realize I don’t even know the girl staring back at me with crazy eyes. I shake my head as I clench my teeth and flip the visor back up. I don’t want to live like this. I can’t, and I won’t. I want to be happy, not stuck in this nightmare for the rest of my life.
I’m never cutting again.
I put the box cutter in my purse and vow to get rid of it. That idea sends a chill down my spine, but I resolve that I’ll do it someday…one day really soon. The thoughts and memories are still itching my brain, but I try to keep them at bay. I pull as much strength as I can from somewhere inside me, and I shut them out. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth together so tightly with the effort it takes to lock all that shit away. It’s a struggle, but I finally manage to seal them inside and stop them from consuming me.
I can do this.
I can shut out my pain and move forward. I have to. I have no other choice because I will never become the disgusting broken mess I saw in the mirror today. I can’t.
Two years later, I pull into my mechanic’s parking lot just as my phone rings. After I park and turn off the car, I quickly grab my phone, and my stomach plummets when I check the caller ID. This is the call I’ve been psyching myself up for. I’m going to tell my ex-boyfriend, Sam, who I was with for the past year, that we’re done, over, kaput. He’s been stringing me along and I absolutely cannot handle any more games. I need to move on. To say it is easier said than done is a laughable understatement. My heart starts to pound because I rarely stand up for myself, but I have to do it now.
Sucking in a deep breath, I answer the call. “Hello?”
“Hey, baby, how are you?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes tightly, I take another deep breath. I answer curtly, “I’m fine.”
“Can you come over tonight, so we can talk?” he asks softly.
This is it—the moment of truth. I open my eyes as I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans and whisper, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“What?” he asks, his voice rising an octave.
“I said—”
“I heard what you said, but what the fuck do you mean, it’s not a good idea?”
Gritting my teeth against my instinct to cower, I remind myself that Sam is not here, so he can’t hurt me. He’s not… him. “We broke up months ago, and you’re stringing me along. I can’t do it anymore. It’s breaking me.”
He sighs, irritated. “Anna, you know the divorce has been hard on me, but I’m trying here.” He pauses briefly. “I love you, Anna. You know I do.”
Running my hand through my long chestnut hair, I grip the roots. I blow out a frustrated breath before I say, “You mean the divorce from your wife who you failed to mention that you had until after we were living together.”
“Anna…” He drawls my name out. “What do you want me to say?”
A few tears escape my eyes. “I don’t need you to say anything,” I whisper. “Just let me go, and leave me alone.”
“I’m not going to do that. We belong together.”
My heart sinks a little at his determined tone. I thought this would be easier. It’s not like he actually cares. He kicks around my heart, playing with it like a soccer ball, and I can’t handle it anymore. I’ve reached a breaking point, and I need to stand my ground.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this. You pushed me away. You were always out, partying. You kept your wife and child from me. You kicked a fucking cat at me, for Christ’s sake. How can you possibly believe that we belong togeth—”
“Anna—” he interrupts.
“No, I can’t do this anymore. Five months ago, I told you that if you didn’t come home, I was done. You chose not to come home. I held out hope that you could love me, but you can’t, and it’s killing me to be strung along like this. I won’t do it anymore.” I grit my teeth and bite back a sob as I cover my eyes with my free hand.
I don’t want to