Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
I’d been so fucking stupid thinking he loved me, it was embarrassing. I cringed now at the idea I’d been invaluable to him.
The truth was I’d become Zach’s bang maid.
When I officially failed out of school, I put off telling my parents for as long as possible. I made up excuses, like my professors were slow to put my final scores in, or that the school’s website kept erroring out when I tried to look up my grades. My panic and shame were so intense, I could barely breathe.
And when I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I did something really, really stupid.
I used my credit card, the one my parents paid for and said was only for emergencies, to book me and Zach an expensive trip to Hawaii.
They didn’t find out until we landed in Honolulu, and my father was so angry, he threatened to get on the next flight out and come get me. I dug in, refusing to tell him where we were, and I justified it to myself saying I needed the escape. More importantly, I needed the romantic trip to sweeten Zach up, because at the end of it I’d have to ask if I could move in with him.
When we went to check out of the hotel, my credit card was declined, and Zach was so pissed he had to pay for it that he barely said two words to me during either of the long flights home.
My parents were waiting for me at my apartment.
I’d never had my father’s harsh tone directed at me. “You have two choices, young lady,” he’d said. “Leave him and come home, where we can work through this.” He’d crossed his arms over his chest and glared at my boyfriend, like Zach was the cause of all this. “Or stay with him, and we’re done financially supporting you.”
“Come on, man,” Zach scoffed. “She’s an adult.”
Which was ironic because my boyfriend never treated me like one.
But how could I choose anything other than him? He was my whole world, plus walking away meant I’d have to admit I’d made a mistake and face consequences. It was too scary to do anything but stay.
And it broke my father’s fucking heart.
The guilt it caused was so crushing, my knees went weak and I’d struggled to stay upright as my parents left.
I moved in with Zach the following afternoon, but he made it clear that this was his space and not ours. He was doing me an enormous favor and reminded me of it every chance he got. There was nothing I could do. I had nowhere else to go because my father had paid to break the lease on my apartment.
Surely, he’d done it to force me to come home, but I told myself I didn’t care. I was an adult and could make it on my own, I lied to myself. I refused to think about the damage I had caused because it was too shameful. Too painful.
By February, less than two months after moving in, the cracks in my relationship began to form. Once we hit March, they grew too big to ignore. Zach was frustrated all the time, upset that I didn’t look harder for a job, especially because he didn’t make enough to support us both.
He didn’t care I was slipping into depression.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he snapped one evening after he came home from work and discovered me watching Netflix. “You did this. You made this choice, and you forced it on me.”
Our fairy tale romance became a nightmare. He spent every weekend at the college bars, and I grew tired of going with him. He typically ignored me the whole evening, and . . . God. Neither of us were college students anymore. Why did he even like this?
It wasn’t exactly fair, but I began to resent him.
He bitched endlessly about not having any money, but he never had a problem buying overpriced beers and greasy food. Sometimes, he’d even splurge and buy drinks for people he’d just met. Kids, really. He craved their attention, wanting to be known as the ‘big man on campus.’ I didn’t understand it at all.
When I started sleeping on the couch, that was the final straw, the end of our relationship.
“Pay rent or move out,” Zach announced at the end of April, his tone cold and indifferent and like he’d never loved me at all.
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” I said.
He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Of course you do. Go home, Charlotte.”
As hard as our breakup had been, I also felt an enormous sense of relief when it was over. Like I’d been released from some kind of spell. As if I’d been given permission to finally make the right choice.
I dreaded calling my dad, but I also longed to hear his voice, and I cried so much during our conversation, he barely understood any of it. He stayed stoic, though, unmoved by my tears. Maybe he thought they were a ploy to soften him up, but they’d been one thousand percent genuine. At the end of it, he told me he’d clear his schedule and where I could meet him for lunch.