Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Sighing, I relax into him, giving in to the lack of sleep, the booze, and the heartache this whole week has brought.
“This is goodbye.”
DOLLY
Thirty-one years old
He left me.
I don’t know what time. All I know is he’s gone. The bed is cold, much like I am as I sit and stare at the door.
This is goodbye.
I had thought it was my tired mind playing tricks with his words. But when I woke, he was gone. His ripped clothes, phone… everything gone.
This is goodbye. It’s like a bad song that you hate, but it stays in your head for a week. I can’t escape it.
I think it might be the morning of the next day. My stomach growls and I make myself stumble into the shower, placing my precious phone on the edge of the tub so I can hear it when he calls.
Because he will call. He will come back to me.
After the way he made love to me, he will be back. I thought we had it figured out, but what was there to figure? We love each other and that’s all that matters.
“It’s not though.” I look up at myself in the mirror and for the first time in my life, I don’t judge my appearance. I’m pale and sad. How could I not be?
Turning on the shower, I look at my phone like a junkie waiting for my smack to be delivered.
Nothing except texts from Charlie and Eve with pictures of the baby.
He’s doing great. He was a little early but is gaining weight, so that’s good or so they say. Also, he pooped. Apparently that’s also good.
I lift my head, the hot water pounding onto my tired body. I wash and don’t linger.
Stepping out, I look down at my phone, my heart racing, but it’s yet another baby picture. With my wet fingers, I type the word Cute in response and have to force myself to set the phone down gently. I need it.
“If I throw it, I will only be hurting myself.” My head darts up. It’s been years since I’ve chanted anything my shrink Karen taught me.
But in this instance, it’s true. “Fuck.” I sit down on the side of the tub and breathe in and out.
I’ll only be hurting myself… myself. I see his face and so much sadness and frustration in his eyes as he holds my face.
“Why?” I whisper. That’s all he wanted to know. Why what? Why am I me? He already knows the real me. My eyes catch my reflection in the mirror. Slowly I stand and lean forward so that I’m an inch away. “Do I know myself?”
Do I even understand what he was trying so hard to tell me? I didn’t hear him though. I heard him, but I wasn’t willing to listen. He used his body to tell me what his words couldn’t.
“Oh my God.” I grab my phone and call him. I don’t care what he’s done; I need to hear his voice.
“Goddamn it, Edge. Pick up the fucking phone.” Nothing, just nothing. Perfect. He probably trashed that one. He gets a new phone every week or so.
I grab my toothbrush and push on Doug’s number. “You ready?”
“Where the hell have you been?” I snap as I brush and spit.
“Are you brushing your teeth?” He sounds shocked, which is absurd because of course I’m brushing my teeth. I rinse my mouth and grab the phone.
“I… we need to go home. I have to find Edge.”
He sighs and cold dread makes me sit down at the end of the bed as I pick up my pink G-string.
“What? What has happened?” I whisper, my eyes darting around like whatever it is will mysteriously appear.
“He came by this morning. Listen, Robert is driving us home. I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Get your shit.”
“Doug, wait—” But the line is dead. I jump up and slide the panties on then pull on my The Dicks T-shirt, not even bothering with a bra. I love this T-shirt. It’s around ten years old and used to be black, but I’ve worn it so much it’s charcoal now. It’s Axel’s band before it broke up. Well, before Axel left.
Rhys, the lead singer, Axel’s hot buddy from years ago has gone on to become a fucking rock god. But I still love their old music better.
Pulling on my tight black Joe’s skinny jeans, I grab my black ballet flats out of my purse. I never wear flats, but I’m tired and I need to hurry, so ballet flats it is. I always carry them around in my bag in case my feet need a break. Wearing five-inch heels every day hurts.
Someone pounds on the door, and I spin around making sure I’ve thrown everything into my suitcase.
“Fuck it. It’s just stuff.” I swing open the door to Doug leaning on the doorframe, his eyes instantly sinking to accommodate my five-feet-two-inch height.