Page 109 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
After Chloe’s gone, Heavenly stares at me for a long time from her place near the bathroom door, while I lie flat on my back with tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
“You should tell her, A.J.”
I sit up and rest my elbows on my knees. I don’t know if I can answer; the crushing weight on my chest is almost too much to bear. But finally I manage it. “I know what I’m doing. It’s better this way.”
“She loves you. She’ll stay with you if you tell her the truth.”
I bow my head and close my eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
I hear Heavenly cross the room. Fabric rustles; she’s pulling on her dress. Then she kneels beside me on the mattress and rests her hand on my arm.
When I look up at her, I can’t stand the pity in her eyes, so I look away.
In Russian, she says, “You can still be happy, old friend. It’s not too late.”
“It is too late,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I knew this was coming, and I took it way too far with her. I should have ended it sooner. I should have never started it in the first place.”
She sighs. She knows it’s useless to argue with me, and we’ve been over this before. This is the way it has to be. This is the only thing I can offer after how selfish I’ve been. It’s easier to leave in anger than in sadness, and now Chloe will hate my guts forever. That, at least, will give her some strength.
I know from personal experience how motivating hatred can be.
Heavenly stands and stares down at me. “You’re a fool. If I had a chance at real happiness like you do, there’s nothing on earth that could stop me from taking it. And you’re just throwing it away.”
The laugh that tears from my throat is more like a moan of despair. “Don’t be stupid. There are no happily-ever-afters for people like you and me.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she softly agrees, “but if I had what you have, it wouldn’t stop me from trying.”
She turns and walks to the door, picking up her clutch from the sofa on the way. She steps into her heels, then pauses for a moment before looking back at me one last time.
“And it’s never too late, A.J. As long as you’re still breathing, it’s not too late.”
She lets herself out, gently closing the door behind her.
I don’t remember the drive to my apartment. I don’t remember parking the car, or taking the elevator, or unlocking the door. I move like a sleepwalker, blind and deaf, only coming to consciousness when hot water pours over my head.
I take a shower fully clothed, shivering violently, my teeth chattering though the water is almost scalding. I can’t get warm. Everything inside me feels frozen. Beneath my skin lies nothing but a vast, deserted tundra of ice.
A lie. It was all a lie. He never loved me at all.
Finally, the full force of the pain hits me, and I bawl. My body is wracked with the strength of my sobs. I can’t stand up anymore, so I slide to the floor and lean against the shower wall, crying hard, snot running down my face, my arms wrapped around my knees as the water pounds over me.
I don’t know how long I stay under the spray. Long after the water turns cold, I sit in the corner of the stall with my arms around my knees, shaking. Somehow I eventually find the strength to stand, turn off the water, and strip out of my clothes. I leave them in a sodden pile on the bathroom floor. I don’t bother to dry off. I make it to my bed before my strength gives out, and I curl into a ball with the covers pulled over my head.
For hours uncounted I lie there in silent misery, rising only once to lean over the toilet and puke.
That day passes. I don’t eat. I don’t drink. I don’t answer the house phone or my cell phone when they ring. I know I’m in some kind of shock, and that this isn’t healthy, but I can’t find the strength to care. I have nothing left. I’ve been hollowed out, scraped clean.
I sleep.
I cry.
I die a thousand deaths, each time I remember it.
Another day passes. I wonder how my heart keeps beating.
I wish it wouldn’t.
After another day
