No regrets, though.
Okay, maybe some regrets, judging by the pounding in my head.
Groaning, I roll over in bed and cover my face with my hands to block out some of the harsh sunlight streaming in from the bedroom windows. Spike meows in protest when I dislodge him from his perch on my belly, where he usually likes to sleep most nights. I look over to Logan’s side of the bed to find it empty. I know he came home last night after I finally crawled into bed, but he isn’t anywhere in sight at the moment.
Logan is as straight-laced as they can get. He rarely drinks or breaks the rules. As a cop, he follows the law to the letter. I bet he’s probably already eating his stupid Paleo breakfast and texting his buddies to get together at our gym for a New Year’s Day workout.
Ugh.
Normally, I would be on board with going with him to our gym, but I doubt he would want me to tag along, given our circumstances.
Fuck.
Breaking up doesn’t just mean moving out, but now I’ll have to find a new gym to join or risk him thinking I let myself go because we broke up. A problem for another day, but not today.
I slowly get myself out of bed and wash up in the bathroom. It takes me longer than normal to complete my routine, the pounding headache making my movements feel sluggish. The sounds from downstairs finally prompt me to go to the kitchen. Steeling myself for the inevitable, I drag my steps as I dread how today will go.
The smell of bacon and eggs assaults my senses. My stomach gurgles, and I can’t tell if it’s because of hunger or in revolt. My heart hammers against my ribs in anticipation of the impending encounter.
I come to a stop when I find Logan in the breakfast nook where we usually start our days together. Normally, seeing him—his warm smile and the comforting scent of his cologne—brings me peace, but today, I feel nothing but indifference. He’s eating his breakfast and reading the news on his cell phone.
“Um… hi,” I say stiffly. My voice comes out in a harsh croak.
Startled, Logan looks up from his phone. Apparently, I wasn’t making enough noise with my slow creep down the stairs.
“Oh. Hi,” he responds. He frowns as if he’s uncomfortable with the situation. “I made breakfast if you want any…”
“Thanks…”Wow, this is so much more awkward than I thought it would be.
I make myself a plate and then become paralyzed with indecision about where I should even sit. Do I sit with him and pretend everything is normal and be friendly? Do I move into the living room and eat by myself? Unsure what to do, I stand therefor a few moments until Logan clears his throat and gets up from the breakfast table. He grabs his plate and makes his way into the kitchen. As he walks toward me, I try to move out of the way, but since our apartment is small, there isn’t a lot of space to move around each other. After some awkward maneuvering, I make my way to the breakfast nook with my plate of food.
I’m slowly working through the scrambled eggs when he clears his throat again and turns to me. Pausing with my fork halfway to my mouth, I glance up at Logan.
“So… umm… do you think you can have your things moved out today?”
I nearly drop my fork as my jaw drops open, food still in my mouth.
Is he serious?
“Are you serious?”
“Well… yeah, I mean. We broke up so…”
I waited, a silence stretching between us, for him to elaborate, but apparently, that was all he had to say about the matter.
“You mean, we broke up not even twenty-four hours ago, and you want me to move out… today?”
“Um… yeah, I guess so.” He rubs the back of his neck and grimaces.
I stare at him, my gaze unwavering, trying to comprehend the situation. The tension in the air is palpable.
“Logan. I don’t have a place to go.”Because we have been living together the entire time we’ve been together.
“Well, can’t you move back into your parents’ place or something?”
Now I’m getting pissed. He knows that even though my parents still live in their home a few towns over, we have not been on friendly terms. I haven’t seen or talked to my parents in well over a decade at this point. Even before Logan and I gottogether. So, no, moving in with my parents is not a fucking option.
“I am not moving in with my parents,” I finally say to him, my voice firm despite my inner turmoil.
