It became all too clear what had to be done. I had changed, but he hadn’t. And my change might not have permanently damaged us at that point, but it would as time progressed. Our love would be a shell of what it once was, and to ruin what our love was at its pinnacle felt like the worst crime imaginable. I didn’t want to outweigh good memories with the bad. I didn’t want to destroy more and more of our love to a point we’d forget why we were even in love. No, the rational thought at that point was to preserve what we did have.
I need help. He deserves better.
Something in me snapped. Jaxon would never let me walk away. He would beg me to stay and I would agree, and this horrible cycle would repeat itself, and that nightmare of destroyed love would turn into a reality.
No. You have to just do it. Do it now before it’s too late. Before he changes your mind. Remember the pain you feel now forever and let it remind you why you’re going to do this. Because you’ve destroyed him, destroyed that confident man who thought the highest of you. Let him look back at whatever good memories of you he does have… It’s the only way.
My legs felt like lead when I stood, but my body moved like a machine being directed its orders. I packed a suitcase and filled it up with as much clothes as possible, until it was billowing from the top and I had to press down on it as I zipped it closed. I grabbed my wallet off the night stand and paused at the framed photo of Jaxon and me. It was a close up of us, shoulder to shoulder, and I was smiling at the camera while he was looking at me with a small smile and eyes that spoke volumes of his affection for me. I grabbed it and stuffed it inside, and then I grabbed two other frames around the apartment: one of us at Prom and one of us kissing in front of the Christmas tree last December before everything had changed. These were good times, good memories. This was before I tainted us.
I hovered at the front door of the apartment holding onto the suitcase with one hand, and the phone with the other. I looked down at the phone, half tempted to call Jaxon up and beg him to come home. He usually went out for an hour or so after a bad fight to blow off some steam. Then he would return and try again… and again. A teardrop fell from my eyes, and it was a teardrop on fire because it ignited the scorching pain of what I was going to do in the next minute.
Breathing unsteadily, on the verge of panic, I looked down at the phone and slowly rested it on the kitchen counter. After another moment of doubting what I was about to do, I pushed on through with one thought only: Jaxon deserves better, and he will find better.
I opened the door. “I’m sorry,” I cried, as if the walls could hear and reiterate it to Jaxon when he came back.
And then, without a final glance back, I walked out.
PART TWO: A Change in the Air
Ten
Five years later…
Sometimes I dream of what would have been. I see Jaxon’s face, his chin length dirty blonde hair blowing in the wind, and the smile that could give life back to a mummy; I would see myself cradled in his arms, his mouth to my lips, and his words in my ears, telling me I was beautiful, perfect, but most importantly… that he loved me.
Then I awoke, tears streaming down my face, and remembered the awful reality: Jaxon wasn’t here.
I sat up in bed and looked over at the clock on my night stand. 4:03am. I’d been waking up every morning for the last two weeks at around this time, and when I tried to go back to sleep, I’d find I couldn’t. Being in bed alone and cold makes you reflect on things, makes you reflect on the important things, really.
But I wasn’t alone this early morning. I looked over at the tall, lean man lying next to me, keeping a safe distance away. I didn’t cuddle, and he respected that. I made out his long face, black eyebrows, big lips, high cheekbones, black ruffled hair.
Daniel Hale was a gorgeous man. And he was broken. Like me.
To get my mind off of the pain in my heart, I remembered the day I met him three years ago. The day I was out of money and struggling to get a job. On my way to the interview at the firm that had miraculously contacted me, I’d taken a nasty spill in the busy streets of Winthrop, knocking the contents of my open purse everywhere. Warm and gentle hands went around my shoulders, sitting me up on the concrete sidewalk. The man who’d helped me up was wearing a navy pinstriped suit tailored to a tee; his black hair was slicked back, and his brown eyes wide with concern.
“Are you okay?” he asked soothingly.
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll live.” I turned away from his gaze and bent down to pack away my things.
He crouched down beside me and helped. “You’ve got a bad scrape on your knee.”
I looked down at my knee, but cursed out loud at the rip in my knee length pencil skirt. “Shit!” I swept my fingers over the tear and shook my head in anger – an anger I was still not entirely good at suppressing, I might add. “Dammit, this is the last thing I need right now!”
“You got someplace to be?”
“Job interview.” I stood up and swiped furiously at my skirt, removing all the bits of grime and dirt of the city.
I was at it for a while before I noticed the man was still standing beside me. I looked up at him and sheepishly smiled. “I’m alright. Thanks for stopping and all…”
He smiled widely at me, and I remembered idly liking the fact he had no dimples to remind me of someone I didn’t want to think about. “It’s no problem at all. You looked to be in a hurry. Watched you get off the bus a street down, and noticed we were headed in the same direction. Couldn’t look away from you.”
My cheeks heated. He was flirting, right? This was him complimenting me? I barely knew. I’d been so out of touch with guys and the whole social thing, so being complimented at all was entirely foreign to me. I ended up tucking my hair behind my ear three times, and then I awkwardly looked down at the sidewalk and kicked a small stone with the tip of my heel.
“Have you eaten?” he then asked, looking down at his rather expensive Rolex. “I’ve got a bit left in my lunch break if you wanted to grab something. Might take your mind off your job interview and the tear in your skirt.”
“Thanks, but I’ve eaten,” I lied. I actually hadn’t had anything since last night’s lasagne. But this interview was important, and I’d been too pent up with nerves to eat.
“Alright.” He looked a tad bit deflated. I hoped he didn’t take it as a rejection. He must have known he was handsome enough to score any girl walking down this very street. “Well, hope you have a good day then and good luck with your job interview.”