But she pulled off.

My heart felt like it’d been ripped in two, but it wasn’t a brokenness that I felt. My heart had been torn apart and flushed away for many months. I was simply devastated. With her gone, I’d have no one to look after me, no one to look forward to seeing. No one to talk to… no one to fucking understand me.

Alone. That’s what I would be. The thought of it terrified me. That night, several hours after I settled with the idea that she was most likely gone for good, I got drunk again. Why? Because I didn’t want to be alone, and if getting drunk until I felt numb could help, then so be it.

I faded away in my garage but left the gate open. That small ray of hope that always kept its place in the back of my mind thought she’d show up again, help me upstairs, and give me a chance to apologize. Ha. I was only fooling myself.

She wasn’t coming back. She was moving on, something I couldn’t make happen just yet. It was all in my drunken mind, hoping she’d return. She knew better. She knew it the moment she pulled out of Primrose.

She was gone, and it would have been foolish of her to come back and give it all up for someone like me.

SIX

Three Years Later – 22 Years Old

USC was a dream—more like a fast-paced, colorful blur.

After two years, I had only been home once. That one time was because Izzy wanted to visit her mother’s grave. Afterwards, we took off, catching waves at the welcoming beach of Ventura. Luckily, Mr. Black didn’t show up during that one visit. I was scotch-free, glad I didn’t have to face him.

During my time away, I’d gotten really close with my roommate, Mariah. She could be nice, but she was a huge party animal. At first I didn’t like her. She came off a bit stuck up and selfish, but after getting to know her, I settled with the understanding that she only seemed that way because she kept it real.

She was genuine and honest, and she didn’t sugarcoat a damn thing. Unlike Izzy, where she’d make up excuses about a certain dress I bought, beating around the bush about its fit, Mariah would tell me straight to my face that the dress I wore wasn’t a good color on me. Or a good fit—whatever it just so happened to be.

I didn’t like it at first. I had a weird taste in fashion, so I assumed she didn’t grasp where I was coming from whenever I wore certain things, but after a while, it came in handy.

During freshman year, I hardly partied. I went to one party, and it was the lamest thing I’d ever attended. Because of it, I vowed never to go to another. I was only fooling myself.

Sophomore year was fantastic. That’s when Mariah and I became closer. She took me to the real parties where even the smartest of students, like myself, got wild and let loose. I was afraid of becoming that, but I had to live. Start fresh. This was the best way to start. No regrets. Just fun.

I never got too wasted to the point where I’d vomit over the staircase or balcony of a frat house like some of the girls did. I only got drunk enough to where I felt good—enough to the point where I was able to still control my actions but wouldn’t dare set foot behind the wheel of a car.

During my college life, I did my best to forget about the small things, but of course those “small” things happened to cross my mind every single fucking day. Those “small” things were the reason I’d rushed to a clinic to get birth control as soon as I was settled in my dorm room on the first day. He’d made me a woman, and with that came responsibility. I hated the shot, but I also knew I wouldn’t keep up with the pills. Whatever was best, right?

In class, when my psychology professor would drone on about brain waves and REM, I thought of Theo. I couldn’t help myself. I doodled pictures of the tattoos I could remember and even wrote short stories full of fantasy shit that he would never say in person.

I wondered every day if he was okay, and at one point, I had even considered calling to check on him. But I knew better. Plus, Izzy’s daily phone call to me would prove he was. There was never a call where she wouldn’t mention her hot-as-sin father.

She told me lots of times he was unhappy. Still hurting… but also that he had a girl toy on his arms only four months after I left. The girl toy part made me jealous. I wished then that he had a Facebook or Twitter so I could see her face, but I forgot he was a forty year old man. He didn’t need social media—didn’t thrive on it like leaches or check it first thing in the morning like it was the newspaper as we did.

I wondered if she was blonde or brunette. If her body was better than mine? If her butt was bigger? What color her eyes were? Or if he had a nickname created just for her… like he did for me?

I’d contemplated calling him so many times. Izzy would never know, and we’d vowed to keep whatever happened years ago between us. Ugh. Jealousy was an ugly trait, and I hated that I even carried it.

For a while, I was upset that I left without saying goodbye—leaving us open-ended—that is until the party at the beach happened. Everyone had just finished finals. Mariah and I were looking for something to do to pass time before our summer break started, so we took up the invitation.

That night, through heavy drinking and slurred sentences, I met Axel. Axel was exactly how he sounded. A jock. A cocky son of a bitch. Built with a wavy buzz cut and smooth chocolate skin, almost like my father’s. He was handsome and, sadly, a football player.

There was just something about football players that lured me in but turned me off all at once. Like an idiot, I invited Axel to come spend summer break with us while highly intoxicated. I wished I hadn’t. I had to share my bed with him, sleep with him. Talk to him. He had a terrible vocabulary. It was obvious he’d only gotten into USC because he had an athletic scholarship. And I only said yes because he had a nice body and a pretty smile.

When he spoke, I wanted to gag.

When he flexed his muscles, kissing his biceps, I wanted to spit up in my mouth.

When he didn’t speak, though, he was a gorgeous being. Far from smart, but I dealt with him because there were times when my needs got the best of me. I was desperate, but not even the cocky, arrogant Axel could fulfill them.

I knew who I needed.

Who I wanted.

And exactly how I wanted it.

But that was a no-no. It would never happen again, especially now. I was sure he realized he’d made a mistake with me. It’d been two and a half years. He’d obviously let go if he had a new girl around.

Other than constantly thinking about Theo, the college life was great. But the third year happened to be the worst.

Due to all of his working out of retirement, my father became too old and too sick. He almost worked himself to death.

Mom… fucking Mom. She hired a caregiver to watch and help Dad while she spent her many days and nights traveling the world. And not only that, she had a boyfriend. A fucking boyfriend! How was that even okay if she was still married?

I was angry at her, mainly because she was the one that was supposed to be by his side, caring for him, providing, loving, but I knew Mom had given up on her marriage a long time ago. It was clear she was only around for the money. Don’t get me wrong, she honestly loved my father at one point. I saw it, bright as day. And she also loved me with her whole heart, but when it came to herself, that’s who she loved most.

So, instead of spending my summer with friends, I drove home to spend it with my father. He was already in the early stages of Alzheimer’s while I was in school. The disease was the very reason he felt it was time to retire. He didn’t want to be the blame for forgetting something—messing up numbers.