’re experiencing pain from.
But really and truly, one of the worst pains has to be loving someone so deeply and realizing they never loved you the same.
Of them promising themselves to you only for you to discover that you’ve been violated, that someone else had been in your bed or with your partner while you were also with them.
Of course I got myself tested, just in case. I wouldn’t put it past that bitch Sarah having slept with different people raw. I keep wondering whether or not Lincoln slept with her raw.
He didn’t have a condom on when I saw him, but they weren’t also in the middle of having sex. But how many times had they done it?
How many times while Lincoln was smiling in my face had he been fucking Sarah behind my back?
How much of a fool did I look to Lincoln as he fucked me, thinking he got away with it another day?
Lincoln had called me about 96 times, leaving about every kind of voice message he could, about how sorry he was and how he fucked up and how he hopes I would be happy.
The dude went through all the stages of grief: from groveling and begging, to sadness, to anger, to blaming me, only for him to call back right away and apologize for blaming me… and then the calls fell off.
I left every single one of his text messages on read.
I read several of them over and over, the ones where he said:
Yur truly the best thing that ever happened to me.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I’m losing my mind.
I’m so sorrytyr.
I keep going over how I cud hve ruined the best thing the only thing that ever mattered to me the most in this world
His other garbled text messages came with many grammatical errors:
**I luv you.
Please pick uop.
Baby?
Im so sorry. I know you dont love me anymir or forgiv ore have to forvig me. please.
Js tlk to me.**
Sometimes reading his texts made me cry. Sometimes I would just listen to his messages where he did nothing but cry when I didn’t pick up, his tears saying what his voice couldn’t.
And yes, I still love him. But I’m not giving in.
All the hurt he’s feeling right now is of his own doing.
He chose this for himself.
I didn’t.
I never wanted this.
Whatever he does, whatever he chooses to do, or how he chooses to live his life, that’s what he gets.
For all I know, he could still be fucking Sarah. There’s a part of me that wonders if that bitch even wants him now that she’s blown up his marriage.
That’s the thing. These hoes will work overtime to steal someone’s man, and then the minute they get him or he leaves his wife, they toss him, having accomplished their conquest.
Sarah probably saw Lincoln as desirable because he was unavailable. But how long would Lincoln be? How long would it take, after realizing I’m not going to take him back, for him to jump into the arms of that again?
Doesn’t matter.
It’s none of my business.
Now that I’m back in Hudson Vale, New York, I notice the storm clouds billowing in. Pulling up to our house… the one that Lincoln and I own… I notice the lights are off.
It’s about 9:00 at night.
Taking a deep breath, I step out of the car and walk up the steps. Turning my key in the lock, I expect it to be changed, but it’s not.
Opening the door, I take off my shoes, and when I turn on the light, the place is a mess.
Good grief.
It clearly looks like someone had been cleaning it on occasion. The furniture looks like it had been waxed at some point. Probably Lincoln’s mom came by, or maybe Sarah, who the fuck knows.
The only thing I’m here for is the remnants of my stuff. While I was out traveling, I secured an apartment nearby. Well… not totally nearby, it’s outside the city, on the other side. This way I can still be close to my father and family.
I’m almost frightened out of my wits when a scruffy man, tall and imposing, walks out of the bathroom.
It takes me a minute to recognize him.
It’s Lincoln.
Looks like he hasn’t shaved in weeks. He’s in a washed-out black T-shirt and his gray boxers.
I try to ignore the bulge in his pants… soft and asleep but still thick and nostalgic.
I haven’t slept with anyone. I made out with a guy at one of the festivals, but I was only able to get through it when I envisioned Lincoln back when we had gone to a festival on one of our outings before our life became this.
Rolling my eyes, I walk past him.
“Are you real?” he asks, his voice hoarse like he hasn’t talked in weeks.
“No, I’m not here,” I say as I head upstairs to the bedroom, his eyes following me.
He stumbles before following me up the stairs. “Gabby?”
“I’m just here to get some of my stuff. I thought you would have thrown them out by now, but… I was waiting for you to sign those papers, by the way. You said you’d give me the divorce.”
“Wh—yeah. I’ve been… I actually have them,” he says, like the words scrape coming out of him, like talking physically hurts.
I pause at the top of the stairs, waiting.
He gestures weakly toward the landing where I’m already standing. I look away from him and step down the hallway. He follows, reaching the top beside me, brushing past, his body squeezing against mine in the narrow space.
God dammit… just feeling his muscles against my body fills me with dread at the very notion that I still want him that way.
Looking at his back, he seems a lot skinnier.
Heading into the bedroom, he opens a drawer and takes out a folder.
He seems to weigh it in his hand before handing it to me, and under the light of the bedroom I can see the circles under his eyes.
His hair is messy and greasy, like he hasn’t washed it in a while.
I want to ask him if he’s taken a bath, and honestly, the way he looks makes me hurt for him.
That must be what love is. It makes people batshit crazy, because someone can hurt you so bad and you still care more about them.
I have to fight all of my instincts to nurture him right now.
I want to.
But I don’t.
I start to pack my stuff on my knees, taking one of the other luggage bags I had left. He stands there hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, standing awkwardly, tired, and almost drunk or hungover. His dark hair is longer and flows into his face a little bit, into his eyes.
“How’ve you been” he asks softly.
I scoff. “Good. Been traveling and enjoying myself, just trying to get away from everything.”
Lincoln nods pensively. “Like a road trip.”
“Yep.”
“Did it help?” he asks, smiling for my benefit, but he looks tired when he does. Despite how haggard he looks, he’s still sexy.
Get it together, girl. We’re not going to sleep with him today.
“It did actually. Met some nice people, had some great experiences,” I say, smiling at him, feeling much brighter than he looks.
His head bows slightly. “I’m glad.”
“How you been,” I ask, watching him shrug his shoulder.
“I mean… you know. So so.” He pauses, and I have no idea what he’s supposed to mean by that. It’s not like it’s my fault he’s in this situation.
“Why? How do I look?” he asks, joking with me, trying to be the guy I always knew before I saw him last in that compromising position.
I purposely grill him up and down, pausing for dramatic effect.
“Like you need a shower,” I quip, turning up my nose while giving him a smile.
“Yep… probably,” he chuckles tiredly.
There’s an awkward silence between us, but he won’t leave the room.
Finishing my packing, I stand up. “I… might come by, or I can send someone by to come pick up the rest of my stuff.”