Perfect Chaos

“What?” Martha says.

“You heard me.”

“No, she wouldn’t have. She said she was done with all that shit.”

I pull back, staring at the metal of the intercom. “Done with all what shit?”

“Oh shit,” Martha breathes.

“Martha, what shit?” I get closer to the intercom again, my chest puffing, like she might be able to see my threatening stance.

“Nothing.” She cuts the line, and I clout the wall on an infuriated roar.

“Martha,” I yell, deranged, hammering at the intercom buzzer. She’ll be calling Lainey. Giving her the heads-up that I’m here and I’m mad. “Fuck.” I pull my phone out and dial Lainey, yelling some more when it goes straight to voicemail. “No.” I dial continuously until it finally rings, but she doesn’t answer. I knew she wouldn’t. Going to the intercom again, I press the buzzer repeatedly, not averse to staying here all night until Martha answers. Luckily for me, she gets pissed off after ten minutes and picks up. I breathe down the speaker, exhausted. “Where is she?” I ask. “Tell me where she is.”

“I can’t, Ty.”

“Damn it, Martha. Why’d you tell her I’m here?”

“Because she’s my sister, and although I think she’s been a total idiot, I still love her.”

“Tell me where she is.” I lower my voice to a calmer level. “Please, Martha. I’m begging you. I’ll stay here all night, I swear.” The line muffles before going dead, and my forehead meets the rough surface of the bricks. I feel lost. Hopeless. Fucking broken.

Pulling my heavy body away from the wall, I drag my feet back to my car, ready to get comfortable and wait for Lainey to get back. She has to come home at some point, and I plan on being here when she does.

As I fall into my seat, my phone chimes, and I look down to see a text.

I’m sorry x

She’s sorry? My heart squeezes in my chest, aching. Her message is so final. That’s it? Just a pathetic sorry? I deserve more than that. I gave my fucking heart to this woman, and all she has to say is sorry? No. I need way more than that. I dial her, but it just rings and rings before clicking to voicemail. This time, I leave a message, needing to vent. “So you kissed Sal? Fucking perfect, Lainey. Great. Seems married men are your thing, yeah? Tell me, were they all married? All the men I’ve seen you with or heard about, were they all married? Is that what I’m missing here? A ring on my finger from another woman? Is that why you’ve fought me all this time? Because I didn’t fit your sick criteria?” I can’t stop myself, my mouth running away with me. But I refuse to feel guilty. She’s pulled me in and pushed me away constantly. Yet I battled to win the prize. I wanted her so badly, and now I wish above all things that I’d never laid eyes on her, let alone touched her. Because if this is what broken-hearted feels like, I’ll never risk letting myself fall in love again. “I suppose you deserve a congratulations. You made Tyler Christianson fall in love with you and then you ripped his heart out and stamped all over the fucker. Well done, you.” I laugh coldly. “Well-fucking-done. I’d like to say it was good while it lasted, but it didn’t really last, did it? All out, Lainey. I’m all fucking out.” I hang up and drop my phone to my lap, clenching my fists and pushing them into the steering wheel to stop myself from punching the window. My only regret is that I couldn’t deliver those words to her face. Make her stand before me while I shot her down in a blaze of hateful words. Would I feel any more satisfied than I do now? No, because I have not one scrap of satisfaction running through my cold veins. I have more to say. So much more, but this time, I don’t call her. I wait, because I want her to look me in the eye. I want her to face the damage she’s caused. Because, honestly, I feel utterly broken.

Beyond repair.TAP, TAP, TAP

I shift in my seat, my arse tingling like a bitch.

Tap, tap, tap.

Grumbling, I stretch my legs, trying to find a comfortable position.

Tap, tap, tap.

It’s no good. I feel like I’m squished into a can of sardines. Why can’t I get comfy? I roll over . . . and smack my head on something fucking hard. “Arghhhhh.” I rub furiously at my forehead and blink my eyes open, frowning when my vision clears. It’s dark, and I’m staring at a road. “Huh?”

Then a face appears, close, pushed up to the glass. “Tyler,” Martha screeches.

I jump, hitting my head on the roof of my car. “For fuck’s sake.” I give my fresh bout of pain approximately two seconds of my attention. Then I remember where I am and why I’m here. “Lainey.” I search my lap for my phone, scrambling to dig it out from beneath my thigh. Ten missed calls. “Shit.” I scroll through the notifications. Two from Mum, three from Sal, five from Gina, and numerous voicemail alerts. But nothing from Lainey. My wretched bastard of a heart sinks.