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And even more troubling than that, how will I figure out how to fix myself?
Emily
“Please, Em? Gabe’s being a major dick, and I need girl chat. So I’m going to need you to dry your tears and meet me for lunch today. I even made a reservation at your favorite restaurant.”
Rolling my eyes at that, I look at the snack wrappers and empty ice cream cartons piling up in my small wastebasket.
I won’t lie. I’ve been hiding out in my room for the past week, alternating between sleeping, crying, screaming into my pillow and eating.
Every so often I scroll through social media or watch videos online, but for the most part, I’ve been having a pity-party bender for one, barely leaving my room or talking to anybody.
Ivy has stopped by a few times in an attempt to make me open up about everything, but I refused.
Each time, she’d given up and laid down next to me, silently being there as much as she could.
I’m broken.
Much like I was after high school, but this time there’s no ringing phone I can’t answer. And while that should make things easier, it doesn’t.
What’s worse is that Ezra’s bike was in my driveway for two days because he left it behind when we drove to rescue Ivy. I didn’t break down entirely until the day I walked outside to find it gone.
He never came to the door to say anything. He simply picked it up and left without a word.
I should be happy about that, should appreciate him giving me that space. But seeing the bike gone knocked my legs out from under me, the pain lancing my body like a spear, the truth finally sinking in that this is over.
My heart and my brain are at war now, my brain saying this is what has to happen, and my heart screaming for me not to let him go. Despite the screaming, and regardless of the pain, my brain has to win in the end.
Logically, there are no solutions to our problems. I know that.
Iknowthat.
But my heart doesn’t - or at least it won’t accept it.
That’s when I surrendered myself to my room and haven’t emerged since. Well, except to get more food, apparently, as is obvious by the trash.
Fuck...
This is pathetic.
“Fine. I’ll meet you. What time?”
“How about two? I rented an entire room so you don’t have to worry about puffy eyes and looking fabulous.”
Laughing, I grumble, “Thanks for that.”
“I’m just looking out for my bestie,” she says, but there’s something in her voice that sounds more serious than simply keeping me out of sight to protect my vanity. “Okay, well, I’ll see you there. Don’t be late.”
She hangs up before I can ask any questions. Looking at the clock, I realize she also left me with exactly one hour to get to the restaurant.
It’s a given the old yoga pants and stretched out t-shirt I’m wearing won’t work for going out, so I spend a half hour getting showered and dressed, my shoes in my hand as I’m running out of the house barefoot.
Running past Dylan’s room, I notice he’s sitting on his bed with his headphones on, the house oddly silent now that I’m paying attention. He hasn’t had any parties in the past week either, which is nuts.
I’m torn between stopping to talk to him and leaving, something nagging at me about his sudden change in behavior.
Unfortunately, I’m already running late, so I decide to approach him when I get home.
The drive over is hectic with traffic so heavy. It’s stop and go most of the way, my nerves rubbed raw because I didn’t want to come out in the first place, but it certainly doesn’t help when some asshole slams into the back of my car as I’m coming up on a corner.