Why do I feel the urge to call and check on him despite how awful he treated me?
I erase the last question from my mind, not allowing myself to care for another second. I eat a sad dinner for one before crawling into my bed. Darkness floods the room as I shut off the last light and pull the covers up to my chin.
My heart races for a few minutes before settling down. I drift to sleep, hoping for no more nightmares.
I run from my bed to my kitchen after smelling my burnt dinner. Smoke billows from the oven as I open the door, cursing to myself for forgetting to set a timer.
“Great. Pasta it is.” I put on my oven mitts and grab the pan out of the oven. A cough escapes me as I fan the air around me.
They say talking to oneself is a sign of insanity, but I happen to find it rather comforting lately. I’m always used to being busy. I’ve been a hard worker since university, and I find it hard to wind down like I have lately.
Hence the recent attempt to try new recipes.
My phone rings in the other room. I ignore it as I fill up a pot of water. The ringing starts back up again. Leaving behind the half-filled pot in the sink, I exit the kitchen and find my phone hidden somewhere within the covers of my bed. My phone stops ringing before I have a chance to answer.
It beeps with a new voicemail. I unlock it and press play, curious about the new number.
“Hi, Ms. Gonzalez. This is James Mitchell, the team principal of Bandini. I didn’t have the chance to meet you while you were working with McCoy, but I’ve heard good things from Connor and Noah about your work. I’m in need of a PR agent who can help my team with press conferences and managing their image. We need someone who works remotely from Monaco but can be on standby for last-minute flights and conferences. If this is something you’re interested in, please get back to me no later than this Friday to discuss the logistics. If not, I will take your silence as a rejection and move onto someone else. Have a great day.”
Oh my God. No way.
First Connor’s news a few days ago, and now this. I can’t be this lucky.
Can I?
I mean I pray and all, but I didn’t think God worked in this many mysterious ways. Clutching my phone to my chest, I flop onto my bed, thanking whomever is up there helping me.
Despite everything that happened to me in the past week, I smile and thank God for the little blessings.
Peace only lasts a few hours before I wake up alone and in the dark, crying out for my lost parents. Fear paralyzes me as I catch my breath. The nightmare reminds me of how truly alone I am, and I cry myself to sleep.
Darkness wins tonight, stealing away my happiness.
The ringing of my phone wakes me. My eyesight is half blurry as I grab it off my nightstand.
“Hello?” my voice rasps.
Silence on the other end of the phone prompts me to check out who called. Hindsight: should have done that before I answered. Mierda.
“Jax?”
Heavy breathing and rustling of sheets tell me he’s still on the line.
“Why the hell are you calling me this late? Actually, why the hell are you calling me at all?”
“I don’t know,” he slurs.
Great. Mark getting a drunk booty call from an ex off my bucket list.
“So, you called me because you’re drinking again.”
“No.” He answers too quickly.
“I don’t want to talk to you. And I especially don’t want to talk to you when you are drunk.”
“I didn’t mean to drink tonight.”
“Yet you somehow are slurring your words.”