“Bullshit,” I snap, another painful memory flashing through my mind. “You’re nothing but a big liar. I saw the woman at your apartment the other night. Admin, my ass. How stupid do you think I am?”
Confusion crosses his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Saturday night,” I state flatly.
“Saturday…” He frowns. “That’s my therapist. I couldn’t tell you until you knew everything.”
“Therapy? On a Saturday night? That’s almost as believable as admin.”
“I pay enough that I can do it whenever I want.”
Skepticism narrows my eyes. “Why should I believe that?”
“You can meet her yourself, ask anything you want.” He gazes up solemnly. “I have nothing left to hide from you.”
“Why would I believe that you’ll stick around? That you won’t go back to your old ways next time you’re in Vegas?”
His sigh seeps with desperation. “Believe me, Luce, I’ll stick around.”
I scowl down at him, my heart pounding with uncertainty. “You’re the pain my subconscious warned me about. You’re the stupid dog, Buddy.”
“I guess I am.”
More weird looks from passersby.
“How can I be sure you never had sex that night at your party?” I demand.
“You’ll have to trust me. No matter how messed up I was, I never betrayed you like that.” His jaw clenches, voice dropping an octave. “So get this straight-I’ve never wanted another woman since I had you.”
I snort and roll my eyes, even as his words pierce my chest.
His eyes darken with intensity, like a switch has flipped. “You clearly don’t care enough to fight for us. The truth is you don’t want to meet me halfway. You want to lose yourself in comics and live in Lucy fairyland because that’s easier than actually doing the hard stuff with me. We could have an incredible life together-it would be raw, challenging, exhilarating. Not some fairytale bullshit. But it would be a lot more satisfying and exciting than living apart.”
He runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely anguished. “This isn’t easy for me either, Lucy. I’m not some emotionless fucking robot. You wiped me from your heart and memories like I was nothing. Even when you hated me after that night at my place, the party… at least you still cared deeply. Your pain meant I still mattered. Then you woke up in the hospital and I meant nothing to you.” He takes a breath. “I’m laying my heart on the line. Asking you point blank-do you want me?”
“No,” I sob, tears betraying my facade.
He nods slowly, jaw clenched. “If you don’t want me, I can’t force you. But know you have my heart.” His eyes blaze. “What you do with it is up to you now.”
The metallic glint of the saucepan catches my attention too late. I hadn’t noticed Libby’s disappearance.
As if in slow motion, the water propels from the saucepan out of the open window and lands all over JP’s face and chest, drenching him.
My hand flies to my mouth as Priya and I gasp.
“Libby!” I screech.
“He deserved it!” she shoots back.
JP doesn’t flinch, doesn’t retaliate. Just stands there, water dripping down his muscular frame.
Slowly, he wipes his face, piercing my soul with one final fiery look. Then he turns and strides down the street without a glance back.
I watch him disappear as my heart shatters once more, scattering to the Manhattan breeze.
Lucy
For about forty-eight tedious, exhausting hours, things are pretty mundane apart from one decidedly non-mundane detail-a dread-cloud, monstrous and dark, like a gloomy stalker refusing to get the hint.
It takes hold in every tiny bit of me, rooting itself down into a tight, knotty mess that seems to have replaced my stomach. Food, for all intents and purposes, might as well be cardboard.
My fingers seem to have a mind of their own, relentlessly pulling up those social media pictures of JP on his knees in front of me in the street. It doesn’t matter where I am-slicing onions in the kitchen, strolling in the park, sipping my coffee at the cafe, or even, God help me, while sitting on the toilet. Waking up at stupid o’clock in the night to peep at them, as if maybe they’ll vanish in a puff of virtual smoke. Then when I’ve had enough of those, I watch the video that publicly shamed JP over and over again.
It’s a compulsion. A full-blown addiction. Every few minutes, my fingers betray me, clicking on the photo, each time feeling the sharp sting of anxiety. I feel more stripped and vulnerable than if I had strutted into the office in my racy Miss Nova getup with the eye-popping cutouts.
The camera’s interest was fixated on JP’s disgrace more than on my own existence in the frame. I take a peculiar comfort in that. I don’t want my fifteen minutes. The idea turns my stomach.
Ding, ding, ding. The messages from Taylor, Matty, and some of the office lot continue to stream in. Their concern seems genuine, but I can practically hear the gossip cranking into high gear back at HQ. I’m haunted by imagined chatter from sales and marketing and finance and all the other teams… and especially, oh especially, from IT.
Taylor called and told me to take some days off. She said if there’s anyone who can cash in their sick leave, it’s the Memoryless Woman.
Angry Andy, apparently, is not feeling as charitable. We have the presentation to the directors in two days for a significant Project Tangra milestone, and he’s having kittens that I’m playing truant.
I’ve been working from home, keeping Taylor in the loop. I’m not about to leave Project Tangra in the lurch, or the team. And Matty, good old Matty, is making a heroic stab at getting his shit together and manning the fort until I come back to the office.
Maybe it takes not doing your best all the time for people to appreciate your best.
I’m trying my damned best to shove JP out of my head. The memory of him, drenched, haunts me. He looked so destroyed.
I pick up books, but the words are just squiggles on a page. I drag myself to the coffee shop two blocks down, but the coffee might as well be dishwater. I waffle into the comic store, but the panels and speech bubbles might as well be hieroglyphs.
Heartbreak is a fucking minefield.
I scrub the bath with vigor in an attempt to scour away my anxiety and pain.
When I see Mom’s name light up the phone, I let out an audible groan. She’s the last voice I need to hear. But I can’t ghost her indefinitely.