bird while I
signed off on the bill.
I was halfway through my workout and had the treadmill going at near full speed. With my headphones on, I was running to the backbeat of eighties alternative band Erasure when my phone chimed with a text message.
I picked it up and looked at it, expecting some smartass remark from Jordan or maybe even a snapshot of the mythical blonde he’d been going on about. I almost stumbled when I saw it was from Emilia.
Fucking finally . I clicked on my chat app to read it, powering down the treadmill to a slow walk.
Just wanted to let you know I moved my stuff out today. We’ll talk when you get home from NYC .
I did stumble then and almost fell off the fucking contraption, reading it over and over again. Soon as I caught my breath, I called her.
It went straight to voicemail. Fucking bullshit .
My fingers were stiff with anger as I tapped out the reply.
Answer the goddamn phone .
She responded two minutes later as I was wiping off my face and the equipment.
I’m not going to talk about this on the phone. Text me when you get back & we can talk then .
My hand closed around the damn thing. I took a deep breath, downed an entire bottle of water and walked back to my room before I called her again.
No answer.
“Texting me that you moved out is a really fucking shitty thing to do, Emilia. Now put on your big girl panties and talk to me,” I snarled to her voicemail. She never called back.
I was panicking now, big time. This was no longer a game of chicken. This shit was getting real. And I couldn’t find one scrap of ancient Chinese war wisdom to support me in how I’d behaved. In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle, but indirect methods will be needed in order to secure victory .
It was true, I’d been too direct with her—so against the norm of how I typically behaved. I’d forced the confrontation, tried to push her decision right then and there. My fear had driven me to it. I’d wanted her to commit to a decision so I wouldn’t have to worry about our future. I’d wanted to be secure in the knowledge that she would stay and be with me and her feelings and emotions had not entered into the matter.
In short, I’d cornered her and left her no way out but to leave. A direct contradiction to Sun Tzu’s advice. When you surround an army, allow them an outlet to flee .
I’d been a moron and my brain was now scrambling to find a way to rectify this.
Two days later when I got home, it was just as she’d told me. Everything was gone. Her closet was empty. The drawers were bare except for a few random clothing items from a drawer it looked like she’d missed. No books on her shelves. Everything. Was. Gone. Everything .
She left the laptop I’d given her, (yet again). This was starting to become some sort of sick, weird pattern with us. With a howl of burning rage, I grabbed the fucking thing and almost smashed it against the wall before I stopped myself.
That would have been the most expensive temper tantrum I’d ever had. I never threw shit at the walls. I was one ragingly pissed-off dude who couldn’t think beyond the next minute of his own fury.
And in some ways, I did feel like I was losing my mind.
Chapter Seven
Text me when you get home, please, so we can talk .
Thankfully I’d had a couple hours to calm down when that showed up on my cell phone. It was midafternoon and I’d resisted the urge to go to work only because my head was killing me. I rubbed at the back of my neck. The impending migraine was definitely starting there. I hadn’t had one in weeks, goddamn it.
For a while they’d been an almost daily curse. In the past year they’d eased up a lot and in the past few months I could remember having only a few. But today it was almost certain that this one was going to floor me. I could already detect the telltale distortion at the edge of my vision. I snatched up my phone and
signed off on the bill.
I was halfway through my workout and had the treadmill going at near full speed. With my headphones on, I was running to the backbeat of eighties alternative band Erasure when my phone chimed with a text message.
I picked it up and looked at it, expecting some smartass remark from Jordan or maybe even a snapshot of the mythical blonde he’d been going on about. I almost stumbled when I saw it was from Emilia.
Fucking finally . I clicked on my chat app to read it, powering down the treadmill to a slow walk.
Just wanted to let you know I moved my stuff out today. We’ll talk when you get home from NYC .
I did stumble then and almost fell off the fucking contraption, reading it over and over again. Soon as I caught my breath, I called her.
It went straight to voicemail. Fucking bullshit .
My fingers were stiff with anger as I tapped out the reply.
Answer the goddamn phone .
She responded two minutes later as I was wiping off my face and the equipment.
I’m not going to talk about this on the phone. Text me when you get back & we can talk then .
My hand closed around the damn thing. I took a deep breath, downed an entire bottle of water and walked back to my room before I called her again.
No answer.
“Texting me that you moved out is a really fucking shitty thing to do, Emilia. Now put on your big girl panties and talk to me,” I snarled to her voicemail. She never called back.
I was panicking now, big time. This was no longer a game of chicken. This shit was getting real. And I couldn’t find one scrap of ancient Chinese war wisdom to support me in how I’d behaved. In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle, but indirect methods will be needed in order to secure victory .
It was true, I’d been too direct with her—so against the norm of how I typically behaved. I’d forced the confrontation, tried to push her decision right then and there. My fear had driven me to it. I’d wanted her to commit to a decision so I wouldn’t have to worry about our future. I’d wanted to be secure in the knowledge that she would stay and be with me and her feelings and emotions had not entered into the matter.
In short, I’d cornered her and left her no way out but to leave. A direct contradiction to Sun Tzu’s advice. When you surround an army, allow them an outlet to flee .
I’d been a moron and my brain was now scrambling to find a way to rectify this.
Two days later when I got home, it was just as she’d told me. Everything was gone. Her closet was empty. The drawers were bare except for a few random clothing items from a drawer it looked like she’d missed. No books on her shelves. Everything. Was. Gone. Everything .
She left the laptop I’d given her, (yet again). This was starting to become some sort of sick, weird pattern with us. With a howl of burning rage, I grabbed the fucking thing and almost smashed it against the wall before I stopped myself.
That would have been the most expensive temper tantrum I’d ever had. I never threw shit at the walls. I was one ragingly pissed-off dude who couldn’t think beyond the next minute of his own fury.
And in some ways, I did feel like I was losing my mind.
Chapter Seven
Text me when you get home, please, so we can talk .
Thankfully I’d had a couple hours to calm down when that showed up on my cell phone. It was midafternoon and I’d resisted the urge to go to work only because my head was killing me. I rubbed at the back of my neck. The impending migraine was definitely starting there. I hadn’t had one in weeks, goddamn it.
For a while they’d been an almost daily curse. In the past year they’d eased up a lot and in the past few months I could remember having only a few. But today it was almost certain that this one was going to floor me. I could already detect the telltale distortion at the edge of my vision. I snatched up my phone and
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