Laura

 

 

 

I have no idea what to do with myself. It's a lazy Sunday afternoon and the apartment is filled with silence. Outside the sun is suggesting a wide array of activities that I don't feel like doing. My blinds are pulled down to keep the intense light out. I don't feel bad about it at all. The sun is always shining, and it has almost every single day since we moved here. There's no reason to feel pushed to do anything outside because tomorrow will be a repeat of today.

Unlike me, Layla is still receptive to the sun's alluring call. She's out with her boyfriend, strolling and eating ice cream, as far as I know. She hasn't been home a lot lately, and most of her days and nights are filled with the excitement of a newfound love.

I'm jealous. I wish I could feel this way about Steven. We only started dating a few weeks ago and haven't even had sex yet, much to his chagrin. We're getting close to our two-month anniversary, and he probably thinks I'm the biggest prude on Earth, but I couldn't care less. Instead of planning a fancy dinner to celebrate our first eight weeks together, I've been absorbed with wanting to break up with him. The only thing that's keeping me from doing it is my bad conscience.

Steven is a good guy, really nice, attentive, smart, and good-looking. We met at a bar while I was out with Layla and her – back then – not-yet-boyfriend. After a few drinks, they both decided it was time for me to find a guy, and dared me to strike up a conversation with the first guy I saw and liked. I had enough drinks in me to think that all of this was super hilarious and drunkenly allowed myself to be swept into Steven's arms on the dance floor. We'd been eyeing each other all night, but he never had the courage to approach me. He's too shy, too nice, and anything but ballsy. He's a good guy, a normal guy, with a steady job and no skeletons that I know of in his closet.

And that's exactly the problem with him.

He's too normal. Too nice.

I never thought I'd be one of those girls who break up with their boyfriends because they're too nice or too good to them. Every time I heard Layla complain about her dates being too nice and normal, I shook my head and declared her crazy. How could that be an issue?

Now I understand.

It's mind numbingly boring, and I'm pretty sure that Steven's good nature is also part of the reason why I never had any interest in sleeping with him. I just don't feel attracted to him in that way. He doesn't excite me, just like no one ever excited me before.

Until him.

Ryan. My master.

A sharp sting cuts through my heart every time I remember him. God knows I've tried to forget about him, because I know I had to. There was no chance I would ever see him again. He made that very clear, even before anything happened between us. I knew what I was getting myself into.

Except, I didn't.

I didn't expect it to be like this. This great, this special, this overwhelming.

How am I ever supposed to get over this, over him? I'm completely lost. The thought that I may never feel the same kind of thrill again saddens me to no end.

What if this was it? What if I never feel this way again? What if I spend the rest of my life searching for this feeling, going through boyfriend after boyfriend, breaking hearts left and right, because my own remains unsatisfied, and it‘s nobody's fault but my own?

I curl up on my bed, fighting the tears as a gripping sensation of loneliness washes over me.

Objectively, I have very little reason to complain. My life is fine. Better than fine, actually.

I was paid one day after Ryan sent me home. Of course, my bank instantly contacted me to make sure it wasn't a mistake, or that I was involved in some kind of illegal business. I never even thought about the aftermath of our date – if one can call it that. Receiving an insane amount of money, explaining myself to Layla – I left all of those worries to future Laura. But as soon as I stepped out of Ryan's house and got into the limousine to take me home, I was that future Laura. Faced with tough decisions and a reality that still seemed too surreal to grasp, I found myself at the kitchen table, Layla already there waiting for me, ridden with worry and a lot of questions.

I decided to tell her the truth, as ugly as it may be.

Only weak people resort to lying.

That's what Ryan said, and his words still echo in my head to this day. I didn't want to be someone he'd regard as weak, that's why I trusted my best friend with the truth. Layla reacted just the way I expected - shocked, understanding, and overjoyed. In that order. While she thought the whole idea was as weird and appalling as I thought at first, she was quickly relieved when she learned that I enjoyed myself. I never told her the details about my night with Ryan because that didn't feel right. I only told her about the lavish wealth, the bliss, and the thrill he provided me.

His payment allowed both of us to quit our detested jobs right away, and we were on our way to California less than a month later, sharing a bottle of champagne in our first class seats.

We had no plan, but we had money. Enough money to rent an apartment close to the city and stay afloat for a while before deciding what we wanted to do with our life. Layla felt bad about taking advantage of my money, even though I told her I didn't mind one bit. If it wasn't for her, the loneliness after being apart from Ryan would've been unbearable.

Nevertheless, it didn't take her long to find a job that made her happier – and funnily enough, richer – than the part-time jobs she used to take on before. She's working in the sales department for a fashion designer, a job she was able to land through an unpaid internship she completed beforehand. She never would've been able to go through with that internship if it hadn't been for my money, and she never got tired of thanking me for the opportunity.

I'm happy for her, I really am. I never wanted her to pay me back for anything, or feel guilty for the support I was able to give her. What kind of friend would I be if I was this petty?

But there is one thing that bugs me, and it's only adding to my general status of feeling lonely and lost.

Layla found what she was looking for. She's enjoying her job, she found a boyfriend who she's crazy about, and she's found her path in life.

I still haven't.

I still have no idea what to do with myself, and I've lacked the motivation to take any initiative. For me, there was no urgent need to work, and I didn't think that a job was what I needed to begin with. I always thought about going back to college. That's been the idea since I got hold of all that money. But the money is almost gone now. Large chunks of it were used to pay off the debt I was left with after my mother's death. I didn't have to pay it back all at once. They offered to simply let me increase the monthly installment amount I had been paying before, but I declined. I no longer wanted this to be part of my life. I needed to free myself of everything from that horrible time in my life and to be able to finally move on.

But move on to what?

I let out a deep sigh, bobbing up from the bed to make my way to the kitchen. It's only 5 p.m., but I decide that it's never too early for a glass of white wine. My phone vibrates in the pocket of my hot pants jeans. I don't have to check the screen to know it's Steven. He's asked to come over tonight, and I still owe him a reply. My chest tightens at the thought of having to break up with him, not because I will miss him, but because I'm afraid to break his heart. Steven truly cares for me, and he doesn't deserve to be treated this way. I know I'm a coward for letting him down like this. I've been telling myself for weeks that I should keep trying. Maybe I would eventually fall in love with him. Maybe I just need more time. I didn't want to give up on this relationship too early. But at this point, even I have to admit that there's no point in continuing. I'm only hurting him.

I pour myself a glass of white wine and step out on the balcony, squinting as I try to read my phone's screen against the streams of afternoon sun. The text is indeed from Steven, and he's pushing for a well-deserved response from me.

Tonight.

I have to do it tonight. Get it over with.

But I don't want to do it here, in my apartment.

"Let's grab a drink at the Thirsty Crow," I type. "We need to talk."