A Stormy Night Pt. 09

I hate myself.

I hate myself. I hate myself. I... fucking... hate myself!

Ridiculous. Naïve. Pathetic. Pitiful. Helpless. Ashamed. Despairing. I'm all that plus a shitload more that drastically contribute to the monstrous cyclone of upsetting emotions wreaking havoc in my chest. I fell for him—painfully hard—despite our agreement on being just fuck buddies from the very beginning. We fucking agreed, and yet I'm here wondering when, how and why I decided to look for deeper connections. And there's also a part of me (granted, the exceptionally foolish and desperate part of me) that still holds out hope as to why he left. His behavior wasn't like him at all, from the depressed mood he was giving off to his abrupt demand for rough, dominating, uninhibited yet somehow tormented sex. Looking back, he looked like he was on the brink of crumbling into ruins, and when we came, shrouded by mammoth satisfaction spiked with profound anguish, I could clearly see how torn he was—could feel it in my bones even. He really wanted to stay, with me.

So then why the hell did he still leave?!

I curl up into an even smaller ball of piping hot mess as yet another sob wrenches its way out of my throat. Everything hurts. My muscles are tensed up, my bones are aching, my eyes are stinging, my throat is scratchy, my lungs are overstressed, my head is pounding and my heart... I don't know how to accurately describe what it's going through. It's as if a barbed wire is coiled securely around it whilst it's being grinded into a fine pulp and consumed by a fire with white-hot flames raging within it but is also somehow encased in a block of subzero ice as it free-falls in a void. Never ever have I wept and suffered so damn much in my entire life. Then again, never ever have I loved anyone the way I do for Shawn.

Love.

Does he truly not feel love for me too? All those times we made breathtaking, world-shattering, mind-blowing, life-altering love didn't affect him in a weighty rudimentary level? And does the same go for when we opened up our hearts to one another? What about the moments we would have pure, glorious joy in simply being close together? Were they just tasks he felt he needed to do, so that he'll be able to get what he actually sought after from a joke like me: unlimited number of fucks?

All the various possibilities zooming in my mind do nothing to alleviate the hammering discomfort in my head or the twisting sensation in my feeble heart. In fact, they just add on, until my composure goes to shit for the fifty-sixth time. The dam behind my eyes that was momentarily dry suddenly fills up to the brim before breaking again, a gut-wrenching wail accompanying the torrential tears. Oh god no. I didn't think I had it that bad for him but I undoubtedly do. He has managed to coerce me into trapping myself with my own love for him in effortless yet groundbreaking ways, my body, mind and heart yearning for him in every conceivable way until countless shackles have snaked around every part of me and weights have made sure that I'm rendered immobile. I'm in love with him, utterly, deeply, without a doubt.

But he doesn't love you back, moron. He wouldn't have left if he does. He wouldn't even have reminded you of the friends-with-benefits deal if he does. He's gone for good, Sandra. Face it, it's over.

That notion continues to echo around in my head nonstop, silently slaying any remnant of misplaced hope that might be loitering. I hug my chest even tighter as the scorching tears stain my bed, each and every sob that I emit causing my heart to rattle in the unstable ribcage, the thumping in my head increasing its volume and rhythm like the beat of a song that tells of intense sorrow and heartache.

A black veil gradually falls before my eyes, and when it lifts just as slowly later on I feel... hollow? No, there's something prowling deep within me but I don't have the energy or the will to figure out what exactly it is. For some minutes, I lie perfectly still, listening to my forced breaths and the soft pitter-patter of light raindrops outside. I stare straight at the window and when I see that it's totally dark out I conclude that more than a whole damn day has gone by with me virtually chained to this bed. Taking a deep, much-needed breath in, I cautiously sit up as if I've woken from a decade-long sleep but still endured damage the entire period, a headache relentlessly whipping my brain. I look down at my bare legs. I'm still half naked from yesterday; after he left I didn't have the strength to do anything but cry. I'm really more than just fucked up, I know, but at this moment of time in my life, I think I deserve to be.

It takes a hell of a while for me to comprehend the banging my ears keep detecting. What the hell can that be? Doesn't it know that I want to suffer in peace? I shut my eyes, thinking that it will disappear in due time if I ignore it, but it actually worsens, getting louder and becoming more frequent until my brain finally figures out that the noise is coming from the door.

"Sandra. Open the door!" Mrs. Grayson begs, anxiety evidently ringing in her voice.

But I don't even try to move. I just want to be alone. That's all. For all eternity even, if it's possible.

"Please, Sandra. You're more than just worrying me."

I remain still.

"At least say something!"

Silence is what I give her instead. In the end, she leaves me alone and for a long while 'serenity' reigns. I know that I should in the least give her a break and tell her what's going on but I just... can't. Visualizing the way she would react to what I've been doing for months behind her back is more than agonizing for me. I truly can't face her in my state. I'm not even sure if I'll ever manage to face her.

I give myself a couple more minutes before deciding that I desperately need a shower. Struggling to my feet, I make my way towards the bathroom, lugging my body along as if it's not actually mine. Eventually reaching my destination after centuries, I turn just the cold faucet on; I don't care about making the shower relaxing right now. Scuffling out of my shirt and removing my bra, I step into the stall as if entering a room of death. The falling water bites into my skin like icy daggers, causing trembles to break out across my body yet I welcome the cruel feeling since it seems to fit in with all the other tumultuous emotions inside me. Taking the loofah and body wash from the ledge, I squirt more than the necessary amount onto the spongy material before starting to vigorously rub it along the length of my figure. I can still feel him all over me, his arms, his legs, his breath, his torso, his mouth, his sweat and his cock—everything everywhere. If I can succeed in partially purging him out of my system, I may be able to have a fresh start.

If only I could wipe him from my memory too.

I feel as if hours crawl by whilst I scrub myself clean before my inflamed skin declares that it has had enough, and I let the bitter water flow down my form and wash away the soap alongside every molecule of him left behind before I shut off the faucet and step out into my room without bothering with a towel. I head straight for the dresser, taking out a green silk nightdress and slipping it on whilst I'm still soaked to the skin so that it clings to me. I don't give a shit about my sodden hair as I slip back into bed. That dilemma is nothing compared to what I'm experiencing inside.

Shutting my eyes, I attempt to go back to sleep, my weariness getting the best of me once again, but then other forces decide on otherwise.

"Sandra?"

My eyes open a fraction at the different voice. It takes a moment for my sluggish brain to figure out who it is.

"Sandra, come on. Open the door so that we'll talk," Jen tries to persuade, the same concern that was in Mrs. Grayson's voice now inhabiting hers. "Sandra, everyone's worried sick, okay? So please, just let me in and we'll sort out whatever is wrong. Please?"

A lengthy amount of time slinks by with me not moving a single bit. My mind and body are shrieking no, not wanting anyone to view the disaster that I've created. Yet my heart cries out the loudest, begging for some kind of release, trying to convince me that it's the most sensible thing to do.

If you can't even confide in your bestie, then who? it asks me, and that's how I get the motivation to move a limb.

Maybe it's the fact that despite Jen's tendency to be the most infuriating human being ever, I can still count on her understanding and support. She also has always been the easiest person for me to talk to, and to be honest I'm really more than just sick of withdrawing the truth when there's no point in hiding it any longer. Maybe if I tell her what happened, I will have enough strength to face the world again.

Maybe.

After going through the same trouble I had faced when walking towards the bathroom, I succeed in reaching the door, forcing myself to inhale air to ease the headache again. I see my hand settle on the door key but don't feel the metal make contact with my fingers, probably because I'm now as cold as it. Eventually, I unlock the door with a distinct click and then I'm suddenly in what should be a bone-crushing hug.

"Don't ever scare us like that again!" Jen exclaims, embracing me even tighter.

"I'm sorry," is all I can say in a frail voice as I accept the hug, her warmth and vitality seeping into me without me actually wanting them to.

She finally lets me go but sets her hands on my shoulders, taking a long good look at the catastrophe that is me. "Okay, before we talk I just need to take care of your hair. It's a hell of a tragedy and I don't want you getting sick."

Her straightforwardness causes me to smile for the first time in what might as well be eons, the brutalizing feeling in my heart lessening by just a fraction. She shuts the door and gently leads me towards the vanity table, making me sit on the stool as she picks up a hairbrush and hairdryer. Closing my eyes, I let her expertly brush out the tangles and knots in my hair, the heat gusting from the dryer's muzzle chasing away some of the wild shivers in my body. Time goes by before she finally finishes, setting the items back down on the table before taking me to my bed, raising the covers for me then tucking me in like a loving mother and then sits at the edge of the mattress, waiting patiently, wanting me to have the initiative to start the conversation.

It must've taken a few minutes with us just staying still, her looking at me and me staring straight at my pillow. In the end, I breathe in as deeply as I can, shut my eyes and say in a meek voice, "I fucked up big time."

And then everything comes tumbling out. How Shawn and I met, how we became fuck buddies, how we were able to fool everybody to keep our relationship secret, how much the impact of him leaving me changed me. I even tell her that I love him: his brilliant smile, charisma, witty mind, coolness, humor. Everything. And when I'm done tears begin to stream down my cheeks once more.

"No, no, no, no, no!" she repeatedly says, wiping away the tears for me. "You've done enough of that. Like really, you look like shit."

That manages to squeeze a chuckle out of me, a nice change from the sadness.

"There we go. I don't want to cringe just by looking at you, alright?" she states with a comforting smile. "Now, why the fucking hell did you keep this from me of all people?"

I look back at the pillow, feeling totally embarrassed and silly. I say, "I didn't think you would approve."

"Approve?! I'm the one who was talking about bedding him when I first saw him!" she exclaims, looking at me as if I'm a madwoman (okay, I am). "I would've only encouraged you! Don't you know me?"

I give a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Jen. I should've known that telling you what was going on with me might have spared me some drama."

"Umm... I think it would've been a half-half thing."

Another laugh trickles out of me. How I feel worlds better now just by finally confessing everything.

Tentatively, I ask, "So... you aren't that mad at me?"

"That mad, yeah," she agrees, making it crystal clear that she doesn't consent to her best friend lying to her. I nod in understanding. "But I forgive you, and you should forgive yourself for getting too attached to him."

I squeeze my eyes shut when his face pops into my mind. "I can't. I was so stupid to think that—"

"Stop it! You are a woman, Sandra. And you were a virgin too, so not getting attached somehow to your first—especially if he was great—would have been more than concerning."

"Jen—"

"No. I won't let you make yourself feel terrible over this. So maybe he isn't the one. Billions of other men are out there waiting for you and one of them would never see you as just a fling. So we're going to spend the rest of the night watching all your favorite shows and movies, eat some comfort food, and do whatever else we can to help you forget about him. Alright?"

I look at her, her green eyes glowing with fiery determination, letting me know that she won't take any more shit from me, and I'm more than grateful to have her as an amazing friend.

"Yes, ma'am," I comply with the second healthy smile I've cracked since yesterday.

"Great! I'll get the snacks and you choose whatever you want us to watch first," she says, springing to her feet. "Even if it's Vampire Diaries."

"It's a great show!"

"It's dead too but today's your day so I'll let you win."

I start laughing and she disappears to the kitchen. Where would I be without her?

Like Jen promised, we watch a number of movies and series that I love, eat a lot of junk food that her mother will have a row about and chatted about anything that would come to mind. Of course, the dense cloud of sadness is still hovering over me during every second, but her cheeriness and vigor are like sunbeams that have managed to break through. When midnight hits and the thousandth threat from her insane mom at last convinces her to save herself, she goes back home, and after spending five minutes alone in my room, I finally convince myself to have the courage to talk to all those I've hurt and deceived, starting with Mrs. Grayson if she's still here.

I find her in the kitchen, working on a crossword puzzle as she listens to some jazz playing on her phone, and am instantly touched. She stayed here for me, no doubt still worried about me despite Jen saying otherwise. And just as instantly guilt crams into my heart as I realize how I selfishly made everyone worry unnecessarily for me. Now I certainly need to do all I can to make things right.

It takes hearing me awkwardly clear my throat for her to notice my presence and drop her pen, severe relief washing over her features.

"Sandra! Are you alright?" she asks, the second person to give me a breath-denying hug.

"I'm better now," I say truthfully, hugging her back.

"I'm so glad! You more than just gave me a heart attack," she says with a great big smile.

"I'm really so sorry," I apologize, so very pissed at myself.

"It's okay now. You don't—"

"No. I have to tell you how deeply sorry I am and how I regret hurting you like that." She looks at me with surprise shining clear from her face but doesn't say anything to oppose me. "I... I've been lying to you, for so long, and I'm more than mad at myself for doing that to you. I just hope that somehow, someday, you will be able to forgive me."

She's silent for some moments, trying her hardest to comprehend what exactly has brought on these drastic changes in me but coming up with nothing. Finally, she says gently, "Of course I forgive you, honey. I don't know what exactly you've been doing that you think is so terrible, but I don't think it really is as bad as you believe it is."

Oh how the rest of the galaxy would highly disagree with that.

"You don't know the story," I start to say but she shakes her head fervently.

"But I know you, and I know that no matter how low you are feeling right now you will come out on top in the end. Don't ever doubt that, alright?"

Looking at her, seeing how much faith she has in me, allows more beams to probe through the cloud, making my heart feel lighter.

"Thank you," I say, my voice quavering a little from the sphere of emotions threatening to make me break down once more.

"Of course," she says, a brilliant smile lighting her—and me—up. "Now sit down and we'll talk about that supernatural show you like so much."

I grin at the way everyone thinks The Vampire Diaries is the best way to make me feel better—well, okay, it kinda is. We sit down at the island table and eat ice-cream and chat about the craziest things like little schoolgirls as I internally thank the heavens for giving her as a second mother to me. It really helps the unrelenting hold on my heart slacken a bit more—a little. I mean, at least now I'm not breathing like I've been underwater for months, plus the need to break down into tears isn't as overwhelming as before.

When we're done, I help her clear up the dishes and wash them, still talking, and afterwards I receive another reassuring hug before I disappear into my room again. Naturally, my eyes land on my phone on the nightstand and I realize that there are at least two more people that I need to clear things up with.

Picking it up, I see that I've missed about twenty calls and four times that number of messages from my parents. Shit!

I start calling them, thinking about how I will explain to them that I was going through one crazy-ass heartbreak without actually telling them. Will they even understand? I mean, I know my dad would just think it's some girl teen's issues I'm dealing with, which is partly true, but my mom... she'll grill me for every detail, and if I don't tell her I'm not sure what she will do.

The line is picked up, and before I get the chance to say hello my eardrum pops from my mother's abrupt yells.

"Sandra! Do you know the trouble you made us go through this entire day?!" she hollers down the phone, the only goal she has on her mind being to lecture the fuck out of me.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I try to apologize, sitting down so as to better prepare myself for the onslaught of lectures that are still to come.

"'Sorry' doesn't cut it, Cassandra," my father replies with much more calm yet much more menace in his voice too. "What exactly happened for you to ignore us?"

I freeze up. I know that there's really no point in not telling them but imagine trying to tell your parents about a breakup when they didn't even know you were in a relationship. Doable? Yes. Trouble-free? Over my dead body.

"I... umm... I can't tell you yet," I end up admitting.

"Oh no. You don't get to scare the living lights out of us and then not give us a reason as to why," Mom states, evidently more than mad at me right now.

"I know, I know. I just..." I sigh out loud, trying to gather up every bit of power to say the next sentence. "I... hate myself for what I did, and even though I know that I more than deserve it I'm just not ready to have you two hate me too."

There's a lengthy silence as they absorb my words, tension crackling in the air around me and I assume them too. Eventually, Dad says gently, "Sandra, we can never hate you for anything, no matter how terrible it may be."