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She’s grabbing a towel, wrapping it tightly around her body like she needs to hide her nakedness from me. She sinks down onto the closed lid of the toilet, still unable to look at me.
“You’re still mine, right?” I ask.
But the smile she gives me looks forced, like she’s trying to make me happy, but not actually feeling the joy. Finally, she says, “Of course.”
“Mine for now, right?” I murmur to myself.
But everything has changed between us. Those words that slipped from her semi-conscious mind will not go away. I can’t pretend I didn’t hear them. I can’t make her unsay them.
As I close the door to the bathroom, it feels like I’m closing the door on us.
CHAPTER 25
Lily
The walls of my apartment close in on me. “Please hurry,” I whisper to myself. Glancing down at my phone screen, I will the car to arrive. It’s still five minutes away.
The photo catches my eye. The one that sits on the edge of my bookshelf. One I haven’t had the heart to get rid of. The picture was on my desk one morning, a gift wrapped in a white box with a gold bow. A pretty frame cradling the picture of me and him by the horses and carriage on the night of what I consider to be our first official date. He took a snap of me on his phone, then I insisted a passerby on the street take one of the two of us.
He hesitated at first, then relented. That should have been my first warning sign, him not wanting to take a picture with me, but I was wrapped in the protection of ignorant bliss.
I wear the white dress, fluttering in the breeze. He looks so handsome in his suit, hair back showing those peppery silver hairs that I love. We look deliriously happy. Of course, it didn’t last.
It never does.
I flip the little frame over, photo side down.
I have to get out of here.
I stare at the packages waiting by my front door. Last night in a fit of rage and tears, I filled them all full of the clothes he gave me, stacking them as neatly as I could, eager for the morning to come so I could be rid of them.
I know the memories, the hurt will linger, but at least I’ll no longer have to face the physical presence of what’s left from the ‘us’ that no longer exists.
Nerves. I feel like I could throw up—same as I did when I asked for some space from him in the bathroom that day—but thankfully, the feeling goes away as the car arrives.
Once we arrive at the store, the Uber driver lifts the last of the boxes onto the glass counter. Handing him two crisp twenties for his trouble, I thank him. He leaves me standing there, alone with the items I’ve carefully boxed up to bring back.
Anything I’ve already worn, I’ll keep, but it didn’t seem right to remain in possession of thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing and accessories Rockwell bought for me if we’re no longer together.
Since, I correct myself, draining the lingering hope from my heart and my mind. Since we are no longer together, and never will be, I think I should return the clothes I’ve not yet worn. I blink back burning tears. Thank goodness the calming scent of lavender and vanilla reaches me, a line of candles burning on a nearby shelf.
I still don’t really know why he broke it off.
Just that two weeks ago, I came home to a note.
It started with good news.
All my ex drama was over. The Bachmans tracked him down, let him know I was not pregnant, got my money back, and threatened him with death if he were to ever contact me again.
Which he was not at all interested in doing.
What a relief.
But the news only segued into the bad, the note officially becoming the very worst breakup of my life. Telling me that my services are no longer needed at Rockwell Enterprises. That a generous payment has been put in my bank account. That he’s really, really sorry.
Oh, and my favorite part. The line that made me laugh out loud in a manic way, while fighting back hot tears.
That it’s not me, it’s him.
