Christy

My chin starts to wobble the moment Chet turns away from me. When he climbs into his truck, a tear traces a hot path down my cheek. I wait until he’s gone to wipe it from my face, just in case he can see me. He won’t leave if he knows I’m crying and I really need to be alone right now. But that one word, alright, it hurt more than anything Mark ever said to me. As much as I need some time to think, the hurt I saw on his face before he left might just break me. I step inside my house and close the door and that’s that. Sobs tear through my body, pulled up from some deep, dark place inside me. My legs go weak and I press my back against the door and slide down it, tucking my knees up tight to my chest. My hands shake and my stomach boils and confusion reigns supreme.

The moment I saw Mark on my front porch, I lost all capacity for rational thought and let instinct take over. It took every ounce of strength I could muster to stand up to him and say exactly what I was thinking, to tell that asshole that I really, honestly wanted him gone. By the time Mark left, I was spent. I wanted to run away, wrap myself up in Chet’s arms, and be done with it.

But then, he started dictating what was right for me, acting like he owned me. He didn’t even think to ask what I needed and assumed he had the answers to solve everything. And while, on some level, I understand his fears about leaving me alone, I would be an idiot to let another man step in and start making my life his.

Right?

It sounds right, sounds like something my mom would agree with, but my heart wails at the thought. So, now what? Now that I made the right decision, I get to spend the night without the man who makes everything better? The one person in the whole world who has ever made me feel totally safe and accepted? Except, shouldn’t I be capable of feeling safe and accepted on my own? Do I really need a man to get me there? Is the fact that I need Chet the way I do one of those early indicators that this is the start of an unhealthy relationship? That if things keep going the way they are, it’s only a matter of time before he is just another Mark?

My breath comes in short, hitching gasps and my lips start to tingle. I can’t breathe through my nose and push off the floor to get a tissue, even though tears still stream in long rivulets down my face. I miss him so much and regret telling him to leave, and yet, it was probably the smartest thing I’ve ever done for myself.

Right?

I stumble into the kitchen and blow my nose, only then noticing the acrid smell of burnt casserole radiating from the oven. “Shit,” I say and swipe a pot holder from the counter, yank open the oven, and thrust my hand inside. My thumb brushes the hot coil on the way in and I cry out, choking on my tears and the cloud billowing out from the open door. The smoke alarm starts to wail at me from the ceiling. I drop the catastrophe of a meal on the stove top and wave a potholder underneath the alarm.

It’s all a disaster. A big heaping mess of an evening. And I don’t have anyone to talk to. Chet is the only person I know to give me completely unbiased opinions on things, but how can he do that for me now when this involves him the way it does? My mom is the next logical choice, but she’s going to hear the same echoes of Mark that I do. She’s more content to be alone than take a chance on another relationship and I don’t want that. I want Chet. Or, I want the relationship I thought I had with Chet.

Right?

I’m so fucking confused and my house smells of burning things and the casserole is a perfect metaphor for my life right now. I sit down at the kitchen table—the very table where Chet just had me writhing and moaning in pleasure—hang my head in my hands, and cry.

* * *

I spend a restless night tossing and turning in bed and wake with a throbbing headache. My stomach churns at the thought of coffee but I wander into the kitchen anyway, hopeful the caffeine will help with the pain. Last night’s casserole waits for me on the stove, but it can keep on waiting. I’m not at all ready to deal with that yet, much like I’m not at all ready to deal with the millions of missed calls and texts that are bound to be waiting for me on my phone.

I wait for the coffee, purposefully avoiding any thought about anything that happened last night. I stare out the window, watching the sun poke out from behind a cloud. One cup of coffee. Then two, and I still feel like shit. This day can officially go to hell. I crawl back into bed, pull the covers up over my head, and sleep.

* * *

The next time I open my eyes, I’m feeling a little more human. Sorrow and confusion still wage a war with anger and fear in my head, and my heart is nothing but collateral damage. All I want is Chet, but I’m afraid he’s not good for me. Maybe my mom has it right after all. Maybe it’s better to be safely tucked away from all of this, insulated from the pain of heartache. Maybe it’s better to spend the rest of my life alone than ever feel this way again.

I can’t get a feel for how late it is, so I pull my phone off the charger on the nightstand, steeling myself for the inevitable messages. Imagine my surprise when there isn’t even one. No texts. No missed calls. Nothing. It’s like last night didn’t even happen. I sit up in bed, staring at my phone, not sure if I feel more relieved not to have to figure out how to respond or terrified that Chet hasn’t even bothered to reach out. What does his silence mean? Is it a good thing? A sign that he’s not like Mark? Or is it worse? Does he not feel as strongly about me as I do about him?

That thought crumbles me and I drop back on my pillow, ready to pull the covers up over my head and disappear into sleep when I remember my animals. It doesn’t matter how much I hurt, they need me. I stop in the bathroom and splash some cool water on my face before I stare blearily at my reflection in the mirror. I look like I feel. Eyes and lips swollen from crying, face blank and numb. I pull my hair back into a messy bun and slide into my boots. Go through the motions of feeding the goats and chickens without really seeing them at all.

I’m not sure anything is worth feeling this way. This empty. This broken. Hollowed out and used up, like my whole world is crumbling because of something someone else said or did. For as glorious as it is to love and be loved, if this is the other side of the coin, the inevitable outcome of the toss, well, count me out.