“I have to drive!” I exclaim. “I still have another two and a half hours.”
“Relax,” he says and shakes his head. “It is not even a teaspoon.” He hands me the cup. “You need to lighten up. For real.”
I take the cup and purse my lips. In truth, I kind of find it ironic that he drinks hot chocolate and Peppermint Schnapps. My family has it every year for Christmas. My uncle even puts candy canes on the edge of the mugs. “You shouldn’t be drinking this either,” I say. “I’m sure your drive is just as long as mine if not longer.”
“It is longer,” he states as he puts the lid back on the bottle. “Which is why I’m not putting any in mine.”
“Well that’s nice.” I make quotes signs with my fingers. “Corrupt the stiff, why don’t ya?”
He cocks his head to the side, wearing a salacious grin. “I think the stiff needs it.”
“No…the stiff needs to make it home without hitting a tree along the way.”
Ray stuffs the bottle into his pocket and pours himself a cup of hot chocolate. “I think she’ll be fine.” He measures the amount with his fingers and makes a face. “Not even a teaspoon.”
“Fine,” I mutter and take a small sip from my cup.
“So let’s get back to your story,” Ray says, taking a sip from the thermos lid.
“Let’s not.” I smile. It’s a fake, bright smile meant to let him know that ‘My Story’ is something I prefer not to talk about. Mainly because I feel like the last couple hours have been blissfully painless and I’d like to keep it that way. “I don’t have a story,” I tell him.
“Lies. Everybody has a story, Duchess.”
“Not me.” He raises an eyebrow and gives me a look that tells me he’s not buying my closed off attitude at all. “Fine,” I cave. “Broken heart.” And that’s all he’s getting. He’s lucky he got that much.
Another sip of hot chocolate down. “Oh,” he draws out the word. “Those can be brutal.”
Brutal is an understatement. It was a soul-crusher.
A life vacuum.
A ruthless pit of hurt, agony, and despair.
“Yeah.”
Sometimes it still is.
I keep telling myself that you can’t climb a mountain like that over-night. I keep telling myself that when I wake up every morning that it’s a new day. That I’ll feel better. That I’m healing. I’ll start to forget soon. But that’s the thing about love and heartbreak, you can forgive, but you’ll never forget.
“I think everyone has had their heart broken a few times in their lives.”
I swallow the hot chocolate in my mouth. “You?”
“Psh,” he scoffs. “More times than I can count.”
I sigh. “Sometimes I wish it would get easier.”
“It does. Give it time.”
Time.
He’s full of shit.
I’ve given it plenty of time.
Still…
I’ve been wrecked and ravaged since August. I’ve been pieces of debris lying on the floor in a vacant, rotting house. I can feel those five excruciating words stabbing me while I think of my past. My head is tingling, my heart hollow. I squint, hoping I can shut them out.