Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Mom had come up a few times throughout the day. The first visit she berated me for having a hangover. Impressions on Ben and blah, blah, blah. Then she wished me a happy birthday. The last time she handed me medicine and water.
It's the same cup I've been using to pee in and tossing it out the window just to avoid life.
I'm gross.
When I finally pick up my phone for the first time in over twenty four hours it's flooded with Happy Birthday text messages. Mostly from family. Sam and a few people from work. Jess of course.
Then I get to Asher.
His thread book-length long.
Jesus.
Just as I'm about to put the phone down a new one appears.
The Nicest Man Ever: I know you don’t want to talk to me, but again Happy Birthday. I'm sorry for hurting you. You deserve nothing but the best.
God what an ass.
His message is laced with goodbye. My finger hovers over the delete button.
I don't do it.
Deleting his name means I'm still hung up on him. Replying shows he means nothing and that I'm unaffected. I can prove that to myself.
Me: Thanks.
There, I did it...
Shit.
I don't expect the phone to start ringing, proving nothing other than I'm not over him. Pissed, sure, but not over him. Not at all. Not even a little.
Judging by the way my belly weakens from seeing it's him I don't answer.
I let it ring until the screen goes blank.
But a minute later it lights up again, and then again, and so on and so forth.
He's persistent.
After the fifth time I press the green button.
"You have to stop calling!"
“Elle,” he breathes.
My entire body betrays me with a shiver, hearing his voice, while in bed. The bed. The bed he held me all night in, among other things, for an entire weekend.
I pinch myself for being so stupid. I do it hard so it leaves a mark.
A reminder at the mistake he was.
"I heard you're hungover."
"Stop talking to my family!"
"Make me."
"I'm not joking." God he's infuriating! "You know what, I did get drunk, and... and..." I want to piss him of. I want to hurt him like he's hurt me. "And... I made out with a guy and he was a better kisser than you!"
I hear his deep breathing into the phone. If he was trying to calm himself it didn't work.
"Fuck, why the hell did you do that?"
"A bit hypocritical don't you think?"
"No," he hisses. "Yours had an intent to feel good. Mine was because I signed on a dotted line."
"Like you weren't in your house, I dunno, practicing or some shit."
"Never."
"Whatever, it doesn't matter."
"It does."
"If it did you would have been honest."
"I get that." He takes a few even breaths. He does that when he's mad. When he's trying to calm down. "I messed up. It was one minor detail in a plethora of documents that I signed before I even knew you."
"A relationship should be beautiful. Contracts make it stiff, bitter, and ugly."
"Love it hard," he corrects. "Contracts make it manageable. They make someone like me - the person you swoon over in books and movies, real and attainable. It creates the idea that anyone can have this - that it actually exists. I am the ideal. Only the smart ones know none of it is real. I'm paid to sell that to unexpecting idiots."
"I thought you were here to make music, and I thought believed in love?"
"Very much so. That's how I know the difference between an agreement and the real thing. I know the real thing is hard as fuck. I signed that contract when I was in a shitty place and you know that. Look, I should’ve mentioned living together. I should have spelled out the entire situation. Things were going well between you and I. The better they were the more I- shit Elle, you went and kissed a guy?"
"This is not about that."
"It feels like it is. I can't stop thinking about it now."
"Cool, so we'll catch up some other time then?"
"No!" he jumps. "God why do you have to be so... so."
"So what, Asher?"
"No," he swallows. Five deep breaths. He's not happy but calming down. "I finally got you on the phone. I can focus on what I called about." He lets out a deep sigh. "Everyone said it was best for the agreement that we keep the same residence. I figured she'd get bored and want out... I told her about you and... well, celebrities are fickle. You know how bad our egos are.”
"She was worried about me?" I swallow hard. "You know what, it doesn't matter."
"She was and it does. Anyone can tell by the way I talk about you how much I like you. Talk to me."
"I guess I just thought you were my friend."
"I am!"
I stare at the pink line that's formed on my arm from the pinch.