Chapter Fifteen
Ivy
How’s work going?
I sent the text message off to Dean before I poured myself a bowl of cereal.
For once, it’s pretty slow. Which is great for people’s health, but terrible for my need to stay up all night.
Such a shame. Someone should come in with something bloody and interesting. You know, to keep your spirits up.
Or you could come visit me. I’ve got a ten-minute break coming up.
Are you asking me to come to work to give you a quickie?
Not what came to mind, but now that you mention it…
I sat down with my bowl of cereal and laughed. I finally had a night off from my insane work schedule and, of course, Dean had to work the night shift. He had gotten called in last minute, which sucked. But I knew how that worked. However, with the slow night shift and me taking the time to relax and stay up like I usually did, it gave us time to talk.
And I loved talking with him.
What’s for dinner tonight?
I took a picture of the cereal in my lap and sent it off to him.
Nice to know someone else enjoys a simple bowl of cereal now and again.
Now and again? Sugary cereal is a staple in my life. That’s the definition of being an adult, you know. Eating sugary cereal whenever you want.
Really? I thought the definition of being an adult was ‘taxes’.
Wow, I didn’t know you were such a dirty talker. Incredibly filthy language coming from such a sweet mouth.
Then you’ll really love this. Taxes, unpaid vacation, and working through the weekend.
Such raunchy words. I don’t know whether to be horrified or horny.
I giggled as I took a few bites of my cereal. I still couldn’t believe I’d found this man. He was perfect in every single way for me. Passionate. Honest. Open. He understood my work schedule and didn’t get offended by it. And he always wanted to talk with me. To engage with me somehow. Whether it was a quick phone call after work or a bunch of text messages on his break, it always seemed as if I was on his mind.
Which was good.
Because he was always on mine.
Dean was the kind of man I could see myself with. Not like it was with Zander. He was fun, but there was never any talk of a future. I never dreamt of anything like that with him. Zander was fun in the moment, but with Dean? That was a completely different story. I fell asleep with dreams of our future at the forefront of my mind. Marriage and children and a house just outside of the city. I’d never had anything like this with another man before. I had never come across a man in all my years that made me want to settle down. That made me want to have a family. That made me want to alter anything in my life I could in order to make it work with him.
And the great thing about Dean is that he didn’t even require that last part. I found myself willing to change everything, but he wanted me exactly the way I was.
Living in my apartment alone had grown old. Grace got married and moved out, which was what I expected. When I came back from my last fashion show to her smiling and gushing about Hayden, I knew it was imminent. They were perfect for one another and I was incredibly happy for her. She was a great woman and a fabulous roommate. But I did miss her. I saw what Emilia had with Tristan and what Grace had with Hayden, and I wanted that for myself. But I wasn’t willing to settle in order to get it.
But now that I had Dean, the idea of a future with someone was becoming more and more plausible.
How’s that cereal coming along?
I smiled at the message as I picked up my phone.
Considering having another bowl. What’s for dinner on your end?
He sent me a message that contained three protein bars and a very large cup of black coffee.
You insult me with that raven-stained cup.
Raven-stained? Fancy wordage. Do you moonlight as a writer?
I wouldn't have the patience. I’m too succinct of a person.
You have passion.
What does that have to do with writing?
Passion drives writers.
No, ideas drive writers. The need to get stories out of their heads drives writers. The idea that passion drives anyone is a misnomer, at best.
I felt your passion last week. Are you telling me what we experienced was nothing but a misnomer?
A shiver crawled up my spine. Every time I thought about his hands on me, it weakened my knees. I got up and poured myself another bowl of cereal, then promptly sat back down onto the couch. I picked up my phone and debated on how to respond. I had my own personal opinions when it came to passion and any idea surrounding it. Passion was a wonderful thing, but it could be misleading. That was why I warned Emilia about Tristan and Grace about Hayden. I supported them, but I didn’t want them getting wrapped up in some fantasy without seeing the truth in front of them.
My fingers tapped upon the screen as I carved out my message to Dean.
No. But passion can be blinding. I love what I do, but passion is a byproduct. Not the fuel source behind it. I do what I do because it fulfills me. Not because it fills me with passion. I choreograph, and I watch the final product come together, and the afterthought is passion. That uncontrollable happiness at seeing what I’ve helped to create. It doesn’t drive me, though. It’s the end result I allow myself to feel after I’ve indulged what I want.
I sent off the message before dropping my phone into my lap. It would be interesting to see how Dean responded. That was another thing I really enjoyed about him. He wasn’t afraid of being a deep-thinker. Of having those philosophical conversations and dredging up emotions in order to explain why he felt or saw things the way he did. Every time I was with him, I got a new glimpse into why he was the man he was. And every time he allowed me that glimpse, I fell for him more and more.
I indulged Dean because I wanted to, and the end result was the uncontrollable passion I felt whenever I was in his presence.
That’s an interesting interpretation, and it makes sense. So if passion is the byproduct of something, then what made you want to choreograph fashion shows in the first place?
It’s beauty and organization.
That would make sense, especially after what you did to my apartment.
Do you like it? I thought our weekend together went well.
Oh, it went very well, Ivy.
My cheeks flushed at his comment as my thumb flew across my phone screen.
I’m glad you got a sturdier couch. You’re a big boy. You need furniture made from real wood. Not that plywood shit they sell in places nowadays.
Maybe we could test it out this weekend. See how it holds up.
Oh, a challenge. I like those. Do I get dinner beforehand?
Anything you want, Ivy.
I finished off my second bowl of cereal before I put it in the sink. If Grace was still living with me, she would’ve gotten on me about putting it straight into the dishwasher. She was nothing, if not a clean freak. Something I knew jived well with Hayden and his meticulous ways. I could still remember their wedding. Simple and elegant, and every bit as much her as it was him. The same was true for Emilia and Tristan. I’d looked out for those two while they were swept up in their own romances. I didn’t want them being blinded by the money their now-husbands touted around. They were strong women that deserved the best, and I made it my personal mission to make sure they had the best.
I opened my eyes and sighed as I was met with my empty apartment.
I wanted that for myself. My own happy ending. I wanted a man to wake up to. A man who took care of me, even when I asked him not to. Suddenly, my heart was filled with an emptiness I couldn’t control. A loneliness that clenched my heart and made it hard to breathe. I thought about the happiness my friends had found and I thought about how I struggled so much in my love life. Zander and Grant. The two exes that had reeled me in before spitting me out.
What if Dean did the same thing?
It brought tears to my eyes to think about. I tried to catch my breath as my hands began to shake. I closed my eyes and tried to center my mind. Tried to reel myself back in from the cliff I was nose-diving from. It was a secret I kept to myself. How badly my anxiety could balloon. I’d always been the strong one. The wise one. The friend everyone went to when they needed help or advice or guidance. And I loved it. I loved being the person everyone could trust and lean on.
But it came at an exorbitant cost.
I heard my phone vibrating, but it sounded far away. I clenched my chest, trying to straighten out my torso. Panic attack. I was having a panic attack. I’d only had a handful in my life, but I knew they were caused by my trains of thought. When my mind took a road my body wasn’t willing to entertain. Or cope with.
The idea of Dean being like them.
The idea of Dean not being there.
I laid down onto the cool linoleum tiles of my kitchen floor. I needed to calm down. I struggled through my breathing. Through my shaking. Through the ache rising up in my bones. Images of Dean yelling at me. Cursing at me. Drifting away from me. It all filled my mind. Things I’d never experienced with him pummeled my vision, casting shocks of anxiousness throughout my system. My rational mind knew better. My soul knew better.
But I couldn’t get my heart under control.
It had been broken so many times with death and destruction and heartache. It had learned to withstand the colossal storms I’d weathered throughout my life. It had lived through unspeakable losses and dragged me through black storms I couldn’t see through.
It couldn’t comprehend the idea of a happy ending.
It was convinced this would all blow up in my face.
I pressed my palms into the floor and arched my back. Opening up my diaphragm so it could get as much air as possible. The shaking was subsiding and my tears were finally drying up. My heart rate was settling back down and my breaths were no longer jumping. Were no longer broken. I drew in air through my nose and released it through my mouth. I thought about my next runway show in London. The choreography I’d created for the last fashion show I had done. I thought about possibly having another bowl of cereal or making myself a sandwich or going out for a drive.
Dean.
I thought about Dean.
And his text message came alive in my mind.
I rose my weakened body from the floor and reached for my coat. I tossed it over my shoulders and grabbed my keys, fumbling with them as I slipped my flip flops on. I could visit Dean at work. Maybe bring him another cup of grossly-black coffee. I could see him with my own two eyes and prove to my scarred heart that he was still there. Still willing to smile at me and take me in his arms.
I reached for my phone and sent a text message to Dean before I stuffed it into my pocket. I left my apartment, locking it behind me as I stepped out. Relief cascaded through my veins. The fresh air filled my nostrils and exposed me to a renewed sense of vigor. I felt strong. Rooted again after such a blatant attack. And I smiled at the idea of seeing Dean soon.
For so long, I’d been alone.
And I didn’t want to be alone anymore.