Page 20 of Trashy Foreplay

“I thought we should talk,” he interrupts my mental tirade. “I’ve calmed down a lot since yesterday.”

Is he fucking serious? He made it clear he wasn’t coming back. I would have put money on him never wanting to speak to me again after the things he said. I deserved his anger, but his callous words hurt like hell.

And I can’t do this anymore. The realization knocks me sideways, and I crumple to my makeshift bed, sitting cross-legged on the air mattress. Yesterday morning, I felt as if my life were over. But now…

Now, I have some clarity. A promise of a fresh start, no matter how scared I might be to venture down that uncertain, exciting path.

“Jules?”

“So talk,” I say.

“Look, can we not do this over the phone? Where are you, anyway? I heard you quit your job.”

I bite back a scoff. More like forced into resignation, but whatever. People will spin it however they want, and that only reminds me of my reasons for leaving. “I’m not there,” I say.

“Well, no shit, Jules. I’ve been here waiting for over an hour, and you weren’t answering my calls, so I was about to go looking for you. Can you just come home so we can deal with this shit?”

I count to five, willing my voice to remain calm and collected because his attitude is digging under my skin. “I mean, I’m not in Oklahoma.”

The silence on his end is deafening, but I hold off prodding him for a response. Part of me expects the eruption. Prepares for it, even.

“What the hell?” he shouts. “What do you mean, you’re not in Oklahoma? Where the fuck are you then?”

I’m tempted to ask how he could miss the empty closet and dresser, not to mention the disarray I left in my wake, but I guess he’s not as observant as I am. He probably didn’t even miss my fucking toothbrush. “I’m in Seattle.”

“Damn it, Jules. Now’s not the time for you to go on vacation, especially to visit that bitch. She’ll just fill your head with poison.”

“Actually,” I begin, brimming with anger over what he just said about Lesley, “she’s letting me stay with her and the band while I look for a job.” I leave it at that and wait for what I said to sink in.

“Babe…no.” His voice evens out, and I recognize the tone all too well. It’s one he uses when he wants to get his way. “You gotta come home. Running away isn’t going to fix this. I love you. Please, Jules.”

The desperation in his words tugs at my heart, making me tighten my hold around the phone. The part of me that still loves him is whittling away at my resolve. It would be so easy to go home, to fall back into habits as comfortable as an old pair of shoes. Safe shoes. The kind without spiky heels that have the potential to trip me up.

I wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing my family any more than I already have. Wouldn’t have to worry about selling the car I left behind, or hiring someone to clean up the mess I left in the apartment.

And things would be okay for a while. Chris and I would be the best versions of ourselves until our wants and needs take us in separate directions. Then the screaming would start. The mistrust and mistakes. Our love has become as poisonous as a belladonna; a blooming beauty that has the power to kill the soul with one little taste.

“We’re toxic together,” I say, my throat thick with sorrow and hurt and regret. So much regret. “All we do is hurt each other. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Are you doing this because of the marriage thing?”

I’d laugh if I wasn’t so emotionally battered. For three years, I waited for him to put a ring on it. Now it’s clear to me that he never intended to.

“No, Chris. I just…I think this is for the best. For both of us.”

“Don’t do this to us.” God, he sounds desperate. “Stop and think about it first.”

Oh, the fucking irony. I said something similar to him before he walked out on me.

“I have. I was a wreck yesterday. I thought of nothing else, Chris.”

His heavy sigh drifts through the line. “I’ve made mistakes too, babe. I was way too hard on you. I realize that now. Can you just come home so we can talk about this?”

“I can’t.”

“Then I’ll come to you.”

“No, you won’t.” Chris flying halfway across the country to “fix” us is inconceivable. He loves me, but not enough. He said it himself, and I actually believe it now. Heartbreak bands around my chest, a life-sucking reminder of the agony of yesterday. “I’ve gotta go. The apartment is paid for through the next thirty days, so if you need a place to stay—”

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