Tug-at-your-heartstrings new adult first love story.
What starts as a bet to avoid cleanup duties at her minimum wage cashier job, wins Amelie D'Amico more than she's ever hoped for.
When Ben, a cute customer who always checkouts at her register, fi...
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Angie's packing when I stagger in and throw my keys on the counter.
"Wanna help me?" She dances around the boxes in the middle of the living room. Happiness radiates from her every pore.
"I've nothing better to do." I sound like I have tissue stuck up my nose. I don't. It's still leaking. I wipe it off on the back of my hand and look for something to clean myself up.
"Am?" Angie stops dancing and walks over to me. She inspects my face and takes me over to the couch. It's covered in more partially full boxes. She takes them off, sits me down, perches on its arm and hands me a box of tissues off the coffee table.
"I'm guessing you've heard from Ben."
"Yep." I blow my nose.
"And it's not good news."
"Well, it's the only news we could expect." I look for a place to put the damp wad in my hand. "We are no longer together." I ball it up and tuck into the front pocket of my jeans.
"OK."Angie rubs her forehead, her eyes trying to discover something in mine. "Wasn't that the plan all along?"
"It absolutely was. But it still fucking hurts." I push the palm of my hand into the middle of my chest, where it throbs.
"I bet it does. I bet it does." She covers my hand on my chest with hers, and I can breathe a little easier. "You got over Xavier, and you will get over Ben. Give it time."
"You too? Stop talking about the fucking time!" I throw the Kleenex box across the room. It hits the hallway wall with a whack. I keep my eyes on its crumpled shape on the floor. "I don't believe in the whole 'time heals all' bullshit. It doesn't." I try to take deep breaths, willing the black hole in me to shrink and stop sucking the oxygen out of the air.
Angie leans me against her. She puts her lips next to my ear, and a quiet sh-sh-sh, sh-sh-sh matches the rhythm of the calming circles her other hand is drawing on my back. I'm the older one. Why do I feel like a child around her? But this time it's okay, more than okay, actually. It's perfect. She'd make a great mother one day. I stay in her arms until the tempest in my head becomes a steady stream of quiet tears. Until the pain is no longer new, but an integral part of me. Until I can stand on my own.
Night brings no relief. Images of my conversation with Ben wake me up. Why did his words hurt so much? Why doesn't he realize I need him to want me to stay, without me admitting to it outloud. I roll onto the other side of the bed and bury my face in the five hundred count Egyptian cotton of his pillow. It smells clean, but I want it to smell like Ben. Being with Ben felt so right. Going to the school of my dreams feels so right. How can two rights make one huge wrong? .
The chunks of sleep I got are not enough. The morning light is too bright. I forgot to close the blinds last night. Or brush my teeth. Or take my clothes off. I pull the covers over my head and pretend it's not morning. I fall into a shallow and murky state between sleep and wakefulness.
