Let's Try This Again Page 5

  “You’re going to Isaac’s?” Molly asked, staring out the window. I couldn’t tell if she was mad or just drunk.

  “I think so, yeah.”

  We drove in silence for a few minutes. I honestly thought she had passed out, too, so I turned the music up a little. Molly turned it back down immediately.

  “You’re in love with him.” She just stated it - no judgment, no harshness. And that’s when I knew.

  I wanted to be in love with Isaac.

  It was like you want ice cream when you’re on a diet. It was a desire contradictory to your end goal—it was the opposite of what you knew was good for you. But just because it wasn’t part of your plan or anything else you wanted to admit to yourself, that didn’t make it any less true. It was knowing that I would let myself get lost in the woods, go be afraid and alone, as long as there was a chance he would be the one to come and save me. It sent a chill through my body – the kind that seizes your head and makes you physically shake it away.

  Molly actually did pass out after saying it, leaving me to mutter, “Maybe you’re right,” to myself. Just me and this undeniable, unbearably heavy truth that made me feel both so in danger and so protected at the same time.

  By the time I dropped the girls and got to Isaac’s, I had been driving on autopilot. I barely remembered practically carrying Ellie into Molly’s apartment, where they were both staying. I sat in Isaac’s driveway for about fifteen minutes before I decided to actually go in. They had been right all along; I was practically using him as a razor blade to slit my wrists, vertically. Fucking A. I was like one of those dumbass bitches that post Instagrams with strategically placed tear drops and “accidentally” exposed scars. I’d asked for this kind of pain.

  And now, I was going to be mad at everyone else about it.

  But I needed this kind of pain because as much as it was killing me to be near him, it was way worse to be without him (cue *N Sync’s “Tearin’ Up My Heart”). I had stupidly let myself almost get over him only to think I could be with him again without really being with him. And at the end of the day, this worked for him because all he wanted was to sleep with me.

  It felt like it cheapened everything that had come before for us. Isaac had gone from actually caring about me—which I knew he had at one point (hadn’t he?)—to being able to mindlessly sleep with me and send me away without a second thought. That pissed me the fuck off. There was no way to misinterpret his arm grazes, his forehead kisses, the way he would stare at me and ask if we could “freeze time” to stay together in those perfect moments we shared.

  I guess what really made me angry was that maybe he had charmed me into thinking he cared when, really, he never had—the way he didn’t now. Could it actually be that he saw me as—well, AS KATEY KELSEE, another ex-girlfriend that just bothered him whenever his dick wasn’t inside of her? Whenever he wasn’t drunk and looking for the validation that yes, I still cared, and yes, I would be his whenever he came calling?

  I was angry that I still loved him. I was angry that he had made up someone to be, just so I would love him and then acted like I was grasping at something that wasn’t really there.

  And I was angrier that maybe I always would love him, when he didn’t even deserve it.

  So I got out of my fucking car, and I marched all the way up his goddamn steps to do what I was currently visualizing: rip his jugular out with my teeth. The sass venom was watering in my mouth. But before I could barge in, stomping, Isaac opened the door and scooped me into his arms.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Two Seconds Post Anger

  “What took you so long? I thought you’d never get here,” he whispered and kissed me. He kissed me like he couldn’t imagine a moment ever not kissing me.

  Pulling me in close, he squeezed me so hard I felt his heart beating through his t-shirt. And just when I remembered I was supposed to be angry—I wasn’t supposed to be melting into his body—I realized I couldn’t taste alcohol on his breath. And so I melted.

  And then we melted for about an hour and a half. I know I’ve already talked about how hot it is being with Isaac; there’s just this chemistry that would put even Kim Kardashian’s video to shame. But this time was even…it just…I can’t even… And I know how annoying that sounds but, really. I can’t describe it. We were so in the moment, so together, so one. It was not your typical booty call. It wasn’t your typical boning. This sounds so lame…but it was just special.

  If I had needed proof that Isaac didn’t think of me in some awful way, he really defucked me. In the best way. Did I mention it was the best sex EVER?

  Okay.

  But then…something happened. Our synchronicity must’ve gotten thrown out of whack with the last position we moved to. Which sucks because it was a really cute one. We started slowing down, ya know, more passion, less thrusting. He lifted me out from under him, sitting up and wrapping my legs around his hips. He just hugged me, still going. Our bodies couldn’t have been closer, more connected physically or emotionally. It was about to be over for me – I couldn’t hold out much longer, and the sounds I was making made that pretty clear. Isaac lifted his head from kissing the down my neck and shoulders and looked directly in my eyes.

  He said, “Don’t go.”

  I thought he meant like, don’t finish. Don’t go off. I was a little thrown by it, considering we’d being “going” for so long. And I was so ready, so I figured he had to be basically ready, too. Isaac was staring so deeply into my eyes, and it was just making me hotter.

  So I said,” Come with me.”

  Like…come. With me. At the same time as me. Come. I thought it would get him hot too. Which it did; he closed his eyes, breaking our gaze, and then we both had to come.

  I thought it was a total success.

  Something was wrong. Isaac rolled over too quickly. Put his shorts back on too quickly. When he lay back I nestled into his shoulder, tracing lines into his bare chest. Kissing his salty skin.

  “I can’t come to California with you,” he said.

  I was truly baffled.

  “I’m sorry. What? When did.” then I got it. Don’t go. Stay.

  ***

  The brilliant (and gorgeous, call me) poet John Mayer once sang, “Anything other than stay is go.” And someone else (maybe before, maybe after, who’s counting) said that no reason to stay is a good reason to go. But is someone asking you to stay a good reason to stay? No one covered that part with a quote over a Pinterest picture of girls with peace signs on beaches. Just because I was finally hearing some of the things I had needed Isaac to say, did that mean I should give up all my plans? Every dramatic movie I had ever seen with the hottest guys on the planet begging the loves of their lives not to leave them screamed at me. I fell asleep facing his wall, our bodies nowhere near as close as I wanted them to be because neither Isaac nor I had said a word since I had realized what he had asked, and he had realized what I hadn’t.

  When I woke up in the morning, Isaac wasn’t in the bed. I heard some rustling in the kitchen, so I threw my underwear back on and the t-shirt he had been wearing the night before. I looked in the mirror in his closet, combing my crazy bed head with my fingers. Once I had successfully done that, I tousled the fuck out of it to make it look as if I hadn’t touched it at all – but now I looked like the girls in the morning face wash commercials instead of Albert Einstein. We were going to have to address what had happened last night, but I figured being all sunrise sexy might ease the tension a little bit. At least for me.

  I walked out and stood in his doorway, watching him make coffee. It was weird because he didn’t even drink coffee. He only had the maker because of his roommate—who had a girlfriend, so he was barely ever home. The cup had to be for me.

  “Toffee nut,” he said. My goddamn favorite; why would he even have toffee syrup? Yet another fucked up sign that he cared about me, and he wouldn’t even look at me. As I grabbed the mug and Isaac’s hand brushed mine, his eyes trailed fro
m my legs up my body. I saw the flash of attraction in his eyes, or so I thought because he wiped it away so quickly that it could’ve just been my wishful thinking.

  So this is how he wanted to handle it. Ignore it. Ignore me. Pretend like he hadn’t said what he had said. That he didn’t want what he wanted. Or maybe it had just been in the passion of the moment? And he was embarrassed? Because he didn’t really care if I stayed or left?

  Then I got mad again from all my thoughts the night before and all the thoughts I was having now and for feeling both wanted and duped.

  “Can you please…just tell me what the fuck is going on?” It wasn’t a question. I was through asking him to let me in. Now I was demanding it. “Because if I have to keep wondering what’s going on inside your head for one more second, I might pass out. Or vomit. Or straight up die. Or –”

  “Enough with the dramatics.” He wasn’t laughing, though my outbursts usually at least put a smile on his face. He wasn’t one for theatrics, so my usual commotion charmed him. “The truth is.”

  Yeah. He stopped. There was no “…” in his tone. I waited for a full minute before I started up again. “Isaac. Seriously. You want to be with me. You break up with me. You like me. You cheat on me. You want to be friends. You want to have sex. You want no strings attached. You want me to stay. I can’t keep ping ponging around wondering how you really think about me. Wondering if you even care. If you ever did.”

  Throughout my little spiel, Isaac shook his head slightly, as if he was almost annoyed. Until the last part. By then my voice had escalated into a minor scream because I was annoyed that he was acting annoyed. OBVIOUSLY that would be aggravating.

  “OF COURSE I CARE.” I had never heard him raise his voice – not seriously anyway. He had a tendency to get loud around his friends; he wasn’t one to shy away from attention. But I had never heard him yell. “What do you think all this was? All this is? Miss I’m-Moving-Across-The-Country-And-Not-Telling-You. I had to find out from my goddamn friends, Josie.”

  “I fucking knew it. You knew I was leaving before I told you.” I had wondered for months into planning my leave whether he knew. It only made sense that it would have gone through the grapevine of our mutual friends (Sorry again, Kristin!), but I had heard nothing from him. “Then why didn’t you say anything? If you care so fucking much why would you not talk to me for months? What the hell did I ever do to you to deserve that?”

  “Did you ever think that maybe I couldn’t talk to you? Maybe I couldn’t be around you. Because then all I’d do was think about how stupid I was to let you go. How much of an ass I was for treating you that way. I couldn’t talk to you, and all I wanted to do was to talk to you.” His voice lowered along with his head. I wasn’t okay with the hanging puppy dog look, though. I smacked his arm hard.

  “You drove me insane. Literally batshit, I-can’t-fall-asleep-without-replaying-everything-I-might’ve-done-wrong-in-my-head crazy, Isaac. Every time I heard a car door shut outside my house, I actually imagined for a second that it was you, coming to tell me you’d made a mistake. You just left me to bleed. It was like feeling seasick—for months. And now I’m supposed to sit here and listen to you tell me you’ve been doing the same thing? Listen to you tell me not to go?”

  At this point, I was losing it. I headed back into his room to put my real clothes on, my thoughts swirling. He was saying all the things I had been waiting to hear for such a long time. The things I lay awake at night fantasizing about.

  So why did I feel this unsettled about it? This sad about it?

  He didn’t follow me in, but he called out so I could hear him. “Josie…I am an idiot. I don’t say what I feel. I don’t say what I think. And it’s fucked me in a lot of situations. But it is different with you. I don’t tell girls I love them. I don’t fall in love. But.” I had my pants half pulled up as I froze, waiting for the next part. It didn’t come until I was fully dressed and was walking back out into the kitchen to face him again.

  I needed to see him say it.

  “But I feel like I could, maybe, feel that way about you.”

  Maybe…

  It was like my heart had just shattered. Immediately and all at once. And the shards punctured every organ on the way down. The look in his eyes disgusted me. He wanted recognition—no, praise—for saying that.

  When I could feel air moving through my chest again, I turned back, gathered up the rest of my things, and came back out. “Maybe a year ago…maybe six months ago…not only would that have been enough for me, it would have been everything. It would’ve been the dream. But I have to wake up at some point, Isaac. I can’t wait forever with my eyes closed, hoping I can go back to sleep. If all you have for me are words like ‘maybe,’ then I have to go. Really go. It’s not worth it for me to stick around for someone who makes me feel like I’m hard to love. I’m not someone that somebody might be able to love. I’m a definite, sir. I’m nobody’s fucking maybe.”

  I left.

  Because now I had the proof that he cared and the proof that it wasn’t enough.

  8 Days Before

  The best thing about my best friends is that even though they were definitely, one thousand percent fucking right…they never said it. When I called Molly after leaving Isaac’s, I’m not even sure I knew what I was saying. It was a lot of snot bubbles and choking on air as I tried desperately to breathe. I am sure that she had no clue what I was saying either. She just told me to come over. When I got there Ellie had rushed over, and they were waiting for me with the best possible thing in the world. You’re probably thinking ice cream. You might be thinking wine. How about…wine fucking ice cream. Google it, it’s a real thing. I had thought it an urban legend, but my best goddamn friends hunted it down on such short notice that I feel like a TV show could be made about how quickly they can find virtually unheard of products. And they didn’t even bitch when I cried into the pint.

  They didn’t say anything; they just listened. And they continued to listen for like the next week whenever I talked about him (which was all the time). Oh, you want to go to the movies? Sure…but you know this exact movie theater is where Isaac took me on our third date. And you want popcorn? Ugh, Isaac loves popcorn. BUTTER? ISAAC FUCKING LOVES BUTTERED POPCORN.

  I was a complete nightmare.

  I went through the phase of listening to the Saddest Music In The World. Which is the worst coping mechanism ever. The current king and queen of heart wrenching music set the tone for my emotional breakdown. The lyrics felt like they were words ripped from my journal, written in my own blood. We could’ve had it all. And now we have nothing. Every song made me wail – to be fair, the music I chose had the power to make you even cry about that one guy who never messaged you back, but it was especially poignant at this very moment. All the sad songs in the world had lyrics that directly related to my relationship in ways that made me ball up under my covers and sleep on tear soaked pillows.

  I knew there was no point in trying not to be sad before I left because—even without this little life hiccup—I was going to be sad regardless. That just made me even sadder. I let the depression of leaving swallow me whole. Of course I second-guessed it; if I didn’t leave, I wouldn’t have to feel sad, and I could be with Isaac. I could be with my friends. But I shot down those notions so quickly that I realized something that shocked even me.

  I had to go.

  I really had—no, I really wanted to have—no choice in this matter. The universe was pushing me away from this place I had grown up in and out of. No matter how badly I wished a life here would be enough to make me happy, it never would in the long run. I wanted more opportunity; I longed for answers to questions I hadn’t even asked yet. California could give me the chance to be someone better than I was right now, the person I was supposed to be. If I wanted an existence free of “what-if’s,” I had to go and see if I could thrive in a place crowded with others who shared the same passions. I wanted to live a life worth chronicling. Exactly how
I would narrate it, I wasn’t entirely sure yet. But I was sure that being somewhere that fostered storytelling was where I needed to be.

  Did I want to stay for a person who might not ever be able to love me? And did I need to stay to know my friends would keep loving me?

  No.

  Absolutely fucking not.

  So that night I washed the tear stained stiffness from my cheeks, started packing my bags, and changed my soundtrack.

  The Day Of

  It was like every bag I put into my trunk was a piece of my heart that I was packing away. In theory, moving away was exciting and not at all scary. In practice, I was about two minutes away from peeing my pants. And that was the only liquid I was holding back because my eyes were like two busted faucets that wouldn’t shut off.

  “Who am I supposed to call to eat Chinese with me after I go to the gym and see someone skinnier than me and just say fuck it and want General Tso’s chicken?” I whispered/slobbered into Molly’s shirt as I clung to her.

  “Is that a fat joke?” she choked through tears to sassily reply. God, I fucking loved her. Somehow I managed to let go of her just long enough to grab and wrap myself around Ellie before I crumpled into a ball on my driveway.

  “Who am I supposed to watch The Bachelor with?” I wailed into her hair. She just held me tight – as if trying to glue my quickly disintegrating self back together. Maybe she was trying to keep herself stuck together, too. Because the answer was “no one,” because we were the only two idiots who still watched The Bachelor religiously, keeping the faith that love will prevail and there will one day be a much greater success rate for something based that much on fate.

  I had already said goodbye to my family. They had all chosen not to be home for my departure because I truly believe my mom and Becca would have flung their bodies onto my bumper and used that kind of “she lifted the car to get her baby out from underneath” strength to stop me. Ethan hadn’t said much of a goodbye—but he had hugged me for a long time. And for someone like my brother who never really said much of anything, that was as good as him telling me he wished I wouldn’t go.