“I appreciate you. Just so you know.”
“Gross. Save the touchy-feely shit for the nine-inch dick you’ve fallen in love with.”
“People don’t fall in love with dicks.” I let out my first laugh of the night despite the clenching sensation in my chest at her words. Brooke always has this way of erasing my pain, even if it’s for a few hours.
“The person or the appendage? Because I have an argument for both.”
My laugh turns into a full-blown fit of giggles.
Slowly the ache in my chest lessens at the thought of Santiago deceiving me. Of course, I understand he didn’t lie outright, but withholding the truth is still considered deception nonetheless.
But why don’t I feel as angry or upset about Matteo doing the same exact thing? Is it because I’m too desperate for a connection with a father figure to care? Or is it because I willingly gave Santiago the opportunity to break down every single barrier left around my heart before he broke it?
God, I hate this back-and-forth argument going on inside of my head. No one warned me about what happens after two people fall in love. How once the credits roll, the rainbow disappears and the world is thrust back into the reality of rainstorms and ugly days.
But to be honest, what did I expect? I’m the one who fell in love with someone who built a relationship while deceiving others. There’s no one I should be angry at besides myself. I’m basically the idiot piglet from the “Three Little Pigs” who thought life was good in a house made of straw before the big, bad wolf blew the house down and proved me wrong.
Angry at myself more than Santiago, I rip the covers off my body and climb out of bed to gather my video chat supplies. I skip grabbing a glass and pick a bottle of wine, shutting myself off from any kind of Santiago or Matteo-related thoughts.
And together, I get drunk with my best friend while saving my pain for another day.
45
Santiago
I’ve never experienced a walk of shame quite like the one to a local hotel. I keep my head down, avoiding residents who might recognize me.
Leaving Chloe at my house alone was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a while, and I’ve done a lot of difficult things lately. Knowing she was hurt because of my actions made the task nearly impossible. But she deserves my respect, and that starts with giving her space to calm down. I don’t blame her for feeling angry and needing room to process her life. She only found out her father is dead a few hours ago.
And rather than leaning on you for help like she should be able to, you fucked everything up. Good going, asshole.
I hate myself a bit more knowing she’s alone, probably crying herself to sleep tonight about everything.
The hotel employee gives me a key to my room on the first floor. I enter the small space and let out a sigh, throwing my bag in the corner. Not bothering with the bedside lamp, I settle into the bed.
“You had to go about ruining the one thing that brought you true happiness,” I whisper up to the ceiling.
Sleeping without Chloe feels odd. Like something in the world is amiss, and nothing can fix it. The bed is too empty, the sheets too cold. No position feels comfortable enough, no matter how hard I try.
I readjust my pillow for the third time, smacking it to the point where a few feathers fly out of the pillowcase. I lay back down and look up at the ceiling.
Damn, I wish I could be cuddling with Chloe in my bed right now.
My chest tightens at the idea.
Is it terrible that I hope she misses me just as much?
I can only pray sleep comes easy for me because I can’t handle another guilt-ridden, restless night.
I might have told Chloe I wouldn’t sleep at my house, but she didn’t say anything against visiting. Semantics are my friend. Semantics are what’s going to get me the hell out of this mess I created for myself to begin with.
I use my key to unlock the back door. The early morning rays of sunshine peek through the windows, guiding me through the kitchen. No sounds alert me that Chloe is awake. She usually sleeps in on the weekends, until at least 10 in the morning, but I want to be safe. The last thing I need is for her to get mad because she found me lurking again. She trusted me to leave her alone here, and I plan on following through as much as I can.
After a few minutes of silence, I take the risk. With shaky hands, I place a vase of wildflowers on the kitchen counter. I grab the accompanying note I wrote from my pocket and place it beside the bouquet. While my letter is more of an apologetic one, I still hope it carries the same feeling.
If everything goes according to plan, she will read the note and show up at the meet-up place I mentioned. I only need one chance to explain what happened and how much she means to me.
It takes a lot of self-control to step out of my home again. If Chloe doesn’t forgive me soon, I’ll be stuck making wishes to win her back.
I check the time on my phone for the third time in the last five minutes. Chloe is already half an hour late for our meeting, and I’ve already worked a path through the grass after all my pacing. I’d call her to check in, but I doubt that would go over well.
Did she actually stand me up?
Did you really believe she would show up in the first place?
I sigh to myself as I lean against the tree where I first found her climbing all those months ago. What do I do now? If this plan didn’t work, what will? What if Chloe doesn’t want to deal with me anymore, but doesn’t know how to tell me?
I stare up at the branches as if they hold the answers.
A twig snaps, and I turn toward the sound. “Chloe?”
No one replies.
“If you’re there, I want to start off with saying I’m sorry.”
Crickets chirp in reply.
Great. My disappointment grows as minutes pass by and Chloe doesn’t show herself. If she’s not here, then what is she up to?
Curiosity gets the best of me. The idea of returning back to my hotel room without at least checking in on her doesn’t sit right with me. My decision is made purely because of my need to ensure she is alive and well.
Right. You just miss her, you lying piece of shit.
I cling to the shadows, using them to disguise myself as I walk toward the back of the house. Each room of the house is dark except for the bright lights coming from the back.
I keep my distance, securing a good angle to see inside of the kitchen. Note to self: Teach Chloe the importance of not leaving all the blinds open. Any creeper could see what happens inside.
Chloe has her back to me. She opens the oven, and a cloud of smoke billows into her face. She uses an oven mitt to clear the air.
Fuck. I didn’t consider how she’s a safety risk to herself and the house. If she keeps this up, she’s going to burn everything down before I have a chance to move back in.
Chloe clutches onto the pan. I wince at the black lump of something inedible crumbling in the center. She walks toward the trash bin and presses the pedal with her foot. The charred food drops into the bin, right on top of the flower stems poking out from the top.
Something cold seeps through my chest, replacing any warmth at seeing Chloe in the first place.
She threw away my flowers? What the hell?
Did she even bother reading my note or did it meet the same fate as the flowers?