Page 47 of The Biker and the Gamer
“In the meantime, try to be productive and do somethingotherthan hiding out in here watching videos of her all day long.”
I don’t even bother attempting to deny it.
He turns to leave, then stops just before he’s about to walk through the door and tells me over his shoulder, "Don't ever doubt my willingness to do whatever it takes to see you happy. Love you, man."
"Same," I whisper to his back as he leaves. Because there isn’t anything that I wouldn’t do for him either.
I pick up my iPad and hit “play.”
“What are you most passionate about, Kendra?”
“Weed.”
Kendra
It's been fivemonths.
Five months since he left and my heart is still a wreck. I knew I would miss him, but not this much. Not this badly. I didn't anticipate this hurt. To be affected so greatly by his absence.
For the first week, in an attempt to dull the pain, I would get high as a kite every night, but all that did was intensify it, and I would end up crying myself to sleep.
Me. Kendra Tisdale. Sobbing over a man. No one would ever believe it.
By week two, I booked a ticket to Paris and took an impromptu two-week vacation.
It helped some. To be in a new place with new faces and tastes. The anonymity gave me the freedom to hurt out loud. I imagined he was with me the entire time, annoying me, pushing my buttons, getting me to roll my eyes and smile when I didn't want to.
It was bittersweet; being able to travel for the first time, on my own dime, free and untethered, but at the same time wishing I was doing it with him.
I suppose that, subconsciously, I was being spiteful when I bought the ticket. During postcoital ramblings one night, I’d divulged that I’d never traveled before and that, whenever I got the chance to, I wanted Paris to be the first place I visited. That night, he made me promise him that I'd let him be the one to take me, and then he went on to tell me all about it, its magic, all the things we would do.
I hadn’t done even a third of those things on my trip. For one, I had no idea where to even start, and two, my budget allowed me only so much.
Breaking my promise to Alec and going on my own was my way of accepting that we were over—my first active step to moving on. We weren't together anymore. Our time was up. What would’ve been the point of holding out on something that would likely never happen? Now that he’s back in California where all the sexy, glamourous, super-tanned, super-tone, super-beautiful people are, he’s no doubt starting to realize—or be reminded, rather—that I'm nothing special. I was good enough for occupying his time while he was here. But there's nothing to hope for now. Nothing to do but keep it moving.
When I came back from Paris, things only got worse.
I've lived in Denver my whole life. It's my city. Have it inked into my skin, for Christ’s sake. But suddenly, it doesn’t feel the same without him here. It’s becomehiscity. He and his team had marked it. I see him everywhere. Save for the Den of Heathens compound, there’s nowhere I can go without thinking of him. I can still see their whacky, bright-colored Jeeps bouncing around town. See them hanging out at every hole in the wall, eating at every restaurant, hiking up every hill and through every forest, with video cameras, microphones and all sorts of gadgets. The city suddenly seems...boring without them running around painting it red. And every time I pass his old office on Market Street…I still see his neon green Wrangler parked on the outside. Then just a couple of blocks later on Walnut Street is his warehouse loft, which Isaac now lives in.
Back from Paris, I started to resent him for marking my city. How would I move on when everywhere reminds me of him? For a long time, I thought about getting on a plane and leaving for as long as it'd take me to get over him. Until I became determined to reclaim my city. No way was I letting him chase me out. Besides, if I was going to leave, I might as well go be with him wherever he was, considering our whole reason for us not working out is my unwillingness to leave. What would be gained from leaving to nurse a broken heart that was brought on by menotleaving? It didn't make much sense.
Resolute on taking back my city from the claws of his heart-constricting memories, I intentionally began revisiting all the places we went together andembracingthe memories of him rather than fighting them. I hung out with the people who would for sure remind me of him—his brothers. Mostly Isaac.
And sometimes, when I got "messed up"—weed or alcohol—from missing him so much—Isaac would let me sleep in the room that used to be Alec's. The sheets and duvet are the same from before he left, and unwashed, so they still smelled of him. Of us.
I can't say if it’s been a good or bad idea so far, but embracing Alec’snon-presence has chased away my itch to flee. The biggest side effect of that, however, is that he's now alive in my mind,all the time. And it sucks.
"You know you eat like shit, right?" Isaac's voice pulls me from my depressive thoughts.
"And it feelsoh sogood," I say and take another bite of my sticky, cheesy, pork and beef sandwich. Melted cheese drips and sticks to my lips and fingers and it’s stinking delicious. "Unlike you and your stupid brother, some of us love the taste of meat. Mhm-yum."
It's my lunch hour, and I’m sharing it with Isaac and Leyana at Cookie's Treat. Cookie recently added delicious lunch sandwiches to her menu and it's become my favorite spot to come grab lunch with Ley. Isaac sometimes joins us; not for the yummy pastry or tasty sandwiches, but for the "super-hot babes" who work here.
It's true, though. Cookie's nephew, Onyx, oversees employment of the all-female staff and only the most drop-dead-gorgeous, sexy-as-hell girls are hired. Hooters’ got nothing on Cookie's Treat. Suffice it to say, the clientele here is ninety percent male.
"Ourentirefamily follows a pescatarian diet," he tells me. "Our parents are strictly vegan, but they allowed us fish and eggs growing up."
"That's so sad," Leyana says as she bites into her own meaty, cheesy sandwich. We both share an intense love for food.
