32. Mandy

Me: Where are you?

I stared at the unanswered message between us as my phone lay silently on the dining table. The people around me hummed and spoke in low voices, each enjoying their own meal with whomever they'd come with that had actually shown up. Lingering glances from the waitstaff burned at the edges of my vision, and all I could do as I sat there alone with a glass of wine and a basket of bread was feel like I was only cheating myself.

Thirty minutes had passed since the time our reservation was booked. He'd warned me he was running a few minutes behind, but this long? He wasn't even answering his phone.

Weeks of pushed-back dates, weeks of barely hearing from him, weeks of feeling like I'd been placed on the goddamn back burner and forgotten about, left to sizzle and evaporate on my own. I just didn't have the patience anymore.

I didn't think about it. I just acted.

Flagging down a waiter, I apologized for the inconvenience and asked for the bill. "You'll have to pay for the bread," he said, and I agreed because what else was I supposed to do?

I downed my glass of wine and set the company card down on the receipt, marking down a hefty tip and making a mental note to add it to J.B Tech's bill. I waited anxiously as they took it, charged me, and thanked me.

And then I left.

I didn't hold back the angry tears on the drive home. I needed to let them out, needed to feel the way I felt, and needed to rethink everything.

I didn't bother with taking off my makeup in the bathroom of my empty apartment. I didn't bother trying to preserve the expensive red dress he'd bought me, didn't care if I stained it with dripping mascara. No. I wanted a bath, and I wanted a glass of wine, and I wanted to rid him from my thoughts for the evening so I could decide if being with him, going through this again with him, was worth the pain it was causing me.

Too long had passed since he'd said he loved me.

Too long had passed since I'd been able to enjoy his presence.

The faucet spewed hot water into the tub as I stared at myself in the mirror, and took in the train wreck on the outside instead of soothing the one on the inside. I smeared the black from my waterline, leaving streaks in my wake. I wiped the snot from my nose, smearing my foundation and lipstick. I let the burn and the ache fill the back of my throat, quelled it with sip after sip of wine. Poured another glass, and then another.

At nine o'clock, my phone lit up on the counter, just as I'd removed my dress and stared at my naked form in the mirror.

I could see in the reflection who it was. Could see his image and Jackson Pig in reverse.

I ignored it.

With my third glass of wine sitting on the edge of the tub and my phone in my hand, I sunk into the steaming water. My mind rapidly switched over and over between endless, racing thoughts of what am I doing to myself? and utter silence. I stared at the ceiling, letting whatever happened happen, letting myself fall into some of the same thoughts I'd had ten years ago. There wasn't a part of me that had the energy to fight it.

My phone buzzed once.

I almost didn't look. I almost let it lie there, ignored, unwanted. But I couldn't do that, either.

With wet hands, I scrambled for it on the side of the tub, nearly dropping it and my wine into the water below. Jackson's name wasn't the one that lit my screen — no, it was Harry.

Harry: Three photos Received.

I flicked it open.

Oh my god.

There, in the blue light of my phone screen, was Harry's blood-covered face. The first image, one taken straight on, showed a crooked nose and blood smeared across his jawline, his mouth, his teeth. The second image, one taken from below his face and pointing up, showed a massive red patch of skin just to the right of his chin, one that would likely turn into a bruise — and also showed just how badly his nose was broken. And the third image, one of his chest, showed red patches along his slightly misshapen ribcage. Each one had a background that I knew fairly well — the local ER.

I felt sick.

My phone buzzed again, and below the images, a text came through from Harry.

Harry: In case you were wondering why your "fiancé" was late tonight.

Screw feeling sick. I was going to be sick.

I felt the bile rise in my throat as I scrambled from the tub, chucked myself over the side of it, and lifted the lid of the toilet before spewing the few scraps of bread I'd eaten and the glasses of wine I'd guzzled. I wretched, shivering from the water on my skin and the temperature difference.

As if my night couldn't have gotten worse.

I clicked his name at the top of my messages as I desperately tried to control the acid trying to leave my esophagus and tapped the call button.

He picked up on the first ring. "Hey, Mands."

"Please tell me you're okay." The words came out in a rush, in a choked sob as another wretch hit me.

"Yeah, I'm all right. Couple of broken ribs and a broken nose," Harry chuckled, the sound almost hollow. "Fucking hurts, though. And the bill I'm going to get isn't something I'm looking forward to."

"I'll cover it. Whatever it is, I'll cover it," I breathed. In through my nose, out through my mouth, over and over until I finally regained control of the muscles trying to fill my mouth with vomit. "What happened?"

Still shivering, I pulled myself back to the bath and up and over the edge, sinking back into the warm water as Harry spoke. "You don't want to know," he sighed. I could hear the echo of his car unlocking in the background of the call. "It'll just muddy the waters."

"I don't care. I need to know."

I could hear the hesitation in his voice, could practically feel the air leaving his lungs. "All right," he murmured. "I was still at the campus, going over a few things with Nathan about the new hires. I went to leave and I ran into Jack in the lot. He looked… angry? I don't even know if I can call it that. Different, I guess. Like he hadn't slept."

I downed my glass of wine before he could say something that would make me shatter the glass.

"I went over to give him the rundown on how things were going, y'know? Just wanted to keep him in the loop since you'd left early. He just… snapped. Something about hiring more workers, the budget creeping up. I told him I'd asked for more ‘cause I didn't want him to take that out on you."

Oh, god.

"I guess that set him off even worse. He yelled at me. Has he ever screamed at you? That man is fucking terrifying when he's yelling," he said.

"No, he hasn't," I answered, my voice feeling far too small.

"I guess that's a positive." His engine roared to life down the phone. "I mentioned you'd said you had a date tonight and that he should probably get going ‘cause I was trying to de-escalate or just get him away from me, I don't know. And he just exploded. Broke my nose on the first punch. Almost broke my jaw with the second. I freaked out and tried to crawl away but he just started fucking kicking me."

My hands shook as I pushed the free one under the water. "Oh my god."

"It's okay. I'm… mostly fine," he laughed, the sound cutting short as he sucked in air. "Fucking hurts to laugh."

I didn't even notice the tears had escaped until I felt the coolness of them hitting my chest. Sniffling, I wiped them with the back of my damp hand, only making things worse. "I'm so sorry," I croaked. "I'm in fucking shock."

"It's not your fault."

"It is."

"It's not. I would've taken the fall for that any day, even if it ended like that each time," he said, his voice a little quieter, a little more vulnerable. "I didn't want to have to tell you. I even considered not telling you. But I couldn't just let you, y'know, be around him without knowing what he's… uh, capable of."

"No, I appreciate it." I took in a shaky breath and let it out through a tiny hole between my lips. "I'll add whatever your bill comes to onto his invoice."

The laugh that choked from him was wretched, hurt, but full of genuine happiness. "Attagirl."

"Please don't worry about coming in the next few days," I added.

"Thanks, Mands. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I'll try to do some work from home."

As the call came to its natural end and we each hung up, I could feel myself slipping down the back of the tub. Inch by inch, I let myself submerge, covering my abdomen, my breasts, my throat, my mouth — sunk until I was under the water entirely, my hair floating behind me, my knees curled up and poking from the surface. I pushed the back of my head against the bottom of the porcelain.

And I screamed.

I screamed until I ran out of air, forced myself to the surface, sucked in air, and back down I went. I screamed again, feeling the bubbles form around my mouth, piercing my eardrums with the sound of it. More air, and another. More air, and another. More air, and I screamed until my throat went raw, until I couldn't take it anymore, until my diaphragm ached and my stomach tried to empty itself, until my lungs nearly dared to fill themselves with water.

Oxygen felt like swallowing knives when I came back to the surface for good.

Another buzz from my phone and all I wanted to do was throw it at the wall and watch it break into a thousand tiny pieces, but I didn't. I checked it just in case it was from Harry.

Jackson Pig: Should I go home?

Why did this have to happen now?

Jackson Pig: I'm so sorry, princess. I know I should have been here sooner. I just got caught up with something at work. They said you'd left but I was kind of hoping you'd come back.

Jackson Pig: Are you at home?

Jackson Pig: Can I come to you?

Jackson Pig: We should probably talk about what happened tonight but I don't want to do it over the phone.

I waited until the messages stopped coming through, waited until he gave up and the little indication of him typing had gone away. I didn't want him here. Didn't want him anywhere near me.

But there was the networking event tomorrow. The one I needed to go to, the one he held my ticket for, the one he had managed to get me into. I was caught between two options: run from him and let it end like that, or tough it out until we got through the opening of his new building.

I couldn't fucking decide.

Me: I don't want you to come over.

Me: I need space.

Jackson Pig: I know I messed up. But please.

Me: Stop. Just stop. I'm going to bed.