Toxic (8 page)

No Good-byes

July 2009

After leaving him at the country club I walked and walked and walked.

He would come for me.

I waited for it.

He never did.

Finally, I called Jamie and managed to ask him to come back for me. Then I walked some more. The breeze blew in my face, drying my tears. I hadn’t even realized a car had pulled in front of me until I almost walked into it. For a brief moment, I thought it was Jeremy in his mother’s car.

It wasn’t.

“Phoebe, what’s the matter?” Jamie’s concerned voice just brought on more tears.

I leaned in through the window and cried on his shoulder. Told him what happened.

“It was your first fight. Relax,” he said.

I got in the front seat. “No, it was our last fight.”

He laughed. “You are being way too dramatic. It’s not like you.”

I threw my head back. “I love him.”

He started the car. “I know. And some time apart won’t hurt. Take a small break and then go find him.”

“He’s with her now.”

Jamie shook his head. “You can’t believe that. You know he loves you.”

I wasn’t so sure.

By the time we pulled in the driveway, I was thinking more clearly.

Jamie put his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, party time.”

“I can’t. I’m not in the mood.”

“Your choice.”

“What happened when you went to Emmy’s sister’s by the way?”

“She’s coming to get her tomorrow.”

I wasn’t that surprised. “Wow. So fast.”

He opened the door for me and put his finger on his lips. “It’s what’s best for her.”

“I know but I’m sure she’s mad at you.”

“At all of us,” he said.

I sighed.

“But I had to do it. She’s a mess,” he whispered.

“So are you,” I countered.

“And fuck you too.”

I grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry.”

He sat on the bottom step. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. What are you going to do about Jeremy?”

I sat down beside him. “I owe him the truth. But I think you’re right—a cooling period wouldn’t hurt. I’ll go to him tomorrow.”

Jamie squeezed my knee. “Good plan.”

“I’m going to lay down for a bit.”

“I’m here if you need to talk.”

“I know.”

I went upstairs and threw myself on my bed. Then I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore.

My phone ringing startled me. I lifted on my elbows and realized it was dark, pitch dark. I squinted at my phone. It was three in the morning. I didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway.

Because it might be him.

“Hello.”

Silence.

“Hello?” I said again.

“Phoebe honey, it’s your mother. I need you.”

“Mom, what is it? Where are you?”

Through sobs, she said, “I’ve been arrested.”

“What? Why?”

“Can you just come? I can’t reach your father.”

“Of course. I’ll be right there as soon as I can.”

I hung up and called a cab.

I arrived at the police station to discover my mother had been arrested for driving while intoxicated and another man was in the car with her.

Once I finally reached my father we spent the morning at the courthouse. As soon as she was released, my father whisked us back to the city. There was no way I could stay behind in the Hamptons. My mother was a wreck. My father had somehow managed to contain the situation and by some miracle, it wasn’t plastered all over Page Six.

Yet my mother refused to explain herself. I knew something must have happened to cause her to go off the deep end like that. Drinking and getting drunk in public were just never her thing.

I refused to accept that my mother was a cheating drunk. But since she refused to talk to me, I refused to talk to her about anything else.

As soon as we arrived back in the city, she and my father took to their room. They didn’t shout, but I knew they were discussing what had happened, choosing to leave me out of it. I had other things on my mind than trying to eavesdrop. I couldn’t hear them anyway. So I went to my room and tried to call Jeremy. He didn’t answer. I called over and over but he never picked up.

The next day both of my parents were sitting together at the breakfast table like nothing had happened. I couldn’t believe them. Both refused to discuss the issue and after a few days of normalcy when there shouldn’t have been, I decided to go back to the Hamptons. When I finally did, I went right to Jeremy’s apartment.

It was empty.

My calls continued to go unanswered.

I tried to find him at the club.

“He doesn’t work here anymore,” I was told.

I went to Southe Pointe.

“He doesn’t work here anymore,” I was told again.

I looked everywhere but he’d disappeared. When I called him the next day, his phone line had been disconnected.

And I fell apart.

I had found myself in him, and with his absence, I was utterly lost.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. But as the days passed by, I stopped looking for him. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk to me.

Maybe he wanted her.

Not me.

He’d left me.

I had to let him go.

Days passed.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Weeks passed.

I still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The summer ended.

And he was still on my mind.

With his disappearance, the flame he had lit within me extinguished and my need for freedom and social independence went with it. I tried to remain wild and free. I tried so hard to hold on to that one thing Jeremy had taught me.

But I just couldn’t.

I was weak.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The boy I loved and lost.

Him.

The boy I’d never forget.

Not Again

We hadn’t even talked yet.

And he was seeping back inside my heart. And I knew it was going to affect me.

After all these years, he was back in my life, lying beside me, and I was afraid to wake him and ask him how he could have left me so easily.

Or why he was back now.

The pain Jeremy had caused me was unbearable; it was why I had banished the thoughts of him from my mind so long ago. But they were back in full force and I couldn’t stop the hurt from creeping back into my soul.

The memories were too strong.

The sting of the finality just too sad.

So many years, I had wished for a different ending but you can’t change what already happened. Even though there was a time I wanted to believe you could. A time I obsessed about what could have been. But I had managed to pack that painful existence away. And now, just like that, here it was.

The mattress shifted and the movement caused my nerves to twitch. Was he awake?

I needed answers.

My pulse sped up as I cautiously twisted back around.

With a hand flung over his head, he was facing me.

Oh God.

He was always so beautiful.

Still sleeping, his eyes were shut but I didn’t need them to be opened to remember. Jeremy’s eyes were the bluest of blue. Their color haunted me. And the dark fringe of his lashes still managed to mesmerize me.

With the sheet at his midriff, I allowed myself a glimpse of his bare torso.

I never could resist staring at him.

Smooth skin. Tanned. Long. Lean. Full of hidden strength. My eyes traced the lines of his muscles. His abs were taut. The ridges beneath his ribs pronounced. The definition of the sculpted lines that disappeared beneath the sheet couldn’t be denied.

The sight caused riots of butterflies to stir in my belly and panic to rise in my throat.

Had we had sex?

For the first time since waking up, I assessed my own state of undress.

Underwear and bra. Nothing else.

What did it mean?

My gaze lifted to look around me once more. It had been so long since I’d done this. That summer we spent together, I’d lie next to him and watch him sleep all the time. I was a morning person. He was not. I loved to observe the peaceful bliss his body portrayed while he slept. Awake, he was always on the go. Asleep he was quiet, calm, still.

I wondered if he was still the same.

The urge to push his hair off his forehead was so strong my fingers curled in anticipation. I forced myself to clutch the pillow and close my eyes again. But I couldn’t keep them closed when Jeremy’s sleeping form taunted me. He looked older, more mature, but largely the same. The stubble on his jaw was just how I remembered. Everything about him was just how I remembered.

I quickly considered leaving before he woke up. I considered waking him. In the end, watching was the preferable choice.

Watching and recalling our face-to-face of the previous night.

He knew my name—my real name. I remembered that much.

Suddenly, Jeremy’s eyes opened and I slammed mine shut. I wasn’t ready to talk to him. My nerves flared. He made a grunting noise that made my eyes flutter open but they closed again at the sight of his gorgeous face staring at me. I had to remember what I said to him, how I got here, and if we . . . well you know. But knowing he was awake made my heart spasm. I really wanted to see him, talk to him, and just be with him.

Finally, I accepted that I had to give up and ask. I just couldn’t recall anything after the cocktail waitress took me into the bathroom. The rest of the night was a blank slate. Nothing. It was as if I’d been drugged. At least I knew for certain he knew who I was. The burden of that lie was gone. I’d always wondered if he would have found out who I really was. Would he have read about me in the papers?

He wasn’t one to read Page Six. But he had found out—somehow.

Of course, I wished I’d told him the truth so many times. But lying beside him this morning, I never wished for that to be truer than right then.

The mattress creaked and my eyes snapped open.

Jeremy was already out of bed and sauntering toward the bathroom. That walk, I remembered that walk. Back then it was the sexiest walk I’d ever seen.

And it still was.

He wasn’t naked—he was wearing a pair of boxers. He had never worn boxers while he slept when we were together. I stared at him and the memory of our time together momentarily stunned me into silence.

My breathing hitched and I became all too aware of his overpowering presence. “Jeremy?” I finally managed.

“Yeah,” he answered, without as much as a backward glance. His tone was distant, uninterested even. As if seeing me was the last thing he wanted to do.

Although I wasn’t sure what I expected, his tone definitely took me by surprise. He sounded angry. That I could understand. But the complete disconnect between us shattered the bubble I’d sealed myself in for the past hour or so. What was I thinking would come of this anyway?

“What am I doing here?” I asked in a weak voice.

He twisted around and the heat of his gaze seared me but he said nothing. He just continued to practically strip me naked with that brooding stare.

I swallowed. “Jeremy?” I managed again.

Hot and cold. Fire and ice. That’s what I felt when he looked at me. His gaze lazily slid down my body and back up until he finally said, “Is that a rhetorical question?”

I shivered and shook my head no.

Coolly, he narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not seriously going to pretend you don’t remember?”

My body went rigid at his bitter tone and I couldn’t answer him. I really didn’t remember. Blood rushed in my ears as my heartbeat sped out of control. I wanted to move my mouth but instead just sat there with it hanging open and my knuckles turning white from clutching the sheets I had inadvertently pulled up to cover myself.

I was a sorry, sorry mess.

His eyes flickered with some unknown emotion—darkness maybe. And then just like that, he continued striding away from me. He did however stop at the bathroom door, where he proceeded to grab each side of the door frame, flexing the muscles of his defined back, and then he tossed in my direction, “Can I just say, you were a lot more fun than I remember you ever being,” before he slammed the door behind him.

Shock pierced me at the callousness of his words. Like I was some one-night stand he’d fucked and now he was done with me. I gasped for air as it all left my lungs. How could he be so cruel? And his eyes. His blue eyes, they were always so intense but today the intensity in his stare was laced with a bitterness that slammed any hopes I might have been building about him right down to the ground.

Tears sprang to my eyes at the animosity I’d just witnessed. I didn’t know what I expected but it wasn’t what I got. He was cold and distant. Arrogant. Rude. An utter asshole. Not at all the charming, although at times brooding, but still always endearing Jeremy I remembered.

With my heart clipped, I scanned the room for my clothes. His were scattered on the floor in piles, as if he stripped while walking.

We used to do that all the time as we headed to bed.

Oh God!

But my clothes weren’t beside his as they had been that summer. Instead, they were on his dresser. My dress was folded neatly, my shoes and purse beside it.

Confusion wreaked havoc in my mind. Suddenly feeling sick, I had to get out of there before he came back in the room and destroyed me even further by throwing me out.

In a mad dash, I grabbed my dress and tossed it over my head. Shoving my feet into my heels, I reached for my purse and scurried into the hallway. A flight of stairs led upstairs and another flight led down.

I decided on the descending set, which landed me right in front of the door.

With trembling fingers, I unlocked it. His motorcycle was outside along with a bicycle beside it. I hurried past them both and found the elevator. In a matter of minutes, I was exiting his building and walking out into the cool October morning.

Leaving him behind—again.

Even as I dashed out of his apartment, my mind was still enraptured by him. I knew it shouldn’t have been but I couldn’t fight it. Against my will, I began to wonder how long he’d lived there.

I’d tried to find him once when I thought he lived in Brooklyn.

But I never tried again after that day.

The pain, like today, was just too great.