Page 27 of To Her

Geri

I t had been two weeks since I'd been back in Seabreeze Haven, working at the same old restaurant and staying at James's place.

I was close to having reached my limit there, and I knew it was time to find somewhere else to live.

James hadn't said it, but I knew it. James had told me daily now to call Con, but all I had mustered was to text him saying I needed space, it wasn't him, it was me—the age-old excuse of someone wanting to run away from you.

Con had messaged and called me daily, but I had ignored them all or written back simple replies of "I need space" or "I need time."

I was a horrible person. I knew it. I knew it deep in my soul.

It was why I was driving up to Riverside to meet someone who had a room to rent.

Why I had chosen Riverside, I wasn't sure.

It would mean I would have to drive 45 minutes to work each day, but I also wanted to go where I didn't know anyone.

Well, Alex lived there, and so did Louise, but that was it, and it was massive, so I would be fine to walk the shops and not run into people.

The guy I was meeting seemed well enough on the phone. He said he worked at the airport in customs and was never home, was renting the room out because he liked the idea of having someone at the house when he wasn't.

The drive there was easy, solidifying the fact that I would, in fact, be able to drive it daily, and I was right—he was nice enough, a little strange, but who wasn't these days? And the room itself was only $200 a week, easy cash for me to afford.

I had signed the legal paperwork with him for three months, and we would resign every three months from then.

Simple and easy contracts were my sort of thing.

Not a big commitment, because let's face it, commitment wasn't my thing.

And I had driven back to James and told him the news.

James seemed worried and told me I could rent his spare room, but I didn't want that.

I loved James more than anything, but I needed to just be alone.

I had fucked up things with Con, and James knew too much about me—not all, but enough that when he looked at me, I knew he looked at me with pity, and I hated that.

I had started back at my meetings and hopping from one to another—no old faces, just all new ones—and I was finally feeling a bit better mentally.

The morning I was set to move to Riverside dawned grey and drizzly, matching my mood perfectly.

I'd packed my meagre belongings into three suitcases and a couple of boxes—the sum total of my life fitting easily into the trunk of my car.

It was depressing how little I had to show for twenty-two years on this planet.

James stood in the doorway of his apartment, arms crossed, watching me load the last box. His expression was a mixture of concern and resignation.

"You know you don't have to do this," he said for what felt like the hundredth time.

I slammed the trunk shut with more force than necessary. "Yes, I do."

"Why? Because you're scared? Because it's easier to run than to face your feelings?"

I turned to face him, irritation flaring. "Because I need my own space, James. Because I can't keep crashing on your couch forever. Because I'm an adult who should be able to live on her own without a babysitter."

"Is that what you think I am? Your babysitter?" Hurt flashed across his face.

I immediately regretted my words. "No. Of course not. You're my best friend. But that's exactly why I need to go. I can't keep leaning on you every time my life falls apart."

James's expression softened. "That's what friends are for, Geri."

"Not like this. Not when I'm using you as a crutch to avoid dealing with my own shit." I leaned against my car, suddenly exhausted despite the early hour. "I need to figure out who I am without... without anyone else defining me."

"Even Con?"

Especially Con. The thought of him sent a familiar pang through my chest—a mixture of longing, guilt, and fear that had become my constant companion these past two weeks.

"He called again last night," James said when I didn't respond.

I closed my eyes briefly. "I know."

"He's coming down next weekend."

My eyes snapped open. "What?"

"He said he's tired of being ignored. He's coming to talk to you in person."

Panic clawed at my throat. "You told him where I'm going to be living?"

"No. I told him you were moving, but not where. I figured that was your information to share if you wanted to."

Relief washed over me, followed immediately by shame. What kind of person was I, hiding from someone who only wanted to talk to me? Someone who had done nothing wrong except care about me too much?

"Thanks," I said quietly.

James pushed off from the doorway and came to stand in front of me. "Look, I get that you're scared. I do. But Con is a good guy, Geri. One of the best I've met. And he loves you."

"That's the problem," I whispered.

"Why? Why is that a problem?"

I couldn't meet his eyes. "Because I don't know how to be loved like that. I don't know how to let someone in that far without... without destroying everything."

"Like you did with the pill?"

I flinched. James had been surprisingly understanding about my relapse, but it still stung to hear it spoken aloud.

"That was just a symptom," I said. "The real problem is me. I'm broken, James. I've been broken for a long time, and I don't know if I can be fixed."

"You're not a fucking vase, Geri. You're a person. People don't get 'fixed.' They heal. They grow. They learn." James's voice was firm but gentle. "But they can't do it alone. Not really."

I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to. But the evidence of my life suggested otherwise.

"I need to try," I said finally. "I need to at least try to stand on my own two feet before I can even think about letting someone else hold me up."

James studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I get that. But promise me something?"

"What?"

"Don't shut him out completely. At least talk to him when he comes down. Hear what he has to say."

The thought made my stomach twist with anxiety, but I nodded. "I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking." James pulled me into a tight hug. "And call me, okay? Not just when you're in crisis. Call me just because."

I hugged him back, blinking away unexpected tears. "I will."

We broke apart, and I climbed into my car before I could change my mind. As I pulled away from the curb, I watched James in my rearview mirror, standing in the rain, getting smaller and smaller until he disappeared around a corner.

The drive to Riverside was quiet, just me and my thoughts and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers.

I tried to focus on practical matters—what groceries I needed to buy, whether I should unpack everything today or spread it out over the weekend, if I should tell my boss about my new commute—but my mind kept circling back to Con.

What would I say to him when he came? What could I say that wouldn't sound like a pathetic excuse for my behaviour?

Sorry I freaked out and ran away because I'm terrified of how much I care about you?

Sorry I broke three years of sobriety because I'm self-destructive when things get too real?

Sorry I'm such a mess that I can't even handle waking up in your arms without having a full-blown panic attack?

None of it sounded good. None of it sounded like enough.

My new housemate, Derek, was out when I arrived, which was a relief.

I wasn't in the mood for small talk or the awkward dance of two strangers figuring out how to share a space.

He'd left a key under the mat as promised, along with a note welcoming me and explaining a few house rules—nothing unreasonable, just basic courtesy stuff about noise levels and cleaning up after myself.

The room was small but clean, with a double bed, a desk, and a small closet. The window overlooked a quiet street lined with jacaranda trees, their purple blossoms scattered across the sidewalk like confetti. It was... fine. Not homey, not yet, but it would do.

I unpacked methodically, hanging my clothes in the closet, arranging my toiletries in the bathroom, setting up my laptop on the desk. The routine of it was soothing, giving my hands something to do while my mind continued its endless loop of worry and regret.

When everything was put away, I sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly at a loss. The silence of the house pressed in on me, broken only by the occasional car passing outside and the distant sound of a neighbour’s dog barking.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my messages. There were several from James, checking that I'd arrived safely. One from my boss confirming my shift tomorrow. And, of course, a string of unanswered texts from Con.

I opened his thread, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What could I say? What words could possibly bridge the chasm I'd created between us?

In the end, I settled for simple honesty:

I moved today. New place in Riverside. James says you're coming down next weekend. I'll be working Saturday morning, but I'm free after 2.

I hit send before I could overthink it, then tossed my phone onto the bed as if it had burned me. My heart was racing, palms sweaty. It was ridiculous how much anxiety a simple text could cause.

To my surprise, my phone buzzed almost immediately with a response:

Thank you for letting me know. I'll see you Saturday at 2. Where should I meet you?

His formality stung. Gone was the warmth, the easy banter, the affection that had coloured all our previous communications. I had done that. I had stripped all that away with my cowardice.

I suggested a coffee shop near the restaurant, neutral ground where we could talk without the pressure of privacy. His response was a simple "Sounds good."

And that was it. No declarations of missing me, no questions about why I'd run, no anger or hurt or anything that might give me a clue as to what he was thinking. Just polite, distant agreement.

I flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. What had I expected? That he'd pour his heart out via text after two weeks of me ignoring him? That he'd make it easy for me?

No, I'd forfeited the right to easy when I'd driven away from Alpine Ridge without a backward glance.

My phone buzzed again, and I snatched it up, hoping irrationally that it was Con with more to say. But it was James:

Did you make it? How's the new place?

I sent him a quick update, assuring him I was fine and the room was adequate. Then, almost as an afterthought, I added:

I texted Con. We're meeting Saturday.

His response was immediate:

Proud of you. That took guts.

Did it, though? Or was it just the bare minimum of human decency to agree to face someone I'd hurt?

I spent the rest of the day in a fog, going through the motions of settling in but not really present.

I ran into Derek briefly when he came home from work—he was a tall, lanky guy in his thirties with a receding hairline and an awkward smile.

He seemed nice enough, if a bit socially uncomfortable, and he retreated to his room after our brief hello, which suited me fine.

That night, I lay awake in the unfamiliar bed, listening to the strange creaks and sighs of a new house, my mind racing with thoughts of Saturday.

What would Con say? What would I say? Would he be angry?

Hurt? Would he have moved on already? The thought sent a spike of jealousy through me, which was rich considering I was the one who had run away.

When sleep finally came, it was fitful and filled with dreams of running down endless corridors, always pursued, never quite caught.

The next few days passed in a blur of work, commuting, and anxiety.

I threw myself into my shifts at the restaurant, taking extra hours when I could, anything to keep my mind occupied.

The long drive to and from Riverside became a kind of meditation, a space where I could be alone with my thoughts without having to face them head-on.

I went to meetings every night, different ones each time, never staying long enough to form connections.

I spoke sometimes, sharing sanitized versions of my struggles, careful never to reveal too much.

It helped, in a way, to hear my own voice articulating my fears, even if I couldn't bring myself to be fully honest.

By the time Saturday rolled around, I was a bundle of nerves.

I'd barely slept the night before, and my shift at the restaurant was a disaster of dropped plates and mixed-up orders.

James finally took pity on me and sent me home an hour early, telling me to get my head straight before I came back on Monday.

I changed clothes before heading to the coffee shop, finally settling on jeans and a simple blue top—casual but not sloppy. I arrived fifteen minutes early and claimed a table in the corner, my back to the wall so I could see the door.

And then I waited, my heart in my throat, for the man I'd run from to find me again.