My phone rings, breaking me away from my thoughts. I pull my phone out and see that it’s Mrs. Scott. How the hell am I supposed to explain this to the Scotts? It’s going to be my fault of course. Maybe it is my fault. Not only do I have to tell them that Chris is now Cal again, but I also have to tell them that he’s mad at the world and I have no idea what he’s going to do. I guess I never did, but now it’s like he’s on a hinge that’s barely hanging on and I can’t deal with it right now. The hollowness in my chest turns into a burning sensation as tears sting my eyes. I want to scream.
This is almost like déjà vu. Being left on the floor crying, desperate, broken because of this man and he’s done it again. I crawl off the floor and climb onto the large sofa, curl up into myself, and close my eyes. I’m emotionally drained and mentally and physically exhausted like I’ve been on a 5k run.
Chris wanted me to love him. Cal apparently doesn’t want me to love Chris. It’s all too much to think about—how I ended up in a tug of war with one man. The man who is my daughter’s father, who has a shitload of emotional baggage. The depths of which I don’t think I ever fully understood until now. They’re the same person but neither of them see the other as who they are. Cal really looked at me as if I cheated on him.
How can he not understand it’s him I love—whoever he decides to call himself? I hate feeling like this and really I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t just lie here and cry. That’s not the type of woman I want Caylen to be. I may have hurt him, but it wasn’t intentional and what he’s done to me is much worse. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t even be in this situation.
If anyone should be hurt it should be me. How can he have the audacity to say those things to me? Like I didn’t wait for him for two years. Like he didn’t leave me alone to raise a child. I basically forgave him for having a freakin’ fiancée and that he lied to me about his condition. I sit up and clutch my chest, the hollowness there quickly incinerating as my anger washes over me and through me. Why should I lie here and cry and worry? I’ve forgiven him a thousand times over. He can forgive me once, even though I’m not even sure that I need to be forgiven.
He may be furious with me but he still loves me. I head up the stairs, anger my new source of energy. I swing the door open. It’s completely dark aside from a small sliver of light peeking into the room from the window but I can see that he’s lying on the bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The sight of him makes me pause, my once seething anger disappearing in seconds. This man. This man could easily be the death of me.
“You’re still here?” he says. His tone suggests it’s a joke and my dissipating anger starts to grow again. “I thought you’d have ran off and tattled to Chris’s mommy and daddy.”
“You have a lot of nerve,” I say as I plant my feet on the floor.
He glances over at me. “Oh. That’s a nice welcome. You fuck Chris and want to argue with me?” He laughs bitterly. He’s switched, the emotion pouring off him earlier has been replaced with this indifferent, arrogant sarcasm. That will make this a whole lot easier.
I walk over to him and stare him directly in the eye. “This isn’t about Chris. This is about you,” I say venomously.
“It wasn’t yesterday,” he says sarcastically as if this is a big joke.
“You’re still the same selfish jerk you always were,” I say and he begins to laugh. “You think this is funny?!” I yell at him and push his chest. He sits there, firmly planted as if it my hits have absolutely no effect on him, and I completely lose it. “How dare you!” I yell at him, pulling at him with all my might, swinging my arms as hard as I can, trying to make him feel a fraction of my pain. “How could you do that to me?” I shout at him as we begin to tussle.
“Calm the fuck down!” he says, trying to contain me. I’ve gone from helpless fool to crazy woman in the span of ten seconds.
“What’s wrong with you?!” he says, covering up a laugh that makes me even more furious.
“You’re what’s wrong with me” I say, throwing fist after fist at him.
“Lauren, stop!” he says, finally grabbing me and throwing me on the bed. A second later he’s on top of me, pinning me down. I hate that he’s stronger than me, that he can contain me.
“I hate you!” I say, catching my breath, tears filling my eyes again. This man drives me insane, pulls my spirit out from the inside. For him to doubt that for a second hurts, especially when he pretends to not give a flying fuck.