his hands like I’m a cop.
He’s still laughing and shaking his head as he follows me out of the parking lot and back onto the street.
chapter eleven
TESSA
I check my phone where it’s plugged into the wall. “He’s been gone for over an hour.” I try to call him again.
“He’s probably just taking his time,” Kimberly says, but I can see the doubt in her eyes as she tries to comfort me.
“He’s not answering. If he went back to that bar . . .” I stand up and being pacing.
“He’ll probably pull up any minute.” She opens the door and peeks out, looking left and right, then down. She says my name quietly, but her voice sounds off. Something’s not right.
“What? What is it?” Is Hardin in the hallway? I zip over to where Kimberly is just as she bends down . . . and grabs my suitcase.
Dread takes over, bringing me to my knees. I barely feel Kimberly’s arms around me as I open the front pocket of the suitcase.
An airline ticket, a single airline ticket, is there. Next to it, Hardin’s key chain with the keys to his car and apartment still attached.
I knew this was coming. I knew he would back away from me the moment he could. Hardin can’t handle any type of emotional trauma, he just isn’t equipped. I could have, should have, been preparing for this, so why does this ticket feel so heavy in my hand and my chest feel like it’s on fire? I hate him for doing this to me, so quickly and out of anger, and I hate myself for not preparing for this. I should be tough right now; I should pick up the tiny scrap of dignity I haven’t lost and stand tall. I should take this ticket, grab my damn suitcase, and get the hell out of London. That’s what any self-respecting woman would do. It’s simple, isn’t it? I keep this thought in my head as my knees buckle below me, my hands shake, covering the embarrassment on my face as I break into pieces over this man, again.
“He’s an ass,” Kimberly insults Hardin, as if I didn’t already know he’s an asshole. “You know he will come back; he always does,” she says against my hair. I look at her, and I can see the anger and the protective-friend threat in her eyes.
I gently pull myself out of her arms and shake my head. “I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m okay,” I chant, more so to myself than to Kim.
“You aren’t,” she corrects me, tucking a wild strand of my hair behind my ear.
I get a glimpse of Hardin’s hands doing that exact gesture, and I pull away. “I need a shower,” I say to my friend, just before I lose it.
NO, NOT BROKEN. I’m not broken; I’m defeated. What I feel right now is purely defeat. I’ve spent months and months fighting against the inevitable, pushing against a current that was much too big to brave alone, and now I’ve been swallowed into it with no lifeboats in sight.
“Tessa? Tessa, are you okay?” Kimberly yells from the other side of the bathroom door.
“I’m fine,” I manage, the words sounding as weak as I feel. If I don’t feel an ounce of strength, I can attempt to hide some of the weakness.
The water is cold now, it’s been cold for minutes . . . maybe even an hour. I haven’t the slightest idea of how much time I’ve been in here, crouched down on the floor of the shower, my knees folded against my chest, the cold water spraying down on me. It was borderline painful a while ago, but my body went numb a few Kimberly checkups ago.
“You have to get out of that shower. Don’t think I won’t break the door down.”
I don’t doubt for a second that she would do just that. I’ve ignored that threat a few times already, but this time I reach up and turn the shower off. Still, I make no move to leave my spot on the floor.
Seemingly satisfied that the water’s gone off, I don’t hear from Kimberly for another little while. But the next time she pounds, I call back to her, “I’m getting out.”
By the time I stand up, my legs are wobbly and my hair is almost dry. I dig into my
He’s still laughing and shaking his head as he follows me out of the parking lot and back onto the street.
chapter eleven
TESSA
I check my phone where it’s plugged into the wall. “He’s been gone for over an hour.” I try to call him again.
“He’s probably just taking his time,” Kimberly says, but I can see the doubt in her eyes as she tries to comfort me.
“He’s not answering. If he went back to that bar . . .” I stand up and being pacing.
“He’ll probably pull up any minute.” She opens the door and peeks out, looking left and right, then down. She says my name quietly, but her voice sounds off. Something’s not right.
“What? What is it?” Is Hardin in the hallway? I zip over to where Kimberly is just as she bends down . . . and grabs my suitcase.
Dread takes over, bringing me to my knees. I barely feel Kimberly’s arms around me as I open the front pocket of the suitcase.
An airline ticket, a single airline ticket, is there. Next to it, Hardin’s key chain with the keys to his car and apartment still attached.
I knew this was coming. I knew he would back away from me the moment he could. Hardin can’t handle any type of emotional trauma, he just isn’t equipped. I could have, should have, been preparing for this, so why does this ticket feel so heavy in my hand and my chest feel like it’s on fire? I hate him for doing this to me, so quickly and out of anger, and I hate myself for not preparing for this. I should be tough right now; I should pick up the tiny scrap of dignity I haven’t lost and stand tall. I should take this ticket, grab my damn suitcase, and get the hell out of London. That’s what any self-respecting woman would do. It’s simple, isn’t it? I keep this thought in my head as my knees buckle below me, my hands shake, covering the embarrassment on my face as I break into pieces over this man, again.
“He’s an ass,” Kimberly insults Hardin, as if I didn’t already know he’s an asshole. “You know he will come back; he always does,” she says against my hair. I look at her, and I can see the anger and the protective-friend threat in her eyes.
I gently pull myself out of her arms and shake my head. “I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m okay,” I chant, more so to myself than to Kim.
“You aren’t,” she corrects me, tucking a wild strand of my hair behind my ear.
I get a glimpse of Hardin’s hands doing that exact gesture, and I pull away. “I need a shower,” I say to my friend, just before I lose it.
NO, NOT BROKEN. I’m not broken; I’m defeated. What I feel right now is purely defeat. I’ve spent months and months fighting against the inevitable, pushing against a current that was much too big to brave alone, and now I’ve been swallowed into it with no lifeboats in sight.
“Tessa? Tessa, are you okay?” Kimberly yells from the other side of the bathroom door.
“I’m fine,” I manage, the words sounding as weak as I feel. If I don’t feel an ounce of strength, I can attempt to hide some of the weakness.
The water is cold now, it’s been cold for minutes . . . maybe even an hour. I haven’t the slightest idea of how much time I’ve been in here, crouched down on the floor of the shower, my knees folded against my chest, the cold water spraying down on me. It was borderline painful a while ago, but my body went numb a few Kimberly checkups ago.
“You have to get out of that shower. Don’t think I won’t break the door down.”
I don’t doubt for a second that she would do just that. I’ve ignored that threat a few times already, but this time I reach up and turn the shower off. Still, I make no move to leave my spot on the floor.
Seemingly satisfied that the water’s gone off, I don’t hear from Kimberly for another little while. But the next time she pounds, I call back to her, “I’m getting out.”
By the time I stand up, my legs are wobbly and my hair is almost dry. I dig into my
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