Page 57 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“It’s not possible. I can’t subject anyone else to that.”
“Your ex-girlfriend is your ex for a reason. You can’t allow her to dictate the rest of your life; she’s unhinged,” Billie said casually. She’d relayed the exact same sentence in various ways over the years. Moving on was easier said than done.
“I lost someone I saw a future with because of her.”
“I’ve told you a thousand times, if she had been the right person for you, she would’ve stuck around. You know that deep down.”
“I’m not sure I would’ve stuck around.”
My ex-girlfriend was my first girlfriend. I was the love of her life or more fittingly her fanatical obsession. Our relationship came to an end after two years due to our incompatibility and her unhealthy compulsive liar status. We brought out the worst in each other. She took the breakup a lot harder than I did, but I’d hoped we could find a way to be friends. How naive.
I eventually moved on and started dating someone new. I invited my ex to my twenty-fifth birthday party. We had a lot of mutual friends, and she knew my family. We’d been forming a friendship of sorts via text in the weeks leading up to it. I didn’t want her to feel left out. It was in my nature to please people. We’d been separated for four months; I figured she’d moved on.
She hadn’t.
The whole evening resembled something out ofLove Island. Picture the most dramatic fall out after Casa Amor, but make it gay. It was chaotic. My ex refused to accept I was trying to move on. She refused to leave. She refused to stop drinking shots of sambuca, and she acted like I’d just walked back into the “villa” hand in hand with a new woman three days after our breakup.
She’d flailed her arms in a rage and knocked my glass of wine all over my dress. Ten minutes later she was yelling profanities across the table at my date before falling over in a drunken heap. She took the tablecloth, leftover buffet, and a bunch of drinks crashing to the floor with her. The broken glass cut her arm which caused red stain number two. My twenty-fifth birthday was spent in the emergency room holding a blood-stained towel to her forearm whilst my new love interest planned her escape.
I couldn’t blame her. The next day I received a text message ending things. It hurt, but I couldn’t say I was surprised.
“She doesn’t bother you as much now. When was the last time you heard from her?”
“She texted me the day we left for Mexico, just saying she hopes I have a good time.” I shrugged. The texts were less frequent now, but the fear and concern resurfaced every time I saw her name appear on my phone. How was I supposed to introduce someone new to my life when I still had the baggage of my past.
“You didn’t tell me that,” Billie said.
“What is there to say? I reply out of guilt. I’d worry for her well-being if I didn’t, but she doesn’t bombard me like she used to; so that’s a positive. I’m sure there’ll be a way we can both move forwards one day, but until then I can’t put someone else through that drama.” That was the reality. I was petrified of falling for someone new.
“You know how to get around that drama?” Billie wiggled her eyebrows.
“I can’t wait to hear this,” I said sarcastically.
“You date an American.”
“Oh really? Just as easy as that. I wonder where I could find one of those,” I joked.
“This resort seems like a good place to start.”
“What about the long distance?” I challenged.
“Love has no distance.” Billie smirked.
“Pfft. You’re crazy.” I removed the dress; it needed steaming if I was going to be seen outside the hotel room.
“Besides, the bigLis a pipe dream.”
“It always is until you find the right person,” Billie said.
“You sound like a Hallmark movie.”
“You can’t tell me the best movies aren’t the ones starring your childhood crush actors from your favourite high school TV dramas cringing you out at every turn.”
“No, you’re right.” I’d seen enough to write my own, except mine would’ve been LGBT+ friendly. The low-budget movies were a staple of the holiday season, but if the heroine could’ve wound up with the other heroine every so often I would’ve greatly appreciated it.
“Shit, I better get ready.” Billie leapt up from her position on the balcony. “I’ve been thinking about all the material I’ve got to embarrass you—so I was thinking,”
Help.
