Page 143 of Come to Me
If I need anything. What a joke. He's everything I need and he's leaving and he's being so damn sweet about it.
But, I nod, okay, and I turn my back to him. The sky is still dark. The stars are still bright. The waves are still crashing onto the beach.
And I'm still empty.
* * *
The phone rings.
I ignore it.
But whoever is calling only tries again. Which tells me exactly who it is.
I stick my arm out from the blob of blankets, searching the nightstand blindly.
The familiar shape of the phone hits my palm on the third ring.
I pull it back into my blanket cocoon.
I clear my throat, knowing it won't help.
I'll still sound like I'm having a breakdown.
"Hello?"
"What a dick, huh?" Laurie mutters.
A laugh--the tiniest damn laugh in the world--catches in my throat. Maybe, one day a million years from now, I'll manage something close to happiness again.
"I mean. What kind of asshole calls you at six and begs you to fly, first class, on his dime, to spend half a week in Hawaii with your best friend?"
"It's worse that he's being considerate," I mutter. "He should have slapped me and told me he never wanted to see me again."
"Hmm. I'll hire someone to kill him."
"He deserves it."
"No, what he deserves is slow, painful torture. How could he invite you to God damn paradise then break up with you?"
I laugh again, but it's heavy in my chest. "I don't want to talk about Luke right now. Why don't you talk to me about what's going on with you?"
"Whatever you want. Let's see...oh, I ran into..."
* * *
I manageto drag myself out of bed for the rest of the trip.
For the most part I sit at little cafes, pounding cup after cup of coffee.
I don't do any amazing Hawaii things. There's no scuba diving, no happy hour cruises, no romantic dinners under the stars.
I eat, I drink, I call Laurie sporadically to talk about anything except Luke.
But the weight of it grows in my chest, refusing to be pushed away.
On the last night, I pack carelessly. There isn't much that matters here. Only clothes.
I sit on the balcony, staring at the waves, trying not to replay the moment where everything broke into a million little pieces.
