“Then why did you guys divorce?”
“He got hit by a bus.”
Speechless, I try to find the right words to say. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”
“He was drunk. He started drinking to replace his gambling addiction. Some things aren’t meant to be.”
“Like Drew and me,” I say quietly.
I leave Gigi’s and head back home still with a guilty conscience. Why? I have no idea. Confused about everything and everyone, I decide to head to the shower but I’m interrupted as my cell dances across my nightstand. Not recognizing the number, I answer with hesitation.
“Hello?”
There’s silence followed by a shallow breath. “It’s me.”
“Jess?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes… no… I don’t know, Zoey. Tonight was just… fuck… I don’t know.”
There’s a sharp noise in the background, the sound of glass shattering. I pause and gather my thoughts like a rational human being. “I’m sorry Drew hit you. I don’t know what he was thinking.”
“He loves you… that’s what he’s thinking.”
“Jess, it’s not like that—”
“The man fucking loves you, Zoey. I should know. I fucked everything up between us, and now he has you.”
“No one has me, Jess,” I answer, slightly annoyed at his reference to me being a possession.
“Tell me what I need to do, Zoey. I’ll do anything to get you back.”
His desperate pleas are exactly what I wanted to hear a year ago. But now, they stand like empty promises. And yet some part of him has a hold on me, and I hate that fact. Why can’t I just let go of this man and everything we had? Why am I even thinking about getting back together with him?
“Jess, just give me time to process tonight. You and I… I just don’t know.”
“How much time? A day? A week? Tell me,” he slurs.
“I don’t know,” I almost yell back. “I can’t think… there’s so much history between us, and I don’t know anything tonight. Stop pressuring me.”
The door swings open, slamming against the brittle wall. In shock, I see Drew standing at the entrance with the same bottle still in hand. His eyes are bloodshot, and he can barely stand straight. With his dress shirt unbuttoned, I can see his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate.
“Jess, let me call you tomorrow,” I tell him before ending the call without a goodbye.
I put the cell down. “You can’t barge into my room whenever you feel like it.”
“Why? We’re roomies. You do whatever the hell you please, so why can’t I?” he argues back, his tone malicious and very unlike him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I stand up and cross my arms, fed up with his antics.
“You…” he rages.
“Me what?”
“This is all your fault.”