But I’ve changed.
I realize that I’m no longer the same person.
It took me a long time to figure this out, but I realize that I’ve been a complete idiot.
My company is something I built. The whole ‘King of Wall Street’ is something I built for myself.
But it doesn’t mean a damn without the woman I love being by my side.
I need Becca. I love Becca.
But it’s already late. And I don’t want to text her booty call fashion on top of everything she’s been through.
I need to go home and calm down. Then I need to wake up in the morning and work out.
And then, around noon, after she’s had enough time, I need to go make things right with her.
And never look back.
Becca
They say yoga is like refreshment to the soul. It’s with that in mind that I put on a tight tank top and squeeze myself inside a pair of yoga pants. I place the rubber mat in the living room, at my feet, and close my eyes. Exercise has always helped me deal with the stress at work, and I just hope it will help me the same when it comes to matters of the heart. Because there’s no other way to put it: right now, my heart is shattered.
After tasting what real love and lust feels like, I truly don’t know how to move on with my life now. Mason is on my mind constantly: I’ve been thinking about him nonstop since I ran out of the Four Seasons last night, and I dreamt of him when last night even as I was asleep. It’s torture, plain and simple, and I have no idea on how to escape from the pain.
I go down on the mat, placing my hands in front of me, and arch my back, taking one deep breath. I start slow, assuming an easy position, but then progress to more complicated ones, pushing both my mind and body to the limit. As time passes and beads of sweat start to form on my skin, I feel my body relaxing - still, the gears inside my head keep on turning and turning, Mason’s smile dancing behind my closed eyelids.
Trying some of the hardest positions, I let my muscles work until they’re exhausted and, only when I can no longer move, do I lay down on the mat. Sprawled on the floor, I look at the ceiling, the pounding of my heart against my eardrums. Locks of hair are plastered to my forehead, glued to my skin by sweat, and I already feel my shirt sticking to my body. Sighing heavily, I sit up and purse my lips, giving up on trying to forget about Mason. Forget about yoga, I need something more drastic.
I go up to my feet and, grabbing my cellphone, I go through the contact list. My heart starts to race, and there’s a little voice in my head, whispering for me to get a hold of myself. I know that I’m about to do something terribly stupid, but I just can’t help myself. Heartbreak is the leading cause for bad decisions, it seems.
Remember Robert? Well, he has been sending me text messages almost every day, even though I never bother to respond. I figured that after our failed date and Mason’s intervention, that he would see the painting on the wall and simply forget about me. Of course, I couldn’t be any more mistaken about that. If anything, it seemed that when Mason entered the scene that Robert’s competitive streak flared up. Now, alone and depressed after a failed yoga session, I’m glad that he hasn’t given up.
When his name pops up on the screen, I double tap it and take a deep breath as my thumb moves across the screen. “Want to have lunch?” I write, my thumb then hovering over the SEND button. Don’t do it, Becca, my rational mind seems to say, but I can’t stop myself - I press the icon on the screen, and the message flies away from my cellphone and into his.
I throw my phone back on top of the table, expecting for him to take a while to respond, but his answer is almost an immediate one: the moment I let go of the phone, it vibrates at once. I pick it up, unlock it, and feel my heart tightening up as I see Robert’s response. “Yes! We can have lunch at your place. I’ll bring wine,” his text says. Fully knowing that I shouldn’t be doing this, I text him back a simple “sure”.
I went from trying to set up a lunch with Robert to now having him come into my house with wine. To say that I’m not thinking straight would be putting it mildly, I know. Sighing, I look down at the clock on my phone and, realizing that Robert will probably be here in a hour
or so, I head straight for the bathroom. I get undressed and, hopping into the shower, I step under the hot water and let it wash over me, pushing all my anxiety to the back of my mind. It doesn’t work, of course, but I have no idea on what else I should do. I never really had to deal with heartbreak before and, now that I find myself going through it, I’m at a complete loss. Nobody ever told me that it was this hard.
When I finally get out of the shower, I put on a matching black lace bra and thong, and then squeeze myself into a close fitting dress. The dress is a bit revealing, showing more of my cleavage than what I’m used to, but by now I’m far from thinking straight. Am I actually expecting for something to happen between Robert and I? No, that whisper of rationality seems to say, and I know it’s the truth. I’m not expecting it to happen, and I don’t want it to happen… But the pain in my heart is guiding all of my decisions right now and, as I step out of my room wearing a provocative dress, I’m no longer sure of what I’m doing. I’m working on auto-pilot, and I’ve set it to drive me all the way against the wall. Right now, all I want is to crash and burn - self-loathing at its best, I guess.
I sit down on my couch, waiting for Robert, but I don’t have to wait long. When the clock strikes 12, there’s a knock at my door, and my heart almost explodes at the sound of it. I go up to my feet, straighten the hem of my dress, and put on a fake smile on my lips. God, what the hell am I doing?
Stopping in front of the door, I take one deep breath as I reach for the handle. I wait one long second before turning it and, when I do, I feel my knees shaking. I can’t back down from this now.
When I open the door, I try and put on my best smile as I see Robert. He’s holding a bottle of red wine in his hands, and there’s a truly happy smile on his lips. On his eyes, I can already see hunger and lust holding hands, and I’m not sure that I like it. But, just like I said, it’s too late to back down from this.
“Hey,” I greet him meekly, accepting the bottle as he hands it to me.
“Hey,” he repeats and, without giving me the time to react, leans into me and kisses me on the cheek. Oh, God, this is already going sideways. I bet he expects to fuck me once we empty his bottle of wine.
I know I should try and put a stop to this while there’s still time, but the autopilot is in full throttle. “Come in,” I tell him, stepping to the side and allowing him to get in. I close the door behind me, and anxiety kicks in with all its forces. Crap, what the hell got through my mind for me to invite Robert over? Or, rather, to allow him to invite himself over.
I go up to the kitchen counter and, setting the bottle down, I rummage through the drawers, trying to find the bottle opener. While I do it, Robert leans on the counter, looking at me with that barely contained hunger in his eyes. I don’t mind when men look at me like that but, somehow, he’s giving me the creeps. Maybe it’s because I’ve grown accustomed to having Mason look at me like that… Maybe it’s because I’ll never be with a man again without thinking of Mason. He ruined me for other men, that’s for sure, and I’m not talking about his massive cock - although, I’ll admit, I’m going to miss it for the rest of my life. Hey, don’t judge - you don’t come across a man with a cock that big often in your life. And he also knew how to use it, don’t forget about that.
“What’s for lunch?” He asks me, and I almost slap my forehead with the palm of my hand. Lunch! Fuck, I completely forget about that.