Page 71 of Omega Artist
As far as I’m concerned, I never thought I’d be granted a second-chance at love. No matter how brief. No matter how one-sided. No matter how fictitious. I enjoyed what I had with Alie, but I now feel deeply betrayed by her for toying with my broken heart. Still, she also revealed that it wasn’t dead. And I’m stupid enough to be thankful, even if it’s of no use anymore...
Feelings are overrated, right?
He crinkles his nose. “Listen, man, you’ve been pretending to be okay, but your anger’s clear as day. You’ve been telling us that she had to run back to Europe, instead of sharing the truth about how hurt you are. You’ve been convincing yourself that you’re the victim in the situation.”
“What’re you trying to say? That I’m the bad guy?” My temper flares.
“Look, you’re a good friend, even if you’re pigheaded, at times.” He sighs, his accusing eyes boring into mine. “There’s no right or wrong here. There’s just two people in love, digging their heels in instead of working through their issues.”
“What a crock of bullshit!” I snap. “She used me. How can I ever forgive her? And, for the record, Alie doesn’t love me. I was a means to an end. Period.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Everyone saw how you two looked at each other. It’s obvious that Alie fell in love with you.”
“You’re saying that she’s in love with me, but she dumped me anyway. That’s your brilliant logic, huh?”
“It is. I’m shocked that nobody’s told you, considering that I’m the least romantic guy around…” Baffled, I can’t talk and he carries on. “Her ulterior motive has nothing to do with her feelings for you, no matter what she wants to prove. You need to go to her because you guys need to have a serious talk. You can’t throw everything down the drain without a fair fight.”
I offer a small embarrassed grin in response, and his answer encourages me to call it quits for the evening. I thank Troy for what it’s worth, ask him to excuse me, and let my friends know about my change of plans. I’ve had enough for one night. I need to go home and tamp down my overwhelmingly negative mental state.
Pure anger.
* * *
“Go away, Soraya!”I wish she’d stop pounding at the door already. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You haven’t answered your phone in days.”
“One. Fucking. Day!” I shout from my bedroom. Wearing nothing but my PJ pants, I reluctantly trudge to the front door that hasn’t been opened since Friday night. Nor have I set foot outside of my bedroom, aside from running to the freezer for pints of pistachio ice cream.
Because I’m an asshole, I don’t open the door and stand in place, with wayward hair, a parched mouth, a shit-eating grin plastered on my face, and bags under my eyes. “Even I know that it’s Sunday morning.” I have no clue what time it is, but the faint sun tells me that it’s way too early. I’ve barely slept since Friday night. Dwelling on my resentment. Pondering Troy’s assumptions. Questioning Alie’s words.
“I’m not alone.” Who cares? I prefer to be left alone and repeat my injunction in a lower voice. Unfortunately, my best friend knows me too well and bribes me in the most unfair way. “Open up and you’ll be rewarded with Ethel’srugelachfor your early breakfast.” There’s a pause. I doubt that my eighty-something former neighbor tagged along, but Soraya’s resourceful and will stop at nothing once she puts her mind to something; much like Alie, if you ask me. “Or I’ll keep knocking and wake up your neighbors.”
I let her stew for another minute.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” My very pregnant friend doesn’t wait for my answer and saunters into to the kitchen to put the Jewish delicacy on the counter. I follow her there.
“I turned it off to shut people out…” I heave a sigh. “But didn’t account for your persistence.”
Making coffee, she explains that Troy called her when he couldn’t get a hold of me yesterday. The delicious smell of freshly brewed java permeates the apartment, and I finally concede that I’m glad she’s here.
“There you go.” She hands me a full mug and slips onto the barstool next to me.
I take a sip, burning the tip of my tongue, and wince. It’s a good reminder that I should move on to the next stage of my grieving process for Alie. Acceptance… although I don’t think I followed the stages to a T. Bitterness. Fury. Retribution… None of them will do me any good. I’m not the person that I was back when I lost Delia. I learned a lot from my time with Alie. Partying, booze and weed aren’t the keys to moving forward. Been there, done that.
“So…” she pauses for effect and blows on the steaming coffee. “l read Alie’s post.” I grumble, feigning indifference. “No wonder it upset you.”
I have no explanation for why my initial reaction to Alie’s post completely backfired on me. As soon as I got home on Friday night, I sprinted into the bathroom and emptied the contents of my stomach. It struck me that it seemed to have become my new habit whenever Alie was concerned. Consequently, I brushed my teeth and felt compelled to jerk off during a freezing shower becauseAlbertwas disappointed at missing out on the action.
“What is it to you?” I grab therugelachto soothe my aching taste buds with an overload of sugar and take a bite of the deliciously flaky pastry that Ethel’s perfected over the years. Delia wasn’t a fan of Jewish cooking, but I enjoy most of it.
Soraya ignores my attitude, swallows her own mouthful of the sweet dessert, and bursts out laughing at my legitimate question. “You’re so infuriating.” She makes a throaty noise to express her irritation. “Will you ever learn?”
“What do you mean?” I blurt out, my mouth full, and I wash it down with coffee. Still too hot, fuck! Why does the universe hate me today?
“I love you, and I want you to be happy again. You realize that—”
“I’m perfectly happy!” I protest a little too vehemently.
