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Lucas
My phone rings with a number I don’t recognize, and I quickly answer. These days I don’t let a call go to voicemail unless I really can’t answer, always hoping it’s Alexis. It doesn’t make sense because she wouldn’t call from a strange number, but I’m desperate to hear her voice. I don’t care if she’s angry or mad at me; I just need to hear her voice. My heart beats with regret at all the times I let her call go to voicemail—all of them lost opportunities that I’ll never get back. I would give anything to go back in time to change things so that I have the right to pick up the phone and call her whenever I want. To hear the smile in her voice when she hears mine. Lately, all there is, is bitterness and hate. It’s deserved but guts me all the same.
“Lucas,” I answer breathlessly.
The hope dies a fiery death, and I grit my teeth when I hear Monica’s voice.
“Hey, baby. Is there something you perhaps want to tell me?” Her voice is syrupy sweet, and for the millionth time, I’m kicking myself for being so damn stupid.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Your clothes, baby. I got the best surprise last night when I got home from work and found them on my doorstep.” My heart sinks at her words. Surely she wouldn’t? I know she’s mad at me, but this? My head drops to my hand. “Why didn’t you use the key I gave you? I got so excited thinking you were inside waiting for me.” Monica’s carrying on, but I’m hardly hearing her, my mind racing to make sense of what’s going on.
“What did you do with them?” I interrupt her.
“Unpacked them, of course. I was thinking we could go out for lobster and champagne to celebrate our first night living together.” Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Are you at home?”
“Yes, I’ve just finished unpack—” I end the call, unwilling to listen to more than I have to. Grabbing my wallet and keys, I slam out of my office. With a growled, I’ll be back, I storm past Claire’s desk. The poor woman deserves a raise for putting up with my black moods this past week. I get to Monica’s house in record time and push past her when she opens the door. I storm to her bedroom and fling open the cupboard doors. A red haze enters my vision when I see my clothes mixed in with hers.
“I had to move some of my things to the spare room to make space.”
“Where are my suitcases?”
“There wasn’t any.” Her face is confused, and she glances toward the bed.
I look over and spot a pile of scrunched-up trash bags on the bed. The stab to my heart is so intense, I have to rub my chest. Is this what things have come to? Alexis getting rid of every part of me, throwing me out like trash? I want to roar my denial, but I can’t because I did this to us. I drove her to the point where she felt she needed to do this. I refused to collect my things when she demanded I did because of my inability to accept that we were over. Our separation is temporary because there’s nothing I won’t do to fix this.
I stride over to the bed, grab a bag and start yanking my clothes off the hangers and stuffing them in the bag. My actions are robotic, my mind numb to everything but my task.
“What are you doing?”
I whirl on her. “Just how stupid are you?” I’m genuinely curious about this. Whatever was between us never included much talking, and I thought it was clear how I felt about her by the way I ended things between us. Instead, she's unpacking my clothes as if I’m moving in with her.
“Why are you like this?” Her eyes fill with tears, and her lower lip trembles. A better man than me would feel pity for her, but all I feel is pleasure at her pain. She deserves it, just like I deserve the pain of losing my whole world.
“When did I ever make you think things were serious between us? Hell, when did I ever make you think I even liked you? Yet here you are, ready to jump in playing house.”
“Because I love you.”
“No, you don’t.” I scoff, returning to my task of packing my clothes. “You know nothing about me. You love the idea of me, not the man I am.”
“I do,” she cries, wedging herself between me and the bag. “You can say what you want, but you can’t deny that physically we’re good together. Can’t you see I’m willing to fight for us? At the first sign of trouble, Alexis threw you away. She’s not willing to fight for you, but I am.” She grabs hold of my arms and pushes against me. “You’re worth fighting for.”
Red-hot rage explodes through me, hearing the name of my wife on her lips, and I shove her off of me. “I don’t love you. I used you,” I grit out, emphasizing each word. I want to tell her that sex with her isn’t even in the same stratosphere as sex with Alexis, but she doesn’t get to even have a glimpse of what Alexis and I had and will have again. “I used you because women like you deserve to get used and discarded like a used condom.”
Her slap doesn’t surprise me, and I grin while rubbing my cheek.
“Glad you got that out of your system. Now get the fuck out of my way.” I feel her stare burning into me while I finish packing, but luckily for the both of us, she doesn’t open her mouth again.
