Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Look back.
Find me.
See me.
But she never did.
Chapter Eight
I cry the moment I'm inside the plane. Nothing feels right, and every breath becomes a struggle as pain threatens to swallow me whole. I miss him. Oh God, I miss him. So, so much.
One of the flight attendants comes by and asks if I'm okay, and I manage to say yes even as the tears continue falling. And what I tell her...
It isn't a lie.
I am okay, and that's the problem. My life may look incredible from the outside, but inside it's just okay. It's always been just okay, and it's time I admitted that.
Even if it's a classy kind of okay. Even if it's a life that other people would envy me for. It's still just okay, and it will always be an okay kind of life because it's what I've taught myself to accept.
It's okay to be just okay because girls like me only end up hurt when we want more.
Been there, done that, and God knows I've tried more than once.
God knows how many times I've tried. How hard I've tried.
But I just keep getting hurt.
And that's why I'm the way I am now.
That's why I can't let myself ever forget it's okay to be just okay, and Aidan...
I can't let him change me. Can't let him make me greedy and forget everything I've learned.
Aidan is everything that's beyond okay...and that's why I can't have him.
I THROW MYSELF INTO work the moment I get back home. I say yes even to gigs that I normally decline. Hold livestreams when I can't sleep. Start a new gratitude journal just so I can remember the most important thing.
It's okay to just be okay.
Jack's been calling me every day, and though he always says at the end he's willing to wait, I know I'm only delaying the inevitable. I need to see him sooner or later, and when we do meet, I know what I must say.
I know what I must feel.
But God...
I still miss him.
I miss him so damn much.
And I don't understand why.
The actual hours Aidan and I have spent in each other's company aren't even enough to count as an entire day. The time we had is so short, I should only be remembering his name and nothing else. But instead I remember everything.
I remember the soulful darkness of his gaze and the way his face softens every time he sees me. Most of all, I remember how Aidan makes me feel every time he looks at me, and it's a feeling that no one else has made me feel.
When Aidan looks at me...I feel I don't need to pretend I'm okay with just okay.
When he looks at me, it's as if I'm back to my old self.
Unbelievably foolish. Impossibly reckless. And most of all...a girl who believes that magic exists.
AN ENTIRE WEEK HAS passed, and life has never been busier or crazier. Nearly every moment is spent in other people's company. And yet...I can't remember ever feeling this sad. Can't remember feeling so alone that I feel like I'm about to implode.
I finally succumbed to the temptation of looking Aidan up online last night, but this only made things worse. Since Aidan had never asked for my number, I had been too proud to ask for his. And besides, in the back of my mind, I had always thought I could look him up online. I always thought I had that to fall back on, but I was wrong.
Aidan might as well be a ghost with how little there is about him on the Internet. I think I'm even doing ghosts a disservice here. Even cursed dolls like Chucky and Annabelle have their own Instagram accounts, while Aidan doesn't even have a profile in LinkedIn. He's a freaking police chief of an entire town. Shouldn’t the U.S. government require all men in uniform to have Facebook accounts or anything? Police officers are supposed to be the first to respond to emergencies, but how can we even ask for help when even their work email isn't set to public?
I mean, sure there is that website of the Hartland Police Department, and it does have a phone number listed. But wouldn't it smack of desperation if I called him at his workplace? That's how most horror stories about clingy girlfriends typically begin, and I'm not even his girlfriend to start with. I don't think I even qualify as a fling or...whoa.
I've just made it to the tenants-only gym at my apartment building, and the first thing I see is little Nala executing a perfect pincha yoga pose while right beside her is Mairi, who's currently struggling to get her butt up for a simple downward facing dog pose.
Distraction, I think right away, and I quickly unroll my yoga mat next to the mother-and-daughter tandem. I tuck my legs under me and make myself comfortable while the six-year-old girl plays the patient yoga instructor to her mom.