Gym Junkie

I smile softly, my hope returning.

“Get it out of your system, Tull.” He sighs.

Trust me, it is well and truly out of my system. In fact, the system is completely fucked up. I frown. “Is that what you’re doing?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I listen, unsure if I want to hear this, but who am I to judge after what I’ve just done?

“So that when you come back to me, I can be the best damn husband you ever dreamt of.”

My eyes cloud over and relief fills me. I really needed to hear that. “I miss you,” I whisper.

“I miss you, too. Do you love me?” he asks.

I nod and wipe a stray tear away. “Yes, I love you. Don’t ignore my fucking calls again or I’ll lose my shit.”

He chuckles. “I promise, I won’t, but I mean it, Tull. My time in Melbourne finishes in three months and then I’ll be back. Don’t make this break we’ve had be in vain.”

Fear fills me. “What if we don’t find our way back to each other, Simon?”

“We will.” He pauses for a moment. “I promise, we will. A love like ours will never die and you know that.”

“Why do you have to be so reasonable all the damn time?” I sigh.

“I don’t know.” He pauses, and I can tell he’s smiling. “This wise woman I’m in love with gave me this pep talk eight months ago. I think she may have been onto something.”

“That woman was an idiot to ever let you go.” I smile softly.

“She didn’t let me go. She still has me.”

My eyes fill with even more tears. “Let’s just get back together now, Si.”

“No. We have to do what we said we would. I’m going now,” he says.

“Why?” Should I tell him what I’ve done? No, I can’t. I can’t ever tell him about Brock.

“Because, Tully. You wanted this break and I’m giving it to you.”

“D-don’t go,” I stammer, suddenly panicked. I want to hold onto him for a bit longer.

“Tully.” He sighs. “Go and have fun.”

I frown. “Do you ever think about me?” I ask hopefully.

“All the fucking time.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Goodbye.” The phone clicks and he’s gone.

It’s 9:00 p.m. and I’m lying in my bed in my new bedroom. I can’t find my sheets but I don’t give a fuck. I’m too tired for this shit. I’m in my sleeping bag.

My mind keeps going over and over my conversation with Simon, as well as the woman he was with.

He said he doesn’t have feelings for her and I can honestly say that I can relate to that detachment.

I get a vision of Brock. I hate that he affects me so much. Every time I think of him— which was every time I moved today and felt where he had been—I feel sad.

Sad that we met the way we did. Sad that he’s wired the way he is.

And really sad that I had so little respect for myself that I just handed myself over to him.

I never thought a man who I didn’t know and who didn’t care about me could talk me into something so easily.

I’m weak.

Forever tainted.

My phone beeps with a text and I frown when I see the number come up. Who’s that?

Hope the move went well.

See you tomorrow.

xoxo

My eyes widen. Oh my God.

Brock! What does he want?

I throw my phone onto the floor as if it’s a bomb, and angry tears burn my eyes.

“Leave me alone,” I cry. “Don’t call me again. I hate you for making me feel like this.”

I cacoon myself in my sleeping bag and roll into a ball. My misery takes over and I cry tears of shame.

Brock

I dial the phone number and stare out the window, looking over at the horizon as I wait for the call to go through.

It’s dusk, and the lights from the city are twinkling down below.

I’ve been counting the hours until I could call Tully. Weirdly, I’ve never been so keen to meet up with a chick in my life.

“I’ll take her for dinner, and then for drinks. After that…” I stop and listen as it starts to ring.

It rings and rings until it rings out. I hang up before leaving a message.

I frown. Hmm, maybe she’s in the shower.

Annoyed, I open a beer. Patience isn’t my strong point.

I pick up the remote for the television and flick through the channels, waiting an hour for her to call back. It’s 7:00 p.m. now and I’m getting antsy.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

“Pick up!” I snap. I wait for her voicemail, and then I hear her cheerful, husky voice.

Hi, this is Tully.

Leave a message.

I pause for a moment. “Tully, this is Brock. Call me.” I hang up, sip my beer and turn my attention back to the television, unimpressed.

I don’t wait for chicks to call me back. They always fucking answer my calls. This is annoying.