Addicted to You (Swanson Court 2)

I’m still laughing about that when I open the next story. This one is newer and has two images with no accompanying write-up. In one of the pictures, I see Landon and some woman in front of the SCT Building. The second one has Landon and the same woman having dinner at a restaurant. In the first shot, Landon is holding a car door open for the woman, and she’s smiling up at him. In the second one, their faces are close together and they’re both laughing, her hand on his arm. I look for the date of the article and my heart goes cold. It’s from yesterday.

I stare at the woman’s face, trying to remember if I’ve ever seen her before from all the other articles I’ve read about Landon, but I can’t recall the face from anywhere. The quality of the images is not so good, but from what I can see, she’s beautiful, with glossy black hair hanging halfway to her back, and full, red lips. I close my eyes. Last night, when he’d said he was working late, he’d been meeting with this woman.

He’d lied to me.

And then he came to my apartment. My memories from last night are so clear that I can still feel him slipping into bed with me, freshly showered, after spending his whole evening with her.

I’m suddenly trembling. The thought of Landon leaving me, at some remote date is something I’ve schooled my mind to expect and accept, but the idea of him being intimate with another woman, while lying to me and making me feel like I matter to him…

It’s not something I can bear.

I try to breathe, to stay calm, but I’m helpless against the deep clawing desperation threatening to drown me, the realization that I’m be nothing more than a temporary indulgence, a plaything.

I allowed him to suck me back into his life. I buried my head in the sand and developed a false sense of security. Now every intimate moment we shared seems like a lie.

Feeling like I’m suffocating, I leave the sofa, going towards the elevator waiting in the foyer. At first I just want to leave the apartment, to go outside, where I can escape the surroundings that are so full of him.

When did dinners with beautiful women become ‘working late?’ What kind of egotist was he, if he’d gone out of his way to pursue me, only so he could lie to me, and show me that I meant nothing to him?

At the ground floor, I hurry through the front lobby. Under the awning over the sidewalk, the doorman gives me a questioning glance, as if wondering whether to call me a cab. I ignore him and start walking. It’s just beginning to get dark, and the air is changing, getting colder.

I pass several buildings, blind to everything but the worst of the possibilities playing through my head, making me want to cry. I don’t consciously start walking towards home until I realize that the only thing I have with me is my phone. I have no money, no keys to my apartment, even the keycard Landon gave me is back at his place, so I can’t go back to get my things.

There are other people on the sidewalk, some meandering, others walking with purpose. I blend into the crowd, my face down, my eyes teary, wondering if the pleasure of being with Landon is worth the pain I’m feeling.

How much did I really mean to him, if he could lie to me just so he could spend time with someone else?

I’ve been walking for a while when my phone rings. I switch it off without looking at the screen, not confident of my ability to have a rational conversation, especially with Landon.

I remember my mom’s advice. It should never be about the man, she’d said, but about how he makes you feel. Right now, I feel like crap. The lack of certainty, the inevitability of heartbreak, the depth of emotion I feel that I know he’ll never return… it hurts. It wounds me in ways I never thought possible.

Yet being without him wounds me more.

I don’t want to be stuck in this state forever, wanting more than he could give, unable to ask for it, and yet unable to walk away.

But what could I do?

I walk for what seems like hours, although it can’t have been that long. When I reach home, my legs are aching as much as my heart.

Landon is standing on the sidewalk in front of my building, his hands deep in his pockets, his eyes scanning the street. They settle on me as soon as I turn the corner, and I see his expression change from tense anxiety to profound relief.

He rushes towards me. “What happened?”

The desire to walk into his arms wars with the desire to walk away. He places soothing hands on my shoulders. “What happened?” he repeats softly.

That’s when the tears start to fall.

Landon hugs me tightly, then retrieves a white handkerchief from his pocket and wipes my face. “I got home and you’d left, but your things were there.” He looks at me, concern etched in his features. “What’s wrong?”

In the face of his tender concern, it’s hard to tell him that I walked out from his apartmen

t because I saw a picture of him with another woman. Suddenly, I feel immature and foolish.

I breathe “I…”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I step away from his arms, trying to regain my composure. “Where were you?” I ask softly. “Where were you last night?”