Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I am, Harper. I really am.”
She lets out an audible sigh. The last thirty days were a real eye-opener for me, but they were also essential for my healing. I learned so much about myself, and for the first time, I believe I have a shot at happiness. I’m going to be just fine. It took me a long time to get here, but I’m stronger than I ever was before. I’m finally able to love myself. That’s the most important thing I’ve learned during this whole ordeal. That if I don’t love myself, I’ll never be capable of loving anyone else. I might have thought I loved Drew, but now that I’ve begun the process of healing, I realize all of what we had before was built on false truths and lies. I’d only showed him half of who I really was, but now I’m ready to give him every part of me.
I just hope he’s willing to accept me for who I am.
Hours later, we land at La Guardia Airport. Harper has arranged a car service to take us back to the city, but as the car drives toward uptown instead of downtown where my apartment is, I turn toward her with a puzzled expression on my face.
“Where are we going? I thought you were taking me home?” I ask.
“We are,” she responds, and I raise my eyebrows at her until she continues. “We’re going to my place first. Don’t be mad, but there are a few people who wanted to see you before you went home. Namely, Mom,” she blurts out and gives me the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes.
I groan and feign annoyance, but I can’t hide the smile that plays on my face. “I’m not mad.”
My time in rehab has helped me make peace with Mom.
A little over thirty minutes later, we pull up to Harper’s apartment. Or what I assume is Harper’s apartment because it’s not where she lived with Cal.
“When were you going to tell me you got a new place?”
“I was more concerned about you getting healthy than burdening you with my problems.”
“I refuse to get out of the car until you do.”
“We broke up.”
I lift my brow. “That much is obvious.”
“He was exactly what we thought he was . . . a lying, cheating, bastard.”
I reach my hand across the space that divides us. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. This isn’t about me. This is about you. I’m proud of you. You have come so far.”
“I love you, sis.”
“I love you, too. Now get out.”
I step out of the car and make my way into the building. Together, in silence, we ride up the elevator until we are on the ninth floor, and she leads me to the apartment.
As I open the door and glance around the room, I notice it’s filled with people who love me, who I now see have always loved me.
My mom, Carter, my sister, and Drew.
I finally understand everything they taught me at rehab. It’s not about where you are or what you have. It’s not about others and their opinions of you. All it’s really about is loving yourself, and the rest will follow. If you don’t love yourself, you will never believe or see the love that surrounds you. I never saw the love pouring out at me in the past. Before, I’d believed my memories were scars marring my skin. I saw them on my exposed surfaces and got high to hide them from others and myself. I’d clung to those memories of everything I’d done wrong like someone who was drowning would cling to a life preserver, and now I know it’s time to move on.
Making my way farther into the apartment, I greet my mom with a giant hug. “Mom, I missed you so much.”
“Oh, Bailey,” my mom cries, burying herself deeper into my neck. Her wet tears are running across my skin. “We love you so much. We’re so happy you’ve come back to us.” We continue to embrace until the tears dry up.
My gaze wanders around the room. Carter beams from the corner, waving frantically. I wave back, smiling widely at my friend.
Standing on the other side of the room is Drew. His tall, lean frame comes into focus. I take him in, and I can see creases fan out along the side of his eyes. He looks tired and worn as though the past month hasn’t been good to him.
Our eyes lock, and his pain is evident. His pupils dilate, and I can see his shoulders tense. I can’t help but wonder if he still loves me. My chest caves in with the thought that he might have moved on. Tears begin to pool in my eyes. The rhythmic beat of my heart echoes through my ears. But instead of sinking back into my own despair, I remember what my therapist taught me in my private sessions.