I laugh at her reference to ice cream—somehow I knew her favorite food group would make an appearance in any conversation about my love life—but I let her words sink in.
“I gotta go, Daphne.”
“Oh yeah? Where?”
“Back to Beverly Hills.”
“Are you sure about this, Kimmy?”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “I am. I love him, Daph.”
“Call me when you get there so I know you made it.”
“I will. Bye.”
I move quickly throughout my apartment, gathering my stuff. When I came home I just threw everything down and fell onto my bed and cried.
I know my dad wouldn’t want me to go. But my heart is telling me otherwise. Deep down I believe Bodhi, even despite the lingering thought that he put himself in her path and could’ve moved away from her. I guess he could’ve been trying to be nice, but I’m not sure I buy that. I don’t want him to be nice to her, because I fear that she could be a wedge between us.
Do I give him an ultimatum? Do I tell them that if wants to be with me, she has to be out of his life? That’s fair, right?
Rushing to my car, I toss my bag into the backseat and pull out before my dad can catch on to what I’m doing. No sooner am I down the driveway than my phone rings. It’s my dad, and I let it go to voicemail. I need to do what’s right for me, and that is Bodhi. Dad will never understand until he can see us together.
As soon as I hit the interstate, traffic comes to a standstill. I bang my head against my steering wheel and yell in frustration.
Chapter 26
Bodhi
The drive home from Serenity Springs was a blur. I can’t get it out of my head that Kim thought I would cheat on her or go back to drugs. I never would have thought that about her. But I guess I’m not a very good judge of character when it comes to women. The evidence: my association with Aspen.
Before I know it, I’m pulling into the garage. As if on autopilot, I hang up my helmet and make my way back into the house. My parents call out to me, but I tell them I’m going to bed. I’m sure they’re worried that I’ve relapsed, and honestly, I don’t blame them. I’m nothing but a fuckup, anyway.
As soon as I open my bedroom door, the smell of Kim’s perfume hits me like a ton of bricks. I miss her, and I had her here for only a few short days. I step inside the room, shutting the door behind me, and picture her everywhere. The chair holding her dress mocks me, reminding me what Kimberly and I shared in the back of the car. Even my closet feels empty without her stuff hanging next to mine.
I’m alone. I’m alone when I thought I was going to have someone to share my life with. Even with the distance between San Diego and Beverly Hills, I knew I’d hear her voice on the phone or we’d video chat. But now I have nothing and it hurts. My chest feels tight and my eyes sting as I try to fight back the tears. Why do I feel this way after only weeks of knowing her? I shouldn’t. I should be able to shrug her off like she didn’t matter.
Except I can’t, because I need her like I need air to breathe and water to live.
And she’s gone.
It’s with that realization that I finally understand why Dr. Rosenberg said that new relationships are frowned upon for people who’ve recently been through rehab. The threat of relapse is there. Except I have too much going for me to go out and snort some nose candy. Rebel wouldn’t give me a second chance, no matter what, and I need the group. I need Kimberly more, but she doesn’t want me.
I lie back on the bed and let the tears flow. Whoever said guys don’t cry are full of shit. It feels good to let everything out. I never used to understand when people say it’s good to cry sometimes, but I do now. I have so many suppressed emotions that they all start flowing once I open the gates: Kimberly, my parents, Virtuous Paradox. The memories aren’t all bad—some are good—but nonetheless the tears flow like they never have before.
I look at the bedside clock and make the decision that tomorrow is going to be a sick day for me. I need some time to get my head straight before I face Rebel. The last thing I need is for her to assume I’m using again if I show up with bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep. I don’t need to give her an excuse to kick me out of VeeP. It’s the only thing that I have left.
I pull out my phone. The screen comes alive, only to show me a picture that I took o
f Kimberly and me last night. Man, she looked like a fucking movie star in that formfitting strapless dress. She belonged on the red carpet, putting all the other women to shame.
She’s the first woman I ever really made love to, as opposed to just screwing, but it all seems to have been for naught. She doesn’t love me like I love her. It was so easy for her to dismiss the truth without listening to me explain.
Images of her beneath me with her head thrown back, her neck elongated and begging for me to bite it, replay in my mind. Every memory I have from every encounter is going to be distant before too long. Next week I won’t be able to recall the smell of her perfume, or the way her leg wrapped around my hip before she was about to come. Two months with her wasn’t enough to last me a lifetime.
I compose a quick text to Rebel and the guys, letting them know that I’m not feeling well. Before I can turn my phone off, Rebel replies, asking if I need anything. I’m certain she’s asking because I’m fresh out of rehab and the worry that I’m using again is at the forefront of her mind. When it comes down to it, she has to protect the group, not me. I tell her that I’m okay and just need tomorrow off. I know it puts us behind, but I can make it up. Besides, working seven days a week isn’t going to cut it in the long run, and she knows it.
I close my eyes as the tears fall again. They run down the sides of my face, wetting my ears and leaving puddles on my comforter. I feel like such a girl, lying here and crying because someone doesn’t want to be with me. I don’t know what hurts more, the fact that she rejected me after she told me she loved me or the fact that she doesn’t believe me. When I think of either, my chest aches and it’s hard to breathe.