Page 11 of False Promises

Memories of a night I was trying to put behind me flashed before my eyes. I could still play every second of it in my head if I let myself.

A fragment of my heart would never recover from the feeling of treachery.

Closing my eyes, I drifted to sleep, barely sensing Dahlia when she lay on her back beside me, never letting go of my hand. And for an instant, I imagined what life could have been if she had chosen me instead as I meandered into my dreams.

When I woke up later, I searched the darkness for my best friend, patting the mattress beside me. She had left. The realization acted like a sting to my heart.

On wobbly legs, with a dry mouth, I padded to the kitchen for water. Leftovers from dinner had been cleaned up, and the week-long dirty dishes piled up in the sink were gone. On the island was a piece of paper. I turned on the light and read it, the writing I recognized to be Dahlia’s.

Cart,

We’ll give you your space. Like you asked me.

I’m sorry for everything. I hope one day we’ll all be able to move forward.

I already miss you.

Love,

Dah xx

My brother had added his own words below.

Carter,

I’ll always be there for you.

As you were for me when I needed you the most.

Just call me and I’ll drop everything.

Don’t be a stranger.

I love you, little bro xx

New tears filled my eyes. Unable to look at the words they wrote, I crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it in the garbage can. When I returned to bed, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling above me.

Could I reinvent myself one day, or were all my dreams and aspirations forever gone?

What if I was destined to be on my own always? I had no one to share my life with. Dahlia was slipping away. She was moving on. And I was stuck here in the past, and in a life we would never spend together, with no idea how to turn things around.

In that instant, I felt so alone—and lost—as I’d never felt before when darkness crept in. And the thought I would never recover from this loss scared me senseless.

4

CARTER

In the semi-darkness, my hands found my temples, and I massaged them with the heels of my hands. Was the pounding in my skull, or was someone at the door? I tried to open my eyes, but my lids were too heavy. Damn it. I breathed in and cracked one open. The single ray of light piercing the room from the split in the curtains blinded me, and I closed my lids again.

In the last few weeks, I had barely left my bed during the daytime, too busy recovering from the previous night’s hangover. I had succeeded at pushing everyone away. Whoever stood on my front porch now clearly didn’t get the message. I wanted to be left the fuck alone. No exception.

With both hands over my ears, I tried to block the sound that made my body vibrate like I’d been sleeping next to a jackhammer during Manhattan’s rush hour.

The hammering increased. My stomach churned.

“Carter, open up. C’mon, man. I know you’re in there.”

What the actual fuck. How early was too early for someone to bang at the door?