Sarah
I find my keys on the counter under the pizza box, grab both my bags, and make it out of Frank’s apartment without shedding a single tear. It’s not until I get into my car and realize I have no place to go that I break down. I slam a hand on the steering wheel and scream, a wordless sound.
What do I do?
Where do I go?
I checked out of my room at the extended stay before I left for Ohio and just walked out of the only place I really want to be. Frank’s words echo in my head. I slept with her. Is that what you want to hear?
How could he do that? Is that the kind of man he really is? The kind who hits a bump in the road and self-destructs?
My heart wants to think it knows the answer to those questions.
No, it screams.
That man in there is not the real Frank Wilde. That is desperation and days of drunkenness. He told me drinking turned him into a man he didn’t even recognize and now I get to see that in action.
But does any of that matter? If he slept with Bree, drunk or not, what does that say about who he is? About how he feels about me?
I wipe at my tears and stare blearily at the traffic winding down the street in front of Frank’s building. While my life is shattered and ruined, it keeps right on going for everyone else and for whatever reason, that spurs me into action. I shove my keys into the ignition and start the engine. Pull out of the parking lot, strain to look past a giant concrete truck, and turn onto the street.
My thoughts churn.
My heart bleeds.
The angry voice in my head tells me I was dumb to think my life could be anything more than running from one disaster to the next.
On auto-pilot, I navigate out of the city and find myself in front of the now-familiar extended stay hotel. I rent a room and wheel my bags inside. Collapse on the bed and throw a hand over my eyes.
I should be good at this kind of stuff by now. After a lifetime of finding myself in shitty situations, I should be the queen of collecting the broken pieces and moving on. I used to be amazing at it. If this had happened even a few months ago, I would have torn Frank out of my heart by the roots, tossed him aside, and found someplace, someone, something better.
Except I had the audacity to think I was finally moving past that. With Frank’s help, I’ve made peace with my family, or at least started to. I have a job that I actually like in a city that feels like home. I thought I was moving forward, that the part of my life where I pick myself up and put myself back together was over.
I really am a fool.
This is what I get for thinking I’m the kind of woman who should dare to hope.
I dig my phone out of my purse, suddenly desperate to talk to someone, anyone. I can’t go through this alone. I check for a message from Frank. An apology. An explanation. But there’s nothing.
I consider calling Tessa, but I’m not ready to speak the words that will make this situation real. I don’t want her pity. Or her sympathy. I just want to be not alone. I’m not ready to believe what Frank said is true, even though I can’t for the life of me explain why he’d say it if it didn’t happen.
When I toss my phone back into my purse, my gaze lands on my prescription bottle. Maybe this is just the way life is for me. Full of disappointment and shattered hopes. Maybe every good thing I ever set my sights on will crumble in my grasp. Maybe this is my clue to stop trying to be something I’m not. Stop reaching for things I’m not supposed to have.
Some people are born to be the hero.
Some people are born to fail.
Every story needs a villain.
Maybe that’s me.
I pull the bottle out of my purse and spin it in my hand. It would be so nice to take a pill. Stretch out on the bed and forget this ever happened. In the morning, I’ll put my stuff in my trunk and head back to Ohio. Finish out my life as Sarah who does nothing and means nothing to anyone.
That thought does me in. A sob wrenches its way out of my throat, growing into a wail that dredges up all the years of disappointment that I’ve done my best to ignore. I hurl the bottle at the wall because damn it! I don’t want to go backwards! I don’t want to be that girl anymore!
I want to grow and change. I want to be a better person. I want to be the woman I thought I could be with Frank by my side. I don’t want to go home to Ohio and beg for my old job back. I want to keep working at McDougan & Kent. I want to be Frank’s girl…
Except Frank doesn’t work for McDougan & Kent anymore and if what he said about the security cameras in the elevators is true, then I probably won’t work there much longer, either. And if Frank is willing to throw what we had away on someone like Bree, then I’m really not his girl, now am I?
I drop to my hands and knees and pick up the little blue pills scattered across the worn carpet. One by one, I slide them back into the bottle until there’s only one remaining in the palm of my hand. I stare at the thing, my heart in my throat, totally aware my future hangs in this moment.
It’d be so easy to toss the pill into my mouth, swallow it down, and slide back into a life that feels familiar, dull, empty, devoid of feeling.
So easy.
But sometimes what’s easy isn’t what’s best. Sometimes we have to fight for what we want. And damn it, I want to be the woman I got a glimpse of in these last few weeks. I don’t want her to be a memory. I want her to be me.
I stand and walk into the bathroom. Drop the pills into the toilet and flush them away before tossing the empty bottle in the trash.
Frank might be done with me. He might be willing to throw me away for no good reason, but I’m not. It’s time I realized I’m worth fighting for. And if I won’t fight for myself, how can I expect anyone else to fight for me?
I spend the rest of the night doodling and planning. The world is open to me right now. I can go wherever I want and do whatever I want. There’s a beach in California with my name on it. Maybe there’s a job there, too. Or, my family is missing me in Ohio and my brothers’ friends run a business. Maybe they’re hiring.
I owe Frank a lot of money for the repairs to my car and for the airfare. Regardless as to what happened between us, I need to figure out a way to pay him back. I can’t have that debt hanging over my head.
As thoughts come to me, I jot them down. The more I define my plans, the more answers I find to the questions in my mind, the better I feel, though I’m a long way from feeling good. Most importantly, I’m proud of myself for flushing those pills down the toilet. While they may really help someone who uses them properly, I don’t use them properly.
I use them to hide.
I use them to run.
I use them to ignore how much I’m hurting, how disappointed I am in my life.
In myself.
I use them to quiet the voice in the back of my head. The one that continually wonders if this is all there is to life. The one that constantly tells me there has to be more than the tedium of day to day obligations.
It’s been there forever. When I was little, I told my momma about it, and she said it was the voice of greatness. She tried to tell me that greatness has a cost. That I couldn’t just sit around and wait for it to come to me, but that I would need to chase it down. To listen to the whispers of my heart and run, run, run after the things I want.
I only ever heard the first part of what she told me. And so, I sat around, waiting for greatness as that whispering voice kept reminding me that I was worth so much more than a boring job, too many bills, and a small apartment. That voice got louder, angrier, more insistent. Instead of taking my mom’s advice and chasing down the things I needed to feel happy, I settled on medicating that voice right out of existence.
That stops now.
When that voice speaks, I’ll listen. When it commands me to follow my passion, to take a chance, to push past the hard parts, damn it, I’m gonna.
But first, I have to decide what I’m going to do about Frank.
If he cheated on me…
…and that’s a very big if, because I can’t wrap my head around that being the truth of the situation…
…sure, he said he did, but things just don’t add up and doubt spins through my memories of our conversation…
But if he cheated on me, then things between us have to end. As much as I care about him, as much as I think we could be amazing together, I’m worth more than betrayal.
But if he didn’t cheat on me, I’m still not ready to give up on him. He said some terrible things, hurt me in a way I swore no one would ever hurt me again. Once upon a time, when my father said terrible things, I walked away, never once looking back, and have worn those scars on my heart ever since. I owe it to myself to try a little harder this time. I owe it to myself to stand up and fight.