Page 94 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

I listen to that one instead.

Chapter 29

LONDYN

HE'S NOT COMING.

What was I even thinking? He knows about my past. He knows I'm a complicated disaster. And he doesn't want to get involved beyond just doing his job.

I can't say I'm not sad, but I understand his decision. I wouldn't want to get involved with me, either.

As I sit on the couch with my heart pounding so much I'm on the verge of a panic attack, I glance at the time on my phone: 7:58 PM. Well, I did tell him eight, and there are two minutes left. Technically, Sean could still walk through that door. This morning, Mike did fly home for the weekend.

But between Mike flying home and now, Sean could've had all sorts of thoughts and decided he'd rather be the supporting cast instead of my leading man.

I grip the edge of the couch cushions, my left leg bouncing with enough force to rattle my entire body. One more minute. If he doesn't come, I'll feel like such a fool, and tt'll be so hard to look at him tomorrow, wondering what he might think of me and my unusual 'request.'

No, I can't think that way. I'm not a fool for trying to step outside my cage and for speaking up about something that honors my boundaries, even if it is unusual. And Sean has a right to choose if he wants this. If he doesn't, that's okay. I can deal with the rejection.

Maybe.

My gaze drifts to the chair I've positioned near the couch. There's a black duffel bag on it that contains everything I purchased online. It's physical proof of the hope I let myself feel.

Stupid hope.

I hunch forward and rest my elbows on my knees, the pain of rejection already squeezing every part of me like I'm bracing for my plane to crash. Next time I see him, I’ll keep wondering if he didn’t come because he sees me as a victim, some broken and sad creature.

The clock ticks over to 8:00 PM and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to manifest the sound of someone knocking at the door.

It doesn't come.

My spiraling thoughts drag me into a vortex I know too well, so I push myself up from the couch. My legs are unsteady as I walk to my desk and grab a notepad and pen.

Numbers always make sense. They follow rules. They don't surprise you or leave you or see you as damaged goods.

I settle back on the couch and begin writing out equations. They're simple at first, then they become complex percentages. Soon, my brain gets focused only on what I'm scribbling and stops focusing on how I feel like I'm sinking.

Five minutes crawl by, each second stretching into infinity. I check the clock again. 8:06 PM.

Well. That's it. Reality has settled in and this scenario has come to its inevitable end. He's actually not coming. And while some rational part of me understands, the rest of me crumples inward like a collapsing star.

I was a fool. A complete and utter fool. When will I learn that people like me don't get to have normal relationships? That some damage can't be repaired, only managed? I'm forced to manage it because I have no choice; no man will willingly manage it with me.

I try to focus on the numbers on my notepad, but they blur from the tears. I blink rapidly, refusing to let them fall. I won't cry over this. Shouldn't.

But my body doesn't care. A tear escapes, landing on the notepad and soaking up some ink. Another falls. And another. Soon, I'm viewing my scribbles through a waterfall.

I keep writing anyway, refusing to surrender completely to disappointment. I'm trying to finish some division when I hear three soft knocks.

My head snaps up. Did I imagine that?

Three more knocks, slightly firmer this time.

I gasp and my heart does a few flips.

Sean. Sean is here?

So many emotions flood me at once: relief and terror and joy and panic, all tangling into a knot. I jump to my feet and scurry to the door. I can do this. I'm in control. This is on my terms and I've planned it all out. I'm going to push beyond my fears once and for all, but only at my pace.

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