Chapter 31
DEAN
Two days later...
This is bullshit...
I run another lap around the downtown park, seething with every step. My body is drenched in a sweat, my mind is losing itself, and my heart has just been stabbed by the same girl who broke it ten years ago.
It’s been four fucking hours since I came out here to run—rain be damned, and I’m not going to let myself stop until I can’t feel anything anymore.
I can’t stop thinking about Mia and how she stormed into the bar and got right between me and my way-too-down-to-earth therapist. How she accused her of being a date of mine.
It was true that I wasn’t up to discussing the past with her that night, and that I’d gone to my favorite bar to think on it for a minute instead. It’s just that that “minute” turned into half an hour and before I knew it, I was calling my therapist and asking her to confirm that I was doing the right thing.
“Mia is the love of your life,” she’d said, patting me on the shoulder. “She’s pretty much the only constant you’ve talked about since we met years ago. Go talk to her. I’ll let you have one more drink and then you need to go talk to her. And text her back, too.” That was the last sentence she got out before Mia stormed over and started yelling like a goddamn psycho.
I wonder if my therapist will feel the same way about Mia the next time I see her...
I run another lap around the park, thinking this might be the last one, but as I approach the line of white food trucks, all the things Mia said that night begin to play in my head on repeat.
I’d argued with her before in the past and a lot when she first came to Portland, but I’ve never seen her that angry before. Even when we broke up the first time, she never acted out like that. Part of me was quite turned on by it, but the other part of me was wondering, “Who the hell is this girl?”
The second she started crying, I wanted to hold her and tell her it was okay, but I had to hold back. If she had any inkling as to what I felt all those years ago, she wouldn’t be walking around ten years later like she’s the damn victim.
She’s the one who hurt me. Not only that, but she didn’t even give me a chance to talk to her back then, and now, I try and do the right thing and let everything go and even apologize for the particular moments where I messed up and she brings up all this other shit.
I’m tempted to go home and demand that she listen to my side of everything, but there are two problems with that scenario: One, all of her things from the condo are long gone and Eric is impatiently waiting for an explanation for that shit. And two, even if I did know where she’d moved, I know it would just turn out the same as that night. I refuse to let her turn everything around again.
I’m done with her.
***
By the time my brain gives up thinking about Mia, it’s three o’clock in the morning and I still feel like I can go for a few more miles.
I’ve taken an extra-long shower, stared at the TV for hours and even attempted to clean, but I’m still unable to clear my mind. Glancing at her empty bedroom every three seconds doesn’t help either.
After I toss back a shot, I pull out my phone and see there’s a text message from my therapist.
SARAH, MD: Did you go home and talk to Mia the other night?
DEAN: No.
SARAH, MD: Why not?”
DEAN: Is there a charge for when you text me after hours?
SARAH, MD: Dean...Please call her.
DEAN: I’m serious about the charge. Is this counted in your billable hours? (I didn’t agree to pay for anything outside of the original 150/per hour thing.)
SARAH, MD: NO. Call her. Now. (And you pay me 180/per hour. I had to start charging you extra for the additional “I just want to talk about Mia today” sessions that you insisted on weeks ago :-) )
I roll my eyes and give in to her irrational request. I dial Mia’s number, still amazed that it hasn’t changed in all these years, that I never thought to actually call her as much as she crossed my mind, and then I hit the green key.
It rings once. Twice. Voicemail.
“You’ve reached Mia. I’m unable to take your call right now. Please leave a message and I promise I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”
I’m tempted to say something, but I hang up before the beep can sound. And before I can think about calling her again, I turn off my phone and toss it across the room to prevent myself from calling again.
I lean back against the living room sofa and try to go to sleep, but it’s no use.
I know I won’t be able to get any decent sleep for a long time, and the only thing my traitorous mind wants me to focus on are the memories of us from years ago...