chilly, so I wrap my arms around myself and head south.
“Juliette?”
Hearing his voice causes my insides to freeze, but my feet keep moving. I don’t respond to that name. Do I even know who Juliette is anymore?
“Juliette? Is that you?”
I hear his footsteps. They quicken but I refuse to respond to careless niceties he feels obligated to dole out.
Why?
Why does he try?
Why does he care?
What does he want?
“Hey!” He shouts from a distance, planting himself in a spot on the sidewalk, not willing to chase me. I roll my eyes because I’m walking in four-inch Prada, so he can easily catch me if he wants. He just doesn’t want to. That’s his arrogance showing. Everything always came so easy for him, including me back in college.
Rounding another corner, I find safety in the shadows of the building and keep walking. Memories of how bad the ending of us envelops me…
“I hate you,” he shouts. “I hate you for making me take this job. I hate you for making me buy that car. I hate this apartment and the furniture. I hate everything I’ve had to do since moving here for you.”
He used to say love, but lately, all I hear is hate. He’s used it generously in the last week and more than a few times tonight, five in the last minute. It’s ironic he’s now using the car and the job he chose against me, both of which he got without talking to me at all. He now blames me for the regret he feels. I guess the saying is true; we hurt the ones we love the most.
My feet keep moving as the flashback continues…
“I hate this life… my life with you,” Dylan yells at me.
“Have you met someone else?”
“God damn it, Juliette! This is about us, not anyone else.”
He turns his back when he shouts. I can’t see his eyes, which makes me question his truthfulness. I’m at a loss here. Do I speak again or is remaining quiet best these days? My phone rings, causing both of us to look over at it. He’s not happy about the intrusion, though I’m relieved.
“I have to get that.” I walk across the living room and pick it up.
Before I can answer, Dylan says, “Get it. I’m done here anyway.” My eyes lift from the number flashing on the screen back to his that are looking down. “We’re done.” He leaves on that note, walking into the bedroom and leaving me to take my call.
“This is Juliette.” I walk out of the apartment to give him the time alone he seems to need right now. Time is needed to cool down so we can talk about what is happening and what I did to upset him.
After many reassurances of my return to work, I hang up the phone with my gallery manager. Dylan’s parting words sink in. We’re done. Suddenly, I begin to understand that Dylan won’t be here when I get home. Is it even home without him? I realize he meant what he said and I’m at a loss… again. I’m losing him. I’m losing my heart. I’m losing my other half. My soul. Everything that matters.
Taking a deep breath, my heart pounding, I move even quicker to get away from him and the memories, and all that ties me to the past. There’s no more Dylan and Juliette, there’s no point in making a scene on the street.
Finally, I reach my comfort zone. My hand is shaking although I’m standing in front of my own building.
One ring.
Two rings.
Brandon answers, “Hey, Jules, it’s kind of late for a social call.”
My heart calms and I smile. “You love hearing from me and you know it.”
He laughs. “Yes, I do. Anytime, day or night for you.”
“Can I come over?”
I hear shuffling. He’s looking at the time. I know he is. It’s only ten-fifteen. Still early.
“Of course,” he replies, always overly concerned about me, “Is everything alright?”
“Buzz me in.”
“You’re already here?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s your key?”
“Buzz me in.”
The lock releases and the door is opened without further question. He knows when not to push. He’s great like that.
I climb the two
“Juliette?”
Hearing his voice causes my insides to freeze, but my feet keep moving. I don’t respond to that name. Do I even know who Juliette is anymore?
“Juliette? Is that you?”
I hear his footsteps. They quicken but I refuse to respond to careless niceties he feels obligated to dole out.
Why?
Why does he try?
Why does he care?
What does he want?
“Hey!” He shouts from a distance, planting himself in a spot on the sidewalk, not willing to chase me. I roll my eyes because I’m walking in four-inch Prada, so he can easily catch me if he wants. He just doesn’t want to. That’s his arrogance showing. Everything always came so easy for him, including me back in college.
Rounding another corner, I find safety in the shadows of the building and keep walking. Memories of how bad the ending of us envelops me…
“I hate you,” he shouts. “I hate you for making me take this job. I hate you for making me buy that car. I hate this apartment and the furniture. I hate everything I’ve had to do since moving here for you.”
He used to say love, but lately, all I hear is hate. He’s used it generously in the last week and more than a few times tonight, five in the last minute. It’s ironic he’s now using the car and the job he chose against me, both of which he got without talking to me at all. He now blames me for the regret he feels. I guess the saying is true; we hurt the ones we love the most.
My feet keep moving as the flashback continues…
“I hate this life… my life with you,” Dylan yells at me.
“Have you met someone else?”
“God damn it, Juliette! This is about us, not anyone else.”
He turns his back when he shouts. I can’t see his eyes, which makes me question his truthfulness. I’m at a loss here. Do I speak again or is remaining quiet best these days? My phone rings, causing both of us to look over at it. He’s not happy about the intrusion, though I’m relieved.
“I have to get that.” I walk across the living room and pick it up.
Before I can answer, Dylan says, “Get it. I’m done here anyway.” My eyes lift from the number flashing on the screen back to his that are looking down. “We’re done.” He leaves on that note, walking into the bedroom and leaving me to take my call.
“This is Juliette.” I walk out of the apartment to give him the time alone he seems to need right now. Time is needed to cool down so we can talk about what is happening and what I did to upset him.
After many reassurances of my return to work, I hang up the phone with my gallery manager. Dylan’s parting words sink in. We’re done. Suddenly, I begin to understand that Dylan won’t be here when I get home. Is it even home without him? I realize he meant what he said and I’m at a loss… again. I’m losing him. I’m losing my heart. I’m losing my other half. My soul. Everything that matters.
Taking a deep breath, my heart pounding, I move even quicker to get away from him and the memories, and all that ties me to the past. There’s no more Dylan and Juliette, there’s no point in making a scene on the street.
Finally, I reach my comfort zone. My hand is shaking although I’m standing in front of my own building.
One ring.
Two rings.
Brandon answers, “Hey, Jules, it’s kind of late for a social call.”
My heart calms and I smile. “You love hearing from me and you know it.”
He laughs. “Yes, I do. Anytime, day or night for you.”
“Can I come over?”
I hear shuffling. He’s looking at the time. I know he is. It’s only ten-fifteen. Still early.
“Of course,” he replies, always overly concerned about me, “Is everything alright?”
“Buzz me in.”
“You’re already here?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s your key?”
“Buzz me in.”
The lock releases and the door is opened without further question. He knows when not to push. He’s great like that.
I climb the two
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