“Wait—”
He doesn’t. The line goes dead, and I sit there with the phone at my ear for long minutes, trying to wrap my head around what the hell just happened. Everything was fine a couple of hours ago. So clearly something happened. There’s no way he just decided this the minute that I left the apartment to get clothes.
Maybe something happened with his dad? That’s the only thing that Malik has ever been cagey about.
Last night we were happy. Laughing. And after the laughter, Malik tied my hands above my head and teased me until I was begging him to get it over with and fuck me. He didn’t. Until he was good and ready.
Tears well up behind my eyes and I drop the phone onto the couch. Sadness like a tsunami crashes over me, and I feel completely lost. Everything that was so good and perfect just vanished like it was never there to begin with. I don’t even know how to process that. All I know is that the tears are coming hard and fast and my body is making sounds I didn’t know that it was capable of making.
I end up lying on the couch curled into one of the pillows, sobbing until every bit of grief and disappointment and shock works its way through my system. This can’t be happening. It can’t. Things can’t change this quickly.
Finally, the tears and the pain in my chest die down long enough for me to think. He said that I’m talented and that I should do my own thing. Doesn’t he think that I’ve been trying? It’s what I’ve been trying to do for years.
And yet, these last days while I’ve been with him, I’ve still learned so much and had ideas for how to make my book better. I really think that the changes I make to it will finally turn the book into the thing that I’ve wanted it to be for so long.
Fine. He wants me to do my own thing? I’ll do my own thing. Anger rises to replace the sadness. I’m not someone that just gets pushed aside because someone else thinks that it’s the right time for it. So, I’ll prove him right. If he wants to shut me out, let him. I’ll be over here finishing this fucking book.
But first, this requires comfort food, comfort clothes, and everything else that essentially being dumped requires. That thought sends a pang through me. This feels like being dumped, but we were never really together, were we?
It was just a temporary arrangement, never meant to last longer than a few weeks. But if that’s true, then why does it feel so awful?
I toss my suitcase on my bed and change into the comfiest clothes that I have before grabbing my laptop. One pizza and ice cream order later, I’m curled up on my couch with my laptop and I’m starting a romantic comedy marathon on the TV. Perfect background noise to stop, watch, and cry along with while I edit this book.
As far as those edits, I know exactly what I need to do. It’s a targeted attack. The emotions need to be just a bit higher, and the story needs to come full circle just a bit more.
I do love this story. I always have. At some point I’m going to have to let it go and try something new, but this is the last thing I want to do for it. If, after this, it’s still not enough, then I’ll start a new book. But I’m that writer, the one who has a hard time releasing projects that she loves because I’m always convinced that I can make it better.
The hours slip by so fast while I’m inside the book that I’m shocked when I look up and it’s almost nine o’clock. It feels like I’ve released every emotion and I’m completely empty now. But there’s also a deep satisfaction that I can’t even put a name to, because the book is finished. I know it is. And it’s good.
I don’t even know what makes me do it, but I open an email and attach the file, sending it to Malik before I can talk myself out of it. He’s never read this book. We talked about it, and he read the chapters that I wrote for him. But we were too busy fucking for him to get around to reading this, though he said that he wanted to.
Now that it’s done, I’m exhausted. And still sad.
I shut the laptop and resolve that I’m going to get a good night’s sleep, wake up, and forget all about the fling that I had with Malik Ellis.
Even as I’m fading into sleep, I know that I’m lying.
I’ll never be able to forget him.
9
Malik
God, I’m an idiot.