43. Scarlett
Scarlett
I should be in New York City right now.
Not floating in a bathtub that looked much roomier in the photo on the Airbnb app than it does in person.
Angle shots, am I right? After Morgan and I went our separate ways at the airport in Myrtle Beach, I caught the first flight back to Miami.
Well. The first flight, I was certain he wouldn’t be on.
I also bought a seat in the back row near the bathrooms just in case he had to fly coach.
Though I’m pretty sure he would’ve paid some lucky Uber driver a million dollars before flying coach.
From there, I stood by the baggage claim and watched my suitcase going around the circle three times because I was too busy crying over the fact that I am officially homeless.
I could have gone to a hotel, but hotels only remind me of Morgan.
I could have gone to my sister’s. But my sister reminds me of my failure.
So needless to say, an Airbnb off the beaten path was my next and only option. Actually, it’s off Grand Avenue, walking distance from Spice 24-hour Thai Cuisine and a Wine Depot. I can’t partake in. Because I’m pregnant. And alone.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in here.
Long enough to have to refill the water three times.
But between the nausea, which is pretty much an all the time thing right now, and my heart feeling like it was ripped out of my chest and stepped on with a steel-toed boot, I have no desire to do anything else.
Even ordered Mei Fun noodles, which is surprising for me.
I don’t know where things went wrong. We were so close.
So close to NYC. So close to moving on past the charade and into reality.
And I was dumb enough to think that reality included us confessing our love to each other, him finding out I am pregnant with his babies and falling in love with those two and making a bucket list together of all the places we are going to travel.
Obviously, that’s a ridiculous assumption. Especially considering he doesn’t think kids should grow up in airports, walked away from me in response to finding out I am pregnant with his twins and made it clear he never wants to speak to me again.
I’m not the only one who did the betraying. He betrayed me too by pretending to have no idea who I am and proceeding to hold my notebook hostage while I traveled from resort to resort, making him look good.
Problematically, it wasn’t hard to make him look good.
As I lay in the bathtub, tears flowing down my face and a giant, gaping hole in my heart, I scroll my Instagram, going through all the photos I took since day one of our little escapade.
A lot of them are of me, obviously, or of the food and sights and people and the ocean.
But as I keep scrolling, there are more and more of him.
Him and me together. Him on his own. Candid photos of him helping people or dealing with customers.
Photos at the beach and photos of him working.
Some of them, he’s even looking at the camera.
And as time goes by, those scowls and smolders turn to smiles.
There’s even one of him laughing. Laughing the way he was in the first post.
Tears fill my eyes again as I start to cry. I sit up and decide to get out of the tub because no matter how many times I refill it, I still feel cold.
I wrap myself in a robe and think of him. This robe is fluffy and soft, different from the little silk one I had on at the Sapphire. It still brings back memories.
Everything seems to bring back memories. And as I cry on the queen sized bed, I fear the memories are going to eat me alive. Swallow me whole.
But I’ve never been one to let misery get me down.
I’ve always been the optimist. The one that waters flowers even if they’re already dead and it’s raining.
And while this is one of the most devastating things I’ve ever felt, I know I can’t give up.
Not on him and not on myself. Because it’s not just about me anymore.
I caress my stomach again before grabbing my phone and look through the bad posts.
The ones other people tagged us in. Haters and barflies.
The Karens and the Kevins. Lurkers, as I like to call them.
Of course, there’s about a hundred photos and videos of us at the airport right in the middle of our fight. Headlines are plastered everywhere.
Is it over?
Was it fake?
But the one that bothers me the most, the one that actually makes me angry, reads:
Bale Fail. Morgan Bale pretends he can reincarnate what his parents created, only to disgrace the family name.
It’s enough to motivate me to do something. Because as an influencer, you sometimes gotta stick your hand in the stirring pot too. Especially when it involves someone you love.
So I create a new post. A post that shows both a photo I found online and a photo I took of Morgan when he wasn’t paying attention.
MooreToExplore- Hello lovelies. It’s me, Scarlett.
And I know what you’re thinking. Well, actually, I don’t.
But I can assume you have a lot of questions.
I’m sure you’ve read the gossip. I’m sure you’ve seen the photos.
And I’m sure you’re wondering what’s real.
But before I get to any of that, I want to apologize.
I apologize that my recent posts have been more for the likes and follows than the journey and song.
I apologize that my life seems a little untethered right now, even for me.
But mostly, I want to apologize for not being authentic.
There’s a lot of speculation right now about Morgan and me and if our relationship was ever real.
And I can tell you with complete honesty– it was.
From day one, I had feelings for him, even before I knew it.
The more I got to know him, the more we traveled, the more he walked in the footsteps of his parents, the more he worked and solved problems and loved the people around him.
I fell more in love with him. But all that said, the engagement is off.
I like to hope that maybe it’s not forever.
But even if it is, even if it was only a season, it was a beautiful season.
The places, people, food, and experiences were amazing.
And I hope that even if some of you decide not to follow my journey anymore, I hope you follow your own.
Follow your wandering hearts. Follow the paths that lead you into the unknown.
Make a bucket list and follow that too. I did.
Most of the items anyway. And from here…
well, I’m not sure what’s next. But either way, I’ll find adventure.
It might not look the same, but it will be an adventure, nonetheless.
I reread the post before clicking it out into the universe. Then I set my phone down and cry.