Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
He dropped his eyes again, trying to find a calculated answer.
“No thinking,” I snapped. “Just tell me. Because we were really fucking happy, until one day we weren’t. And I’m not the one who changed. I’m not the one who walked in the door one day as a different person. That was you.”
“Keep your voice down—”
I lowered my voice, not because he asked me to, but because people were turning to stare and I did feel guilty for affecting their romantic holiday just because mine had gone to utter shit. “You care a lot more about strangers in a restaurant than the woman you supposedly love.”
He searched for the waiter, and then he made a motion with his hand, asking for the check.
That somehow made me angrier, the way he wanted to get away from me like I was the problem. Like I was the irrational bitch who’d caused all of this. “Tell me what happened.”
He sat there, slumped in his chair, looking at anything but me.
“Seriously?”
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, full of exasperation, like he was at the end of his rope of patience. Like being subjected to my company was that horrible. Like I was the most obnoxious cunt he’d ever met.
“You wait until we’re on a trip to dump me? That doesn’t make sense, Enzo.”
“I told you I didn’t want to come—”
“Why?”
“I told you I have a lot of shit going on at work.”
“Another fucking excuse. Is there someone else? Just be a man and tell me. This is already a dumpster fire, so more fuel isn’t going to make it burn any hotter.”
He didn’t react, didn’t look at me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you—”
“It’s done,” he said, forcing himself to sound calm. “Let’s just pay for dinner and go home.”
“We’ve already paid for another ten days at the hotel. And the beach clubs—”
“I don’t give a shit about that. I just want to leave.”
“You mean leave me.” It was the first time my voice was truly calm. The quiet acceptance hit me, having stared the truth in the face for months. It didn’t matter what had compromised our relationship, if it was someone else or he really had just fallen out of love with me, if he really had just stopped being attracted to me. I meant nothing to this man. And every time I opened my mouth, every time I asked for the dignity of an explanation, I just irritated him more. Just pushed him further and further away.
I’d rather he tell me he fucked someone else and beg for my forgiveness. I’d rather he tell me he lied to me and promise to earn back my trust. But this indifference, this annoyance, this undeniable urge to leave and never think of me again . . . was fucking cruel.
Especially when I didn’t know why. And I would never know why.
We didn’t look at each other as we waited for the waiter to bring us the check.
It was one of the lowest moments of my life, my chest so tight with indescribable pain. The agony didn’t come from the end of the relationship. It came from the way he looked at me—or didn’t look at me, because I still remembered how it used to be. Remembered overhearing him talk to his friends and tell them he could see himself marrying me someday. The way he used to talk about us having three kids together. The way he asked me to move in by giving me one of his keys on my birthday. He put me on a pedestal.
And then he yanked it out from underneath me.
Back at the hotel, he packed his things in a hurry. Threw everything inside without discrimination. Threw his razor right on top of his blazer and then piled his shoes on top. His toothbrush was shoved into the side of the bag. An open tube of toothpaste was haphazardly shoved into one of the sleeves, and it would probably ruin a batch of his clothes during the flight.
But he didn’t give a shit.
“You’re going to stay here?” he asked as he zipped up the bag.
I wasn’t going to sit on a plane with him. Wasn’t going to return to the apartment we shared. I didn’t have a plan for my next move, and I’d already sunk some serious cash into this vacation. I wasn’t going to waste that, along with the last two years of my life. “Yes.”
“I’ll pack up your things.” He put his suitcase on the floor and popped the handle so he could roll it out. “Let me know when you’re ready to come get it, and I’ll make sure I’m out.”
“So you just assume you keep the apartment?” I asked spitefully.
He stopped by the door and stared at me. “You moved in with me, so yes.”