Tempted (49 page)

Much to my disappointment, minutes turn to hours without
hearing from him
.
 
I know Alex has done nothing wrong, but still, somehow, I am mildly disconsolate.
 
I fall asleep in tears, an emotional wreck from the intensity of all that’s been going on internally.

I awake the next morning and check my phone.
 
Nothing.
 
I crack open the laptop and urgently search my messages.

1:30am

Alexander Armstrong

So much to tell you.
 
It was a weekend unlike any other.
 
Hope yours was as beautiful as mine.
 
 
Can’t wait to talk.
 
I’ve managed to misplace my phone but will call you the minute I find it, after I get some needed rest.
 
Too much good stuff going on to sleep during the weekend.
 
It felt amazing to use muscles that have been laying dormant for far too long, if you know what I mean.
 
Hugs

I smile and go to visit his Facebook wall, hoping to bathe in one of his inspiring posts.
 

I scroll down the page to find where I’d left off.
 
I always love to read his posts in chronological order.
 
It makes me feel like I am right there with him, living life as it happens.

I find a slew of holiday wishes from his friends
,
and then
,
finally, one by the maestro himself, written when he got in last night, after he’d messaged me.

Aww.
 
I smile.

Huh?
 
Her who?

I am instantly bewildered and panicked
,
and feel my chest tighten in
a scary
way.

I reread the post.

Now I’m more confused than ever.

I reread his message to me, looking for answers.
 
What I find is distress and more panic.
 
Into his every sentence I read that he was with another woman, one who makes him happy.
 
Desperate for clarification, I call his cell phone.
 
It goes straight to voicemail.
 
Well, he did say he couldn’t find it.
 
Next
, I try video
chatting him.
 
He is offline.
 
Finally, I send him a mes
sage, trying to appear composed.

7:12am

Claire Nichole Eden

Pssst, y
ou online?

No response.
 
My panic reaches dangerous levels.
 
I frantically wade through the rest of the now annoying holiday ditties by others
,
in searc
h of something by him.
 
I find one of his
lengthy post
s
and breathe deeply.
 
Whenever he writes at length
,
it is always something lovely and elevating.
 
I am sure this post will explain it all and put my needless fears to rest.

I am too dismayed to breathe or even blink.
 
Never have I felt so shattered.
 
After
all of the hardships I’ve faced –
 
losing my job at the station, losing so many loved ones to death and deceit, from Erica to Dad, Danielle, Mom and then the whole David betrayal, I thought I’d seen it all, and that I could handle anything.
 
But this
...
this is literally more than I can bear.
 
This is too much.
 
Alex has met someone else.
 
He has met The One.
 
And whoever this One is, she’s not me.

Though I’m tempted to feel like a fool for getting my plane ticket and making plans, I am in far too much anguish to berate myself.
 
This hurts too terribly.
 
I think back on our conversations the last few weeks, looking for clues as to who this One might be, how he met her, when he met her.
 
I realize it could have been at any time
,
because I talked inces
santly about me and my problems –
 
my problems with David, with his legal mess, little issues with my broadcasts, funny anecdotes about callers, but never about him or his life.

I really have been a fool, in so many ways
–
especially about David.
 
All that time and affection and attention
invested in
a man who cheated on his girlfriend in a variety of ways, including
his bold flirtations with
me before we’d met
in person
.
 
I chose to overlook it all because of my feelings for him.
 
Foolish.
 
Then again, if I had to do it all over, I would still do my best to get all the facts before judging him.
 
It’s what I did
after
getting the facts that was most foolish.
 
I kept hoping he would go against his track record and surprise me by showing the integrity I always believed he had.
 
Well, that’s really none of my business.
 
Nor is how he lives his life.

Meanwhile, I had this paragon of manhood, Alex
–
this caring, honest, monogamous man whom I adore, wanting me and no one but me.
 
That is, before he found The One.

I am sick, literally, and spend the next hour and a half on the tile in the restroom, heaving the contents of my stomach in between crying jags.

Once I have purged my heartache, I go back to Facebook and read his messages one last time, now with a clear head.
 
The story is still the same.
 
And it is one I cannot endure.
 
It is truly too painful.
 
I read the list of comments made to his post, a series of hoorays and congratulations.
 
I love this man more than I can say, and in my heart
,
sincerely wish him every happiness.
 
I just wish that happiness w
ere
with me.
 
As fast as my fingers can type
,
I pound out a congratulatory comment.

The searing pain in my chest is back, as is my previous nausea.
 
It makes me physically ill to picture him with someone else.
 
And I just can’t take the thought of seeing his happy posts scroll down my newsfeed as he talks about the sublime perfection of his new love.
 
I don’t mean to be shallow or petty, but
…

With tears welling up in my eyes again, I select the ‘Unfriend’ option on his page.
 
Then I go into my account’s settings and ‘block’ him
,
so that he can in no way contact me.
 
Deep breath, this time without nausea.

Goodbye, Alexander.

You were my One.

I have always been grateful that I’m practical
–
at least when it comes to matters other than those of the heart.
 
And never have I been more grateful for my practicality than the Wednesday, two days after the crushing news about Alex.
 
I was still in abject pain and emotional ruin when showtime rolled around that week.
 
Fortunately, I have a few pre-canned shows taped in case of laryngitis or other maladies.
 
Though, I admit, I never took into account life-threatening heartbreak.