Two weeks, and I was getting more and more exhausted, the hangovers weighing me down, affecting my classes. Each time I had to watch her sit there in class, looking beautiful, but just as tired as me, I wanted to run to her and make it all better. But I wasn’t in a place I could. If I thought I was a mess when we’d ended, I was a god damn catastrophe now.
Breathe in for five, out for five. Repeat.
Five more times, and I was somewhat ready to exit my car and head to class.
All that control came to a screeching halt when I looked up through my windshield and saw Oaklyn with Jackson. He’d pulled to the curb, and she got out, looking tired, but still conjuring a real smile for him. He went around to the sidewalk and pulled her into his arms. She went willingly, holding him to her, too. I squeezed the leather around my steering wheel, listening to leather creak under the pressure as I watched him lean down and press his lips to the top of her head.
He stepped back still holding her hand until he walked too far away their fingers slipped from one another’s. Were they a couple? Had she moved on and let him comfort her?
Bile swirled in my stomach, threatening to burn its way up my throat.
How could she be with him? So soon? After she’d told me she didn’t want anyone else? Were they together?
I imagined seeing her in class. Wondering how I’d focus. How would I be able to look at her and not lose my shit in front of everyone? Demand that she give me an explanation.
I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.
Starting my car, I punched in the number for the office letting them know I wasn’t going to make it in today. I didn’t have to pretend to sound sick, I was broken and nothing about me was hiding that.
Back at home, I slammed the door to my house, tossing my bag to the floor as soon as I entered, and marched over to the mini bar. Not bothering with a glass, I unscrewed the top of my bourbon and started drinking.
The morning sun shone into my dark home, turning the framed picture across from me into a mirror. My foggy reflection stared back. I pulled my lips from the bottle and really looked at myself.1
A twenty-nine-year-old man drinking straight from the bottle before nine in the morning.
A twenty-nine-year-old man who gave up the woman he loved because he had no discipline over his emotions.
A twenty-nine-year-old man letting the past rule him rather than taking control. And not the false control I had before.Realcontrol. Control that stayed even when things went wrong.
How long was I going to let this ruin me, make my decisions for me?
Yes, I trusted Oaklyn enough to get close to her, to make love to her, but I could push myself to be with others—learn to trust them, too. I could still choose what I could and couldn’t do.
I hadn’t done enough to get there on my own, and I’d laid all my intimacy at her feet like I’d be alone forever without her. While I didn’t want anyone other than her, it didn’t mean she was the end all, be all to my future.
I couldn’t keep doing this.
I couldn’t keep letting other’s actions rule me.2
Swallowing the last swig of bourbon, I walked to the kitchen and dumped the rest of it down the sink. Watching the brown liquor swirl down the drain was cathartic. It was the first step in the right direction.
Step two had me running up the stairs two at a time. I burst into my room and quickly stuffed some clothes and toiletries in a carry-on. Done with that, I pulled up my phone and made the arrangements. Then I called an Uber because I was drunk at ten in the morning and the admission was another punch in the gut, letting me know I was making the right decision.
By the afternoon, I looked out another window, watching a different scenery roll by. One I hadn’t expected to see ever again.
The car parked outside the large home, and I grabbed my bag and strolled up the sidewalk. Lifting my hand to knock, I paused. Once that door was opened, I couldn’t go back. She’d force me to stay as long as she could. There would be no running or escaping.
I took a deep breath and knocked.
The door flung open, and she stood there with wide eyes.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Oh, my god. Cal.” Her hand flew up to her mouth and her face crumpled as she began to cry. I stepped in and pulled her into my arms.
“Mom,” I laughed. “This isn’t the welcome a boy wants from his mom.”
“I just—I can’t believe you’re here. You’re home.”
