“I’m sorry, she just…irked me.”
“It’s fine
. But you really need to let these things go. I’m used to it and the questions they throw at me—same, same.”
I smile, weakly, and make my way to the small kitchen that is adjacent to the room. I was utterly exhausted. Time zones are a bitch. Coffee had never smelled so good percolating in the small room. I pour myself a cup, bringing it to my lips to inhale the heavenly aroma.
My emotions were running high. I read, once, that sleep deprivation was the number one reason why people were emotional messes. That outburst towards Kitty was driven by my lack of control over mine and Wesley’s relationship. I knew he had baggage as do we all. I just didn’t expect the baggage to be following me around wherever I went.
I wish I was like Emerson. Confident and in control of her life. The question that Emerson was just asked, replays in my head.
What is your greatest fear?
Emerson had answered that question so easily. Comfortable in telling the world exactly what she feared. I could barely admit the truth to myself. My greatest fear involved Mom and every time I thought about it for a split second—that sick feeling would crawl into my stomach and force me to heave from panic.
And running a very close second is Wesley’s need to forward our relationship.
He was the bad boy. The one not supposed to get attached or even think about the future. It’s not like I didn’t want to move forward, but many times in the past week, he threw in quips about marriage and babies. A joke in his eyes yet nevertheless—it made me extremely uncomfortable given that we had technically been together for weeks. We hadn’t even hit that one-month anniversary.
We left on unusual terms. After the night I stayed at his place and witnessed what I believe was an exchange of narcotics, I distanced myself as much as I could allow. I came up with many excuses; Emerson needed me to work on some things, I had my period, and trivial things like I was going shopping for New York.
Anything to create some space between us and gain some perspective.
At first, he was unforgiving. Fought with me and demanded I drop everything for him. By day two, he was more understanding though came to visit and while Flynn stepped out with some friends—he fucked me three times and left for the night.
It was a rollercoaster of emotions. Feeling the need for space but when he touched me—I didn’t want him to ever stop. The confusion was overwhelming. I felt used and cheap after he left but appreciative at the same time because I just wanted to be alone.
He left for Vegas the next day—some business he needed to take care of—told me he’d see me when I came back from NYC.
I didn’t ask another detail.
About the impromptu “business” or if he had a drug problem.
I didn’t know how to help him.
The truth was—Wesley frightened me. There was always something about him, this aura of untamed madness that summed up the world he lived in. I got it, I really did. He had a not-so-perfect childhood and a mother who put her husbands before her son.
But the drugs were unknown territory for me. I was raised to turn a blind eye to drugs and Mom instilled into me after my brief usage of pot, how damaging it could be to my body. I listened, I allowed the fear to be instilled into me, and now—I was living it.
I was partly grateful that it had been non-stop chaos from the second we landed. New York City was one of those places that you either dreamt about visiting for your entire life or a place you avoided for the fear of crowds and dirty streets. It was like nothing I had expected. Compared to back home, it was loud, overpopulated and noisy. Cabs honking their horns for no apparent reason, driving like maniacs and almost crashing a dozen times.
I didn’t care for that unorganized nonsense. What I loved was the culture. The beautiful buildings with so much history behind them. The art galleries that people said were a must-do if visiting the city. Granted, we had been here only two days and most of it was spent indoors, though if I was to get a spare moment—I was hoping for the chance to explore.
The caffeine begins its journey into the depth of my brain and gives me a much-needed boost of energy. With two more interviews scheduled for the day, we dart between locations and battle the nasty storm that buckets outside, out of nowhere.
My cell is pinging repeatedly—notifications of weather warnings and emails from Charlie. Nothing from Wesley.
It’s odd behavior coming from him. I had sent him a simple text yesterday when we landed telling him we were here and explained that the day would be chaotic so I wouldn’t get a chance to chat much.
He simply responded with a K.
Infuriating but what did I expect? I wanted space and space is what I’m getting.
And how wrong was I to assume.
After Emerson’s final interview, she made her way back to the hotel and I decided to explore. With some free time, I had made my way to the Guggenheim Museum. I absolutely loved it, immersing myself in art. I didn’t expect to find art so…entertaining, fulfilling—smiling to myself as I walked around for hours. Losing track of time, I pull out my cell to call Mom as soon as I exit the building.
8 missed calls.