He doesn’t. This is it. He’s leaving me to accept what he’s willing to give, which I know deep down is not enough anymore.
“Goodbye.” Alexander has his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes on me. I turn my back to him and head to my next class early, willing to wait there rather than stand here and fall apart publicly. I try to distract myself by going through the material I’m about to be tested on. Alexander Kingwood IV is a prime study in clinical psychology, but like he warned me, my emotions are too involved to see a clear picture.
I thought I was strong. Walking away with a chip on my shoulder, my heart throbs to go back. When I duck inside the psychology building, I run to the stairwell, my emotions consuming me the way Alexander did before them. I grab hold of the railing and break down.
Dropping to the step, I dig out a tissue from my backpack, trying to stop my makeup from running down my face. I should have known today would be awful. It started that way, waking up alone, eating with the devil incarnate. Like an omen. I hadn’t known I’d also go to sleep on my own tonight though. If I’d known I was going to break up with the love of my life, I would have gone home.
10
Sara Jane
“Sara Jane?”
My name echoes through the apartment, but it’s not the voice I want to hear.
Shelly calls again, “Sara Jane, you here?”
The covers are pulled tighter and higher, the pillow adjusted over my head. The knock is light but loud enough. I remain quiet, burrowed in my bed, hoping she gives up. When the bed dips, I know I’m going to have to face her, but deep down I wanted to have a few more days before I had to explain.
“Hey,” she says, nudging my arm through the blanket. “You in there?” When I moan, she lies down on the bed next to me. “Remember when Chad and I broke up?”
“No, when did that happen?” I ask, moving the pillow just enough to peek out.
“Confession. We never broke up, but it got you talking. So do you want to talk about what happened?”
“Not really, and you’re not funny.” The pillow returns to cover my face.
Her arm comes around me, and she leans her head on my shoulder. “He misses you.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
“He’s showing it, but you’ve been buried in this bed for the last two days and haven’t seen it.” She sighs. “I don’t know what happened. He hasn’t told me or Chad, but I want you to know I’m on your side.”
“You don’t even know my side.”
“I know you and you’re my best friend, so that means I’m on your side.” She tries to move the pillow away from my head. At first I resist, and then I let her. I’m greeted with a warm albeit sympathetic smile. “It really sucks how pretty you are even when you’re depressed.”
I give in and laugh. “Shush it. I probably look horrible.”
“Nope. I’d tell you. Happily. ’Cuz that’s what friends do.”
Rolling my eyes, I move to my side and face her. “My chest hurts and I feel like I can’t cry another tear, and then they reappear, and I cry all over again.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t live with his secrets.”
“He’s always been mysterious. You can’t deny that’s not one aspect of what attracted you to him in the first place.”
Looking down, I nod. “He’s change—”
“Changed? No, he hasn’t, Sara Jane. He’s exactly the same guy you met years ago. It’s you who’s changed.”
I sit up, trying not to be offended. “Geez, thanks.” Before I can really get my pout put on properly, I consider what she’s saying. I don’t want her to be right. But deep down, I think she is. “I met Alexander the day of his mother’s funeral. Any parent’s death will shape your future, but his mother’s case was never solved. He won’t rest until he has answers, and his father won’t discuss it.” Staring up at the ceiling, I add, “I may have been young when we met, but I knew what I was getting into.”
“It doesn’t mean you have to stay. It’s a delicate matter, but it sounds like you’re either supporting him or moving on without him. And by the looks of you lying in this bed, although pretty, you look pretty damn stagnant.”
“I love him.” Resting my head on her shoulder now, I sigh. Love is tricky. Worth the risk? Alexander is not just a man who completes me as if I can’t be whole without him. He’s the man who sought me, pursued me, patiently but persistently waited for me. Enthralled me. He said he was lost when he found me, as if it was a state he believed he’d forever stay in. He’d just lost—brutally—the one person in his life who cherished him. But he’s also the man I said I would always love, cherish, and accept. Worth the risk to my heart to stay? To continue to adore and relish? “It is worth it. He’s worth it, but like his mother’s death changed him, he’s changed me.” I am the strong woman he believes me to be.
Grabbing the pillow and hugging it to my chest, I look at Shelly. “He’s right. He owns me. There is no me without him. There never was.”
*
Taking one last look in my mirror, I make sure every hair is in place, and that my dress has no wrinkles. I grab my purse and leave my apartment for what might be the first time in days. I’m not sure what I’m doing is the right thing, but two days without Alexander is more than I’m willing to live with. I miss him. I miss his moods and clandestine behavior. I miss his smile and that damn twinkle in his eyes when he wants to make love. I miss his arms around me and the way he holds me so possessively, and his hands on me intimately. I miss the way he makes me feel like me.
I miss him.
The living room was full of flowers, giving Shelly the perfect opportunity to say I told you so. He had been showing it—one white flower after another—each a flag of surrender filled with his apologies.
The valet opens my door and takes my keys. “Good evening, Miss.”
“Good evening.” My family has money, but like Alexander Kingwood III so rudely pointed out, not on this scale. That uncomfortable feeling twisted in my stomach causes me to place my hand flat against my belly over the black satin of the dress. I walk around the car and to the base of the stairs. Kingwood Manor looms in front of me offensively, momentarily cementing my shoes to the pavement.
My love for Alexander and all of his sides—complicated and mysterious—makes me take the first step. My excitement to see him, to apologize for walking away two days ago, propels me to the door. My thankfulness that he sent flowers to remind me of his love, urges me to walk confidently toward him. I’m greeted with a tray of champagne and take one for courage, drinking half before I reach the main living room.
It’s crowded, but not overly so. There are many women and a few men in their twenties by their appearance, but no comfort is found. Lifting up on my toes, I don’t see Alexander, but I do make eye contact with his father. He excuses himself with a charming smile and pat on a man’s shoulder, then turns to me and comes my way.