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I might have been sitting next to my boyfriend at the Ivy and Sons Funeral Home, but he felt so far away; he might as well have been on another planet. From that day on, his black shirt/black tie combo would no longer hold the appeal it once had. It would just be a reminder of the day he refused to comfort me as I sat a foot away, holding back my tears.
“He sure did love you.”
My mom had met Jason only once or twice, but it had been enough for her to see what I’d been blind to. Jason had had feelings for me. And I’d spent his last few months on earth chasing someone who was incapable of feeling anything.
The longer I sat there, listening to Jason’s friends and family express their heartbreak behind the podium, the angrier I got. At Jason, for putting us through the pain of losing him. At myself, for not trying harder to get him help. But, mostly, at Ken, for not putting his fucking arm around me. For not loving me the way Jason had loved me. For not picking me up and twirling me around just because he was happy to see me.
As soon as the service was over, I bolted. Wearing black high heels for the second time that week, I click-clacked down the aisle, holding the bottom of my short black dress in my fist. My sunburned feet were screaming at me to slow down, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t until I was finally alone and could cry all this bullshit out.
“BB!” a familiar, deep voice called from the middle of the chapel.
I managed to catch a glimpse of the bastard just before I blew past him. Hans was looking rock-star chic in a fitted black T-shirt and black jeans, but the girl sitting next to him, slouching in her baby-doll dress and hiding behind her long black hair, looked like a bitch I’d like to slap.
Again.
I tore past Amy, Allen, the Alexander brothers, and Juliet, who didn’t see me because she was too busy glaring at Ethan Alexander, who’d probably had the audacity to hit on her at a funeral.
I stomped all the way out to Ken’s car where I lit two cigarettes and smoked them both at the same time.
Calm down, BB. Jesus Christ.
I paced back and forth in the parking lot, tiny pieces of asphalt crunching under my stilettos.
Where the fuck is he?
My eyes and throat burned, but I refused to cry. Not until I got the fuck away from Ken. I was in enough pain as it was. The last thing I needed was to break down in the presence of somebody who couldn’t even pretend to give a shit.
I glared at the front door as a slow trickle of red-eyed couples began to exit. Old couples, young couples, gay couples, straight couples. They all held hands, linked arms, clung to one another, giving and receiving the support they needed.
I hated them all.
Especially the couple I’d found asleep in my bed last December.
When Hans and Goth Girl exited the chapel, their eyes landed on me immediately. She froze on the spot, but he kept walking, heading straight toward me.
Fuck. Not now. Goddamn it.
My heart rate rivaled a jackrabbit’s as I watched Hans waltz across the parking lot on long, skinny legs. He’d lost weight over the course of our relationship, thanks to a burgeoning drug habit, but since we’d broken up, it looked like he’d gone off the rails. His face was gaunt. His once-tight jeans were lashed on with a studded belt. And he’d completely buzzed off all his sexy, shaggy black hair.
The last time I’d seen Hans, I’d thrown everything we owned directly at his head. It had been four months since that day, but the urge to take off my spiked heels and chuck one at his face was still there.
So was the urge to run to him and let him hold me while I wept.
“Hey.” Hans held his hands up in surrender. His dark eyebrows were drawn together over two remorseful denim-colored eyes. “I know you’re still mad at me. I just wanted to come over and say I’m sorry…about Jason. I know you guys were close.”
I clenched my jaw, unable to speak around the lump in my throat, but my quivering chin gave me away.
“Shit. Hey, it’s okay.” Hans spread his arms, and just like that, I was back in them.
His hug wasn’t as good as Ken’s. He was too thin and too tall. His embrace was too loose, and he smelled like cigarettes instead of clean cotton. But he let me cry. Hans had nothing left to offer me, except his sympathy, and like everything in our apartment, I took that, too.
“Shh…” He rubbed his hand down my back too lightly, causing me to jerk in his arms. “Sorry, I forgot you’re ticklish.”
He forgot.
My body was already a stranger to him, and his felt like a stranger to me.
Stepping away, I swiped the mascara from under my eyes and glanced at the funeral home doors where Ken was now standing. He appeared to be talking to Allen and Amy, but his eyes were fixed on me. With a curt nod to his friends, he stalked toward us, hands in his pockets, mouth set in a straight line. The taillights behind me flashed as a beep sounded from inside Ken’s car.
