Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“So, you’re saying she was upset that I got stabbed? That’s not why you break up with someone.”
“Oh really. Why do you break up with people?”
“I get bored. They get annoying, but mostly boredom. She and I were never bored together. We couldn’t get enough of each other, Lynette.”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that your line of work comes with a certain type of danger and the possibility of violence. It’s clearly not what she’s used to and it took her till she was confronted with the reality of seeing you really hurt to wake her up.”
“Then she’s a coward,” I mutter.
“A coward? A woman who freaks when her man gets hurt is a coward? Say that to my face, Jacky. I may be pregnant, but I can still kick your ass.”
“Fine, she’s not a coward. I just don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do here,” I admit.
“You make a plan. You figure out how to get her back if you really want her.”
“She blindsided me. Plus she made it pretty clear she won’t have me back. I’ve never been in this position before Lynnie.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to ignore the burning in my eyes and throat until they dissipate.
“You need to put your goddamn pride aside Jacky. Tell her that you love her, and that you were caught off guard by her breaking up with you but that you understand that your stabbing probably came as a shock to her. If you’re serious about her, then you fight for her.”
“There’s nothing left to fight for, Lyn. She chickened out the second that a risk came anywhere close to her. The woman I fell for, she was tough and loyal and brave. She wasn’t real, I guess.”
I let her go back to sleep. I don’t feel any better after talking to her. Trying to get Serena back would be pointless.
I just have to live with the fact that I fucked up falling for Serena. I don’t make that kind of misjudgment in my work. Until now, I’ve been cautious even in my personal life. I never get too close to anyone outside of the business.
Believing in her feels like I still believed in Santa Claus. An immature idiot who can’t see the signs. She seemed so brave standing up for her dad, offering to work for the business to pay off his debts. It was all bullshit. She said it was just a good time.
All my life I heard people say they wouldn’t change a thing—even after they got divorced or widowed or cheated on or whatever because they value the love for however long it lasted.
That isn’t me.
If it were up to me, I’d change everything.
17
SERENA
Given that it was my decision to walk out on the love of my life last night, you’d think I’d be at peace.
All I feel is fear and more fear.
The blinding terror that bit me in half when I realized that Jack was serious, that he had been stabbed. A flood of panic at having to put pressure on the injury, to slice away his clothes, clean his wound and sew it up. It was no different mechanically from any other puncture or gash I’d stitched, except each shove of the needle through his flesh rent my heart. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood in my mouth, just to stop myself from crying out. I’ve never known pain like this. This loss is a heavy, solid weight on me.
When I’m home, I rush to the bathroom and throw up. After a few minutes I get up to rinse my mouth out and pull myself together. Then, I’m back on the floor, huddled with my knees drawn up to my chest, sobbing my heart out. When I’m crying too hard to breathe, I make myself take a deep breath through my mouth and breathe it out slowly because I know stress like this is bad for the baby.
I grab a wad of toilet paper to mop up my face and blow my nose. Again and again, I try to clean up only to vomit again, cry again. I’ve made myself sick over him, over what I’ve done. I have only myself to blame.
My dad opens the door in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and sees me on the floor, covered up with a towel, just because.
“You okay?” he asks.
I just look at him because in what universe is an adult woman clutching her knees to her chest on the bathroom floor and sobbing uncontrollably any version of okay? I’m not sure how to answer him. Do I say ‘yes’ to reassure him? Do I state the obvious and tell him that, no, I’m obviously not okay? Fortunately, he doesn’t wait for a response.