Page 2 of Boyfriend From Hell
“No answer?” A soft voice cut through the wall of sadness that had begun to close in around me.
I lifted my eyes and met Gracie’s gaze again—this time, the blatant amusement was gone, replaced by a quiet understanding I hadn’t seen before. There was no way she could ever understand what this felt like. To my knowledge she’d been with the same guy since high school, I doubted she’d ever even experienced heartbreak. And if she had, she sure as hell never said anything to me about it.
Men always seemed to pine after her –perfect, Gracie.Whereas I always felt like I had to sell myself like a prize pony, hoping to land a semi-decent man.
I silently wondered if I should send him a follow up text, but quickly decided against it. I already called him five times in the last forty-eight hours leading up to my birthday (but we don’t need to talk about that).
If Gracie and her boyfriend ever broke up, I bet he would have brought her things to her if she moved out.No. Her boyfriend—fiancérather—damn near worshiped the groundshe walked on. Hell would freeze over before either of them even considered breaking up.
I shrugged it off. “Probably busy—a meeting or something,” I mumbled and grabbed the lukewarm chai that sat in front of me beside my phone.
Gracie sighed and reached her hand out toward mine; her perfect porcelain fingers grazed my skin before she delicately laced them around my wrist. I couldn’t help but avert my eyes as the gargantuan emerald-cut rock weighing down her ring finger flashed in the soft café light.
“I don’t know why you ever put up with him to begin with. He’s an asshole—he’s alwaysbeenan asshole. This break up aside, this isn’t even the first birthday of yours he’s missed. What boyfriend—whatman—can’t even be bothered to pick up his phone for his woman on her birthday?”
“I’m not his woman anymore." Saying the words out loud made me feel small, tears burning at the corners of my eyes just from voicing them. Gracie scoffed. “Regardless,Deer. I don’t care if you guys just broke up—the least he could do, if he’s going to be that big of a dick and not even wish you a happy birthday, is offer to help you move. I mean, it's not like you have a car. Work or not, what if it was an emergency, you know?” She huffed again, saying everything as if he still cared about me.
There was a break in her words, giving me a moment to blink the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes back. She wasn’t wrong, if the tables had been turned, I would have likely still wished Felix a happy birthday or at the very least, if he had called several times, reached out to see what was up.
“Do you still have a lot of thingsat his place?”
I shook my head – a lie. I definitely hada lotof things still there. When I moved out, I mainly brought my essentials—things I couldn’t survive without, which ended up only being a handful of boxes. Kind of sad, really.
Everything I had left behind, I already mentally said goodbye to and assumed I’d never see again.
Gracie sighed and reached her other hand across the table to rest both hands on mine, rubbing her thumbs across my skin. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at breakups, too many rom-coms. I guess I just figured since you guys were together for so long he’d at least, I don’t know. Be less sucky? Do you think he’s already moved on?”
Uh, ouch?Her question felt like a slap to the face.
“I don’t know?” I scrunched my face up at the question. It completely caught me off guard. I assumed (hoped) if he was too busy to be around for me when weweretogether (him not seeing a future with me aside) that meant healsodidn’t have time for anyone else.
She mumbled something under her breath I couldn’t quite hear, not that I particularlywantedto hear it. I wanted to skirt the topic of my ex already moving on as fast as humanly possible. Why would she even care if he moved on already, anyway? It’s not like he’sherex.
I sighed. I knew she was just being a good friend and looking out for me, as any best friend would, but the words still stung all the same. Break ups are never easy, I would know. Every man I’d ever been with left me for one piss-poor reason or another. Maybe I’m the problem. Maybe I’m just purely unlovable. I shook my head, keeping my eyes locked on the taupe-colored liquid in my mug. I could feel the familiar stingof tears in my eyes, but I’ll be damned if I let myself cry again. Not that I didn’twantto cry, just not here. Hell, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a weeping ball and wail. But I couldn’t do that here––especially not in front of Gracie. What I really wanted to do was rip my heart from my chest and throw it under an oncoming bus just to rid myself of the thing all together.
Gracie retracted her hands and scoffed; I didn’t need to look at her to know that my best friend's face was twisted in her signature beautiful scowl.
“I know exactly what you need!”
Reluctantly, I looked up at her and groaned at the familiar scheming sound of her voice.
“You need to forget about that asshat and go out! You’re in a new city—a new city thatIjust so happen to live in and know all the best clubs. What do you say?”
How am I supposed to answer that? Am I supposed to confess I’m desperate and wished he’d text me back saying this was all a sick joke and he wants me back? Or that I’d rather sit in the dark and stare at my phone, waiting for his name to pop up? Admit I’m weak and don’t actually want to move on or even try to? Acknowledge I have some type of deep-seated low self-worth that only a therapist could help me with?
Pass.
I haul my mug to my lips. “It’s only been six months,” I state dryly before I sip my now cold drink.
A snort escapes my friend. “Yea six months post-Felix, but be real, Deer. It’s not like he was ever there to begin with. Sure, he’s hot-ish, but besides that he doesn’t have anything going forhim! He was always leaving you to go on work trips,he was barely around to begin with.”
I made a face at her at the mention of him being hot-ish.She wasn’t wrong—he’d been absent in almost every way throughout the entirety of our relationship. But still, I wasn’talone-alone.It was true though; he was never really present for me. Hedidpay my bills while we lived together and that waspretty ideal. For an aspiring author, it was honestly the most ideal really—if you looked at it, closed one eye and squinted the other, it was perfect. But the lonely nights vastly outweighed the nights where he was home in any capacity.
Four years ago, at the start of our relationship, he had been perfect. Doting on me, taking me on romantic dates, toe-curling sex. He was more than hot-ish to me. He was everything. I had been head over heels for him, so of course when he asked me to move in—with the promise of taking care of me and someday making me his wife—no shit, I said yes. Who wouldn’t have?
I was just starting my career as an independent author after being rejected by hundreds of agents. Bills paid, rent free life with a hot man? Sign me up! But then, it all came to an end—of course—as all my relationships did. He was offered a promotion at work in year two of our relationship, and that’s when the distance between us really showed itself.
In the beginning, he would make it a point to call me every night, no matter the time zone. Video chat, text, email—whatever he could do to stay in contact with me, he did. But then it started with a missed call, then it became “I worked late and crashed early” texts, then came the missed calls and no texts at all. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the continuous flowof money into the account he had set up for me when I first moved in, coupled with the fact the lights were still working in his house, I would have thought the man died.
