Mine to Lose (17 page)

“Em-”

“No, you know what, thank you. Thank you
for sparing me the pain that my mom went through and leaving before I give
everything to you and you bail anyway.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” I
hear the pain in his tone.

“Yes, Ryan,” I bite out. “I do. My dad
didn’t love my mom or us enough, and he walked away, and look at the mess she
is now. I don’t want that for myself, so if you don’t want me, I’m not going to
beg you.”

As if on instinct, my hand flies to cover
my mouth and quiet my cry. Tears stream down my face because I know I am saying
hateful things to Ryan. He’s not like my dad, even through my agony and anger,
I know that, but he knows how much I hate the man. I know he’s drawing on the
comparison and I hope it rips him apart like he is doing to me.

This is not how I thought this
conversation would go. I thought Ryan felt for me what I felt for him.

“Em,” he moans and his voice cracks. The
tears never stop falling from my eyes. “You’re trying to hurt me, and it’s
working. But you’re going to see that I’m right. Maybe you won’t hate me as
much, maybe you will. But I’m letting you go, and I’ll probably regret it for
the rest of my life. You deserve more than someone who makes decisions without
considering you. And I deserve more than someone who compares me to the dad I
know she hates. You don’t want me, Em. You want the idea of me.”

“You don’t know what I want, because
you’ve never asked. You didn’t give me a chance, because apparently you think
you know what’s best. I was planning to quit my job to be with you out there,
because I wanted
you
, more than I wanted my career.”

“Em-”

“Goodbye, Ryan.”

I hang up the phone and drop to my bed in
agony. He couldn’t be more wrong about what I want, because since the moment I
saw him, it’s always only been him. Looking around this apartment, this home
that Ryan and I created, I don’t feel like I belong here. I swipe my hands
under my eyes and gather myself up because I’m not going to be that girl. He
made his choice and I have to live with it.

Who am I kidding? I can’t turn it off
like that, and I begin crying for my aching soul that feels empty, in a way I
have never known.

I have laid here, alone in my bed, every
night for the last two weeks, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.
Every morning, I come up empty. Was the writing on the wall all along and I
just missed it, or worse, did I ignore it?

It's been twelve days since Ryan and I
ended things, not that I’m counting, and the silence haunts my thoughts. This
was a loneliness I wasn’t prepared for. Langley has called every day to check
on me, and every day, I tell her the same thing;
I’ll be fine
. My mom
has been no help, acting as if I should have seen it coming, but I’m not like
her. I don’t expect the worst.

“Em,” Joss calls from the other side of
my door. “Lemme in.”

This has been the routine since the
breakup. She comes by, and I ignore her. I go to work and do my job, but as
soon as the day ends, I turn into a hermit. I don’t want to talk about it. I
don’t want Joss to jump on my bandwagon, and if I have to see Cam look at me
one more time with pity in her eyes, I might scream. I mean, honest to God,
scream
.

“I’m fine, Joss,” I yell from the couch.

“Great, then let me in. We can talk or
not talk, I don’t care, I just want to see you,” she says with no emotion in
her voice. I’m not sure if she’s talked to Langley, but knowing them, they’ve
talked every day to figure out how to get me out of my mood.

I finally get up and unlock the door, but
stop short of opening the door and let her open it herself. When she walks
through, she gives me one of her stares, daring me to be a bitch. With a shake
of my head, I turn away and wait for her to join me on the couch. The silence
is annoying because she’s waiting for me to say something about how I’m
feeling, and I don’t care to share that right now. I focus my attention on the television
and turn up the volume to feign interest in whatever this show is.

There are two things about Joss I can
count on; she hates the silence and will do whatever it takes to fill it and
she likes to fix things, I’m about to become her pet project. The thing is, I
don’t need fixing, I just need time.

“You hungry?” she asks during a
commercial and I shrug. Truth be told, I could probably eat because I haven’t really
taken care of myself lately. It’s not that I don’t want to eat; I have no
appetite. “I’m ordering pizza and then you’re gonna snap out of this, okay?”

What the fuck?
Did she really just say that shit to me? I have to
blink from the shock of her words as though she physically struck me. Yes, Joss
is rough around the edges, but she’s never spoken to me harshly unless I’m
drunk. Her statement echoes in my ears and cuts a little deeper every time I
hear it.

I finally look at her, my mouth agape. “
This
just happened, Joss,” I remind her when she looks at me. “I’m allowed to be
down about it, aren’t I? A three-year relationship, a year engagement, the love
of my life, gone. So excuse me if I can’t just
snap
out of it.”

“Good, so you are dealing with it then,”
she responds with a straight face, but I know she’s happy she got me to admit
what I’m thinking.

“Of course I am, I mean, what other
choice do I have,” I say in disbelief that she’s being so hard on me. “It’s
over.”

“So do you want to tell me what happened?”

I reveal the snippet of what I’ve been
thinking about over and over. “Things between us were easy for so long, and I
thought it would always be like that. It took years to build a good
relationship, to get it just right. I mean, I’m not saying it was perfect, you
know that. Hell we still fought and did stupid shit, but when those things
don’t break you, you know there’s something special there. At least I thought
it was special. I guess I’m just shocked at how quickly it all crumbled.”

What I don’t share is that all it takes
is a little white lie, and it just starts to unravel. We both screwed up, I
know that, but I didn’t know it was beyond repair. I’m now left with the small
apartment that feels too big, and memories of us everywhere I look.

“Have you talked to him at all?”

“He’s called, but I have no reason
answer; we said everything we needed to say,” I shrug, trying to be interested
in the television show.

“What are you gonna do now?”

“Not sure,” I sigh and glance over at
her, “I have work to keep me busy. Trey’s client event is in a month, so it’s
crunch time now.”

“Trey, huh?” Her question holds so many
others that she’s not voicing.

“Don’t start, Joss.” My hand flies up to
stop her from pushing that any further. “It’s work, and that’s all. I’ve barely
talked to him.”

She acknowledges my words with a nod, but
I know she still isn’t convinced.

“But I’ll tell you one thing; I can’t
stay here anymore,” I state, looking around the living room.

“You can always come move in with me for
a while, if you need to,” she offers, as if it’s not a big deal. What she
doesn’t realize is that it is exactly what I need. I have to get out of this place;
I can’t heal here, because I feel him everywhere. Work is a great distraction,
but when I come back here, it’s a graveyard for my failed relationship. “Just
think about it, the offer’s out there.”

When I finally gather my nerve to look at
her face, she smiles in understanding and reaches over to squeeze my hand. That
simple gesture is my undoing, and the tears I have kept at bay since I stopped
crying that night spill out again. She scoots over and gathers me into her arms
while I mourn what I’ve lost, and I allow her to console me.

“It’s really over, isn’t it?” I ask, my
sobs constricting my words.

“I can’t answer that for you. What I can
tell you is that you and Ryan were good together, but y’all let life and careers
derail your path. And I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now,
Em,” She waits for me to look at her and she grabs my left hand and points to
my ring. “But as long as you keep this on, the mind-fuck that is this breakup
will keep messing with you.”

* * *

Moving out of the space I shared with
Ryan for the last nine months causes so much pain. And moving in with Joss is
certainly not ideal. Hell, we barely survived as roommates in college; but this
time is different. She’s helping me escape the memories this place holds and
giving me what I need to move on. When she left my apartment that night, we had
come up with a plan for me to move in with her when my lease was up. But she
came to me a couple of days later and asked if I’d be willing to move in next
week, because she found someone to sublet my place.

I have thought about Ryan so much, but
unfortunately I have work, and now boxing up our place, to occupy my time. The
nights are still sad, especially when I’m packing his things away to ship to
him. Most of his clothes went with him to San Diego, but things like the guitar
he never played, t-shirts he never wore, and his shot glass collection are
still here.

I grab another box and scrawl his name
along the side of it and begin loading it with his stuff. The t-shirts were
already pulled out of the dresser, so I grab the first stack and place them in
the bottom, not caring if they unfold. It’s when I reach for the second stack
that my favorite shirt of his comes to view. It’s a soft worn-out shirt, the
graphics barely readable, but what I love about this shirt is that he was
wearing it the night we met. Against my better judgment, I pull the t-shirt
over my head, covering the tank I’m wearing.

“No,” I say aloud, yanking it back off,
“you’re not gonna do this.” I ball the shirt up and toss it into the box with
the others before getting up to get more of his things. Over the next hour, the
box slowly fills with pictures, books, cups, and anything else that reminds me
of Ryan. When it’s all said and done, most of our relationship, or the parts I
don’t want, fit neatly into a large moving box.

Looking around the apartment, the only
things that remain to be boxed are mine. Clothes, dishes, and albums were boxed
days ago, and all that’s left are trinkets and frames. The box I packed for him
sits open and before taping it shut, I drag the t-shirt back out. I’m not ready
to let it go just yet.

“Just do it,” I tell myself as I grab my
phone. I haven’t talked to him or texted since the night we broke up, but it’s
time. I find his name in my phone to send him a text.

Me: Just wanted to let you know I
subleased the apt. I’m moving.

Ryan: I’ve been calling you

I ignore his comment because I need to
stay on track, and this isn’t meant to be a conversation.

Me: You still have things here. I
boxed them up. I’ll send it out to you

Ryan: It’s okay. I’ll be out there
for a meeting.

Me: I’ll leave the box with Joss

I push send and exhale as I throw myself
onto the couch. The hard part is over, right?

There doesn’t seem to be a need to tell
him that I will be living with Joss, although I’m sure he’ll figure it out soon
enough. He’s called several times over the last two weeks. I deleted the
voicemails, because I didn’t think my heart could take it. I have a nice
callous over it now that’s hardening, and until it’s unbreakable, I can’t
listen to his voice.

Ryan: Can I see you?

Toying with the idea of seeing him
doesn’t send warm and fuzzy feelings through my body. In fact, the only thing I
feel is nauseous. I don’t know if it’s because I want to see him or I dread the
moment when I have to. Needless to say, I have no plans to respond to his text.

“Em,” Joss’ voice filters through the
door as she knocks. I let her in and stand next to her as she assesses the
mounds of crap I’ve boxed, and the plethora of crap that still remains. “So, I
see you’ve made some progress,” she teases.

I point to
the
box. “I really
have. And I let him know it’ll be at your place when he comes to pick it up.”

“Are you going to see him?”

“No. He asked, but it’s too soon,” I
admit, knowing she understands.

She walks over to his box and riffles
through some of the items. She pulls out a coffee mug that has our picture on
it. Joss gave it to us a gag gift last year and it’s been my favorite one to
drink from. She raises a questioning brow and I answer with a shrug. She places
the mug back into the box and spots the t-shirt that I pulled out.

“No, that’s mine. He can’t have it back,”
I say, grabbing the shirt possessively.

She scoffs and shakes her head, grinning
like she knows something I don’t. “None of my business.”

I’m thankful she lets it go and sticks
around to help me finish boxing everything up; it makes the task a little less
sad. Looking at the apartment, boxes taped up and marked by room, it’s hard to
imagine that this was once a home. We hired a small moving company to load and
deliver everything to her place tomorrow. All I have left to do is turn the
keys over to the new tenant. She wraps her arm around my shoulder, knowing how
hard this is for me, and gives me a squeeze.

“I’ll meet you at home,” she whispers
before leaving me alone.

Our bedroom calls to me, and I give in,
needing to say one last goodbye to what we were. Standing in the doorway, I see
the ghosts of us laughing, fighting and making love, causing my body to react.
A single tear rolls down my cheek, which I am quick to wipe away. My keys and
purse are sitting on the top of a box near the door, so I pick them up and open
the door one last time and shut off the lights.

“Always,” I whisper my response to our
imaginary
I love you
.