Page 39 of If My Wishes Came True
“Oh my god,” I say, lifting my hand to my mouth. “I did show him my tattoo, but that was it…we didn’t kiss, or anything.”
“You don’t need to convince me, Jenna, I believe you. Grady’s a total piece of shit,” Dex says, his voice infused with anger again. “I guess this was his backup plan, when he realized you weren’t going to sleep with him. I’m really sorry. I hate having to tell you this—I just figured you should know.”
I nod, wiping my eyes. “No, I’m glad you told me. I just can’t believe what a liar he is. Now, I don’t know if a single word he said to me last night was true. I mean, he showed me these beautiful old photographs of his grandparents, and told me this sob story about his mother leaving him…but was any of it real? Or was he just trying to manipulate me?”
A chill runs down my spine. I already had trust issues with men before Grady. What is this going to do to me?
“Well, he brought his grandparents to the Oscars last year, so I guess that much is true. And…come to think of it, I do remember him mentioning his mom to me once. This was a long time ago, in the early days of our careers, before the Bella ordeal. We were at a party, and he was drunk, and said his mom was a heartless bitch—something like that. So, I guess that tracks. But it’s no excuse for how he treats women. I mean, Sunny’s dad abandoned her, but it didn’t make her cruel.”
“Exactly,” I say, sniffling.
“Are you gonna be okay?” he asks me. “What can I do to help?”
I try my best to hold it together. Dex doesn’t know that something similar happened to me in grad school. He has no idea how triggering this is for me.
“I’ll be fine,” I say after a deep breath. “Really. But thanks for telling me. I’m gonna go now—I have to pull myself together for a work meeting. Give my love to Sunny and the baby, okay?”
I hang up before he can answer.
My eyelids flutter open when harsh sunlight fills my bedroom again. I keep forgetting to close the damn blinds. It’s Wednesday, now. I think. It’s hard to keep track of time when you’re barely getting out of bed.
I felt this coming on as soon as Dex told me what Grady did. So, before I went down, I emailed my clients and told them I was sick, and that I’d be in touch to reschedule our meetings. I already knew what to expect. I’ve been through this before.
When Christy drove to Ann Arbor and dragged me out of bed, I felt just like this.
Not sick. But numb.
Lifeless.
I wonder how often my mom feels this way.
I think about calling her…but I haven’t asked her for emotional support once in my life, so why start now? I doubt she has any to give. If anything, she’ll call my sister, and make her come to my rescue.
But I promised Christy I wouldn’t burden her like that ever again. Which is why I responded to her phone call yesterday morning with a text message that took me an hour to write. I had to make it sound like bubbly and bright—which seemed impossible, given the storm cloud in my head. Finally, I came up with:Hey! Doing well! Super busy with work since I went viral. Promise to call soon!!
I think the exclamation marks helped sell it. Made it seem like I’m not back in that dark place again. I hope so, at least.
I sent the same message to Dex when he called on Monday night to check on me.
And I cut and pasted those words in a text to Vanessa, when she called last night to ask how my weekend was, and if I’d had another date with Charlie.
My god, that feels like a lifetime ago. It’s been four days since he slipped that sweet note under my door, and he hasn’t heard a thing from me. I’m sure he’s given up and moved on.
I hope he doesn’t think I’m some cold-hearted bitch who ghosted him.
Tears stream down my face at the thought.
Heartbroken, I close my eyes and fall back to sleep, because it’s the only way I get a break from feeling this low. This rotten. Empty.
And even though I know the goddamn blinds are still open, I can’t muster the energy to do anything about it.
I wake up on Thursday morning with the worst headache of mylife. My mouth is dry, and I can’t remember the last time I had anything to drink.
A wave of anxiety rushes through me, and for the first time since Monday, I want to get out of bed. I amble to the kitchen, my muscles stiff and achy, fill a glass with tap water, and down it all in a few large gulps.
Suddenly overwhelmed by hunger, I scarf down whatever I can get my hands on, which isn’t much, since I haven’t been grocery shopping this week. I find a banana in a bowl on the counter, and one last cup of yogurt in the fridge. After I eat, I stand in front of the mirror in the foyer and begin to cry.
I look like hell. I haven’t showered since before I left for dinner at Grady’s. I still have the same makeup on that I fell asleep in at his place. It’s been four whole days.
