Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
The text was simple. It’s really hard without you. I’m sorry; I was wrong to give you an ultimatum. Please forgive me. I miss you and I really need you. That’s what being lonely does to me. It makes me weak and wish he’d just come back to me.
Brushing under my puffy eyes, I stare down at my phone. It’s my raw heart and the very last pieces of the shattered thing that bring me down this low. I never heard anything back.
I thought it would get easier, but somehow Evan refusing to talk to me is making it harder. He doesn’t return my calls, doesn’t text back. Nothing. The only contact I have with him is an excerpt from the Page Six column quoting him as saying that we’ve split.
I remember how he said it was just for a “short while.” Maybe that’s how he got me. He left me with hope.
That fucking bastard.
It’s like my body doesn’t want to hate him and instead, the blame is falling on me.
It’s my fault I pushed him away.
My fault I gave him an ultimatum.
Why am I the one hoping he’ll forgive me?
Why am I the one praying he’ll write me back, leaving voicemails saying he’s sorry?
At least at night. And only late at night.
The days are so much easier. Although I know I’m to blame too. I know I contributed. If only I could take it back, I would.
After the unanswered texts, I started packing everything of his to place into storage. Starting with his clothes from a basket of clean laundry. Removing those clothes from my sight didn’t make any bit of difference with the sadness. The harsh tears and sobs came when I started ripping the photos off the wall and throwing them into a box.
It was my breaking point, the moment I knew I’d lost it and couldn’t stay here, surrounded by pieces of him.
So I moved out and into Jules’s guest room.
I don’t know if I’m insane, hormonal, or how the hell I’m supposed to react to all this. The only thing I really know is that I’m not the first woman to have a man leave her. I won’t be the last, either. It is what it is, and every second that goes by with Evan not saying a word is one more layer added to my armor.
“What about her?” Jules questions and I lift my gaze to her, trying not to show how messed up I am. It’s not her fault.
She’s cuddled up on the couch, a soft cream and brown striped throw over her legs with the computer in her lap. She turns it toward me so I can check out the profile and résumé she’s looking at.
Personal Assistant – Angela Kent
She has experience and an impressive résumé. My gaze scans down the lines on the screen, but it’s hard for me to focus. Interviews are a must at this point; I have to hire someone to help me. Or take on less work from the agency. Both are viable options. I only need to pick one. Hopefully sooner, rather than later. I’m drowning in work, but struggling to do any of it.
“Maybe,” I tell her and lean back into the sofa. I let my head fall back and wish I had one thing figured out in my life. Just one.
It seems like nothing can go right anymore.
The doubt only lasts seconds and with a deep breath, I find myself glancing back to the screen to read the applicant’s résumé again.
“Hey, come on,” Jules says, attempting to console me. She places the laptop on the ottoman so she can scoot forward and lean against the armrest of my chair. “It’s going to be okay. No matter how dark the night gets, the sun will come up in the morning.” She gives me a soft, encouraging smile to cheer me up. It’s one of the lines from her first book she gave me as her agent. The memory takes me back to the high point of my life and then it crushes me.
“I’m sorry … It’s just that the nights are hard.”
“I get that,” she says, her kind tone adding extra comfort to the small words. “Do you want me to make you some tea?”
I shake my head. “I think I just need to sleep,” I answer her but I really don’t know what I need, and that’s the problem. There’s no solution to this because it’s out of my control.
“If he said he’s coming back, I guess the real question is: Do you wait for him?”
“I told him it’s over.” I sniff and absently pick at a snag on the corner of the throw. “I told him if he walked out, I was done.”
“I know what you said. But it’s obviously not over, not for you.”