On the entire ride home, I replay the conversation with Harry in my mind. I don’t regret the things I said, nor do I want to take back my decision to have a break from the work scene for a while.
I need a fucking time out, a break to find myself, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I lock my apartment door behind me a few minutes after riding the elevator up. I’m sleepy, and all I want to do is take a nice warm bath and reflect on my past mistakes and how to fix them for a better future. Now that I’m not going to be working, I have all the time in the world.
Unfortunately, all I’m able to think about as I sink into the warm bathwater is fucking Owen. Ugh.
24
Molly
I don’t want to get out of my white porcelain bathtub with the claw feet, even though my skin is shriveling at this point and the water is now cold against my naked body.
I don’t even care anymore; this is the freest feeling surging through my veins I’ve ever felt, and I not only want to embrace it, but relish in it and savor each moment that I remain uncommitted to anything or anyone. I actually did put Owen out of my mind once I got in the bath.
You know that expression ‘no fucks to give?’ Well, that’s me. Look it up in a dictionary and you’ll see my face and submerged body in this tub right now.
I mean damn, even the taste in the air is different. Is that really possible? I think so, because I’m living it right now.
Don’t call me crazy or spastic. It’s called perspective, and I’m finally seeing it clearly for once in my fucking life.
I finally climb out of the tub and pat my skin dry. My chest feels lighter, and the weight of the world is fading fast from my memory.
No longer do I feel trapped or as if I’m collapsing on the brink of losing control. I’m not dramatic, I’m just pissed.
Well, maybe I’m not even angry anymore. The new me doesn’t care enough. No fucks to give, remember?
I lather lotion on my still-damp skin, moistening it until I’m radiantly glowing as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I may appear the same on the outside, but on the inside, big changes are festering and taking place in my mind and spirit.
I drape a white terry-cloth robe around my body and pull it closed tight around me, wrapping it nice and snug.
I walk to my living room to fetch the glass of water that I
suddenly remember I left sitting on the coffee table. It’s refreshing as I gulp it down, good to every last cool and savory drop.
I jump nearly a foot in the air as the doorbell rings inside of my apartment, scaring the living fucking daylights out of me.
Who the fuck is at my doorstep at this hour?
I clutch my robe tighter and head apprehensively to the front door.
I stare through the peep hole first, wanting to gauge who’s on the other side.
It’s too dark down the hallway for some reason. Should I open the door to reveal the visitor? The old me would probably say no, but the new me is too full of curiosity not to wonder.
I inhale sharply and whisk the door open in one fell swoop.
My mouth hangs open in gawking shock when I see who’s on the other side.
“Hi, Molly, I hope it’s not too late to see you.”
“Owen?” I stand there, just staring at him and trying to comprehend what he’s doing here.
I notice his hand behind his back as he slowly pulls it forward to reveal an enormous amount of long-stemmed white roses in a perfect bouquet.
“These are for you,” he states softly, and pushes them towards me.