Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
The earth moves beneath me.
“I’m never going to love you.”
Pain lances through my heart.
“We were just fucking.”
“You don’t love me?” I whisper.
He shakes his head.
Adrenaline surges through me. “If you don’t love me . . . then that’s just sad.” I screw up my face in tears. And I wish I could articulate better words, something to make him understand what he’s doing.
This is a tragedy. We are already in love.
“It’s not sad, Juliet, it’s life,” he spits. “We were fucking. Just like we talked about, nothing more, nothing less.”
“It was the everything in between,” I sob as my heart breaks.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could say something more profound, but”—he steps back—“it meant nothing to me.”
My eyes search his.
“Go inside and fuck Mason. It will make you feel better.”
Oh . . .
I sob out loud and drop my head. How could he be so cold?
When I finally glance back up, I see him walking back into the club without a care in the world.
He’s gone.
Chapter 19
I stand under the hot water with my head in my hands. I’m crying hard, my heart beating fast in my chest.
Did that really just happen?
I can’t even bring myself to call Chloe and talk about it because if I say it out loud, then it has to be true.
His words come back to me. Go inside and fuck Mason. It will make you feel better.
I put my hands over my mouth, sickened.
Is that what he thinks of me? Is that how he saw us? I sob out loud, the pain in my chest hurting hard.
All this time I thought we were falling in love, he was just having sex with my body.
Using me to get himself off.
I thought he loved me.
He doesn’t.
I set up this little fantasy in my head where he and I fell madly in love, we fixed up my house, and we lived happily ever after in our perfect little street.
It was all in my head.
Go inside and fuck Mason. It will make you feel better.
I screw up my face in tears and slide down the tiles and sit in the bottom of my shower, under the hot water, alone and heartbroken.
I let myself cry.
Henley
Sunday afternoon
I sit on my back porch and watch the rain come down. Thunder is rolling in the distance, and a storm is brewing.
The day is dreary and dark, like my mood.
I keep going over last night and its events.
Her tears . . . the way they made me feel.
I can’t even comprehend what normal is anymore.
For a few weeks there, I was kidding myself that things were on the upswing, that everything had finally clicked and the darkness was over.
But reality has set in; it will never be over.
This is it for me.
I am the final product—there is no remodeling from here. Things are set in stone.
Today that’s magnified, and I feel especially unhinged. I haven’t slept. How could I?
The rain comes down hard, bringing me back to the moment. It’s loud and angry. It begins to splash up and get my legs wet.
I see her tears again, and I close my eyes in regret. This is for the best anyway. She’s better off with someone else. Someone who can love her properly.
I hear Juliet’s car start, and I glance up at the fence and then at my watch. She’s leaving for work, doing the afternoon shift.
And if I were a better person, I would go over and apologize, ask her to come back to me and make this right between us.
Beg for a second—no, third—chance.
But what’s the point? I’ll only ruin it later on down the road anyway . . .
I did do one thing, though; I proved a point to myself.
Now I know.
If the perfect woman can’t save me, nobody can.
Thursday, 4:00 p.m.
I glance at the sign over the door.
A A R O N S T E V E N S
P S Y C H O L O G I S T
With a deep exhalation, I roll my eyes. “Here we fucking go.” I push the heavy door open and arrive in the foyer.
“Hello,” I say to the receptionist. “I have an appointment at four.”
She fakes a smile. “Take a seat, Mr. James.”
I glance over at the waiting couch. “Actually . . . I changed my mind. I won’t be needing an appointment today.”
The office door opens in a rush. “Henley,” a blond man says in an English accent. “This way.”
Fuck.
I walk past him into his office and stand, unsure what to do.
“Please, take a seat.”
I unbutton my suit jacket and sit down. I cross my legs and then immediately uncross them. I sit back and then sit forward.
Aaron sits down and smiles calmly. “Nervous?”
I run my hand through my hair. “Nope.” I stand. “This . . . is . . . was a mistake. Sorry to waste your time. Send me the bill.”