Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

DARCY

C ody is sweet—on the outside, at least. I’ll grant him that. He has the same kind smile as he did when we were kids, and he can hold a good conversation. That’s why it sucks that I can’t let myself get attached. I won’t. I’ve already experienced the pain of losing Cody once, and I can’t do it again.

The funny thing about Cody is that he’s the kind of person that everyone just seems to gravitate toward. He makes people smile, and his laugh is contagious. Half of the time, I think it’s just pretty-privilege. Because let’s be honest—Cody is pretty, but there’s something more than that. He’s a good man. The kind that’s rare to come across. I can tell from the way he protects Maya. From the way he talks to me with respect. He’s the kind of man who sees his compassion as a downfall. So much so that in high school, he started to hide it. At least from me. Everything changed after our kiss when I was in seventh grade and he was in eighth. When we kissed, my heart exploded for him. My feelings for him hit me like a ton of bricks. I was consumed by him in an instant. All I wanted was to spend every waking moment with him in the chance that it would happen again. I kept those feelings a secret from Maya, but I convinced myself that if I had talked to her about it, she would have assured me there was no way Cody felt the same way. I tried to see him any chance I could. I begged Maya to invite him to do stuff with us like always. But he stopped coming. He closed himself off from us. Or maybe just from me. I spent an entire year being delusional, thinking he was just busy but that he’d finally come around and we’d finally have another moment like we had with Spin the Bottle. But it never happened. So when Cody went to high school, and I was in the eighth grade, I spent the year heartbroken and confused, but much less delusional. I knew my feelings had been one sided. I knew Cody would never like me the way I liked him. So then by the time I got to high school with him, I was mad. Because what the fuck? Fine, he didn’t like me “like that”. But we had been friends before the kiss. And because he was desperate for me to see he’d never want me, he was willing to throw away the entire relationship? The one that had lasted years ?

Losing Cody is like quitting meth cold turkey. The only way to cope with it is to make him a monster in your head. To convince yourself that he’s selfish and horrible and rudimentary. But that’s just not true. And I don’t want to think that way anymore. It’s too exhausting. I never realized just how utterly draining it is to hold so much animosity toward someone. So if I can leave things like this—amicable, no hate, but no love—then maybe it won’t hurt so much once we’re on opposite sides of the country again. It won’t feel like losing my best friend for the second time. I won’t feel so abandoned. So, I have no choice but to keep my distance. It’s simple self-preservation.

Maya, on the other hand, will be hunted down and tied up the second I have enough energy to do it. As much as I love her, oh my God , Maya can get on my nerves. What was she thinking? She promised she would stick by my side. She knew how miserable this trip was going to be. And yet she abandoned me anyway.

The more I think about it, the angrier I become. I have always been there for Maya. I’ve stood by her side through everything. If the tables had been turned and this was her not-honeymoon, I would be right next to her with ice cream and a box of tissues. But she’s not here. It’s just me and my lonely, depressing thoughts.

Not even the nineties sitcom playing on the TV can distract me anymore. It’s charm wore off at least three episodes ago. So now what’s left? All I can do is mentally plan out where I’m going to hide Maya’s body after I kill her. Or I could justify not using Cody as a valid distraction from my rapidly declining mental health. Neither seems like a particularly positive time-waster.

This trip sucks. Majorly.

I knew it would, but this is worse than I could’ve imagined. At least when Cody and I were bickering, there was some casual entertainment. It wasn’t stressful or awkward—it was easy. Now, I have nothing but my emotions and a glass of boxed wine.

Yeah, it’s as sad as it sounds.

Only I could get myself into these situations. Nobody else I know has such rotten luck. Sometimes I think it must be a talent. Or a curse. One or the other.

If my mother were here, she would say, It’s not about the cards you’re dealt, it’s what you do with them, which is a bunch of bullshit if you ask me. Some hands are just crap. There’s nothing you can do with them. Such as your high school sweetheart hiring hookers and stepping out because he wasn’t satisfied with you. Or your best friend abandoning you for a guy she just met.

My mother is an optimist. I am not. But then again, if my mother had her heart stomped on and shattered into a million pieces, maybe she would be a bit more of a pessimist. But that’s neither here nor there. What matters is that I’m in this situation, and there’s nothing I can do to get out of it.

So, do I embrace it or do I fight it? Typically, I’m more of a fighting gal, but this is a trip for new experiences. Maybe wallowing isn’t the solution. Maybe I should get out there and explore. I could take a hike, or go shopping in town, or even try to make some new friends.

But on second thought... Nah. I don’t want to do that.

I would much rather wallow in my own self-pity and nurse a shitty glass of wine. That’s comfortable. That’s familiar. That’s safe. I like safe. Safe can’t hurt you. Exploration, on the other hand, can chew you up and spit you out, and I think I’ve had enough carnage for a lifetime. So, I’ll stick to playing it safe rather than go out into the world and pretend everything is alright when it isn’t. That’s what works for me.

Well, okay, I’m miserable most of the time, but so is everyone else. Maya is lonely, and Cody is self-sabotaging, and my mom probably even has her moments. Happiness isn’t based on where you are or what you’re doing. It’s the peace you’ve made with yourself, and very few people actually accomplish inner peace. God knows I haven’t. And I doubt I ever will. It’s just not in the cards for me. I’m too uptight for it. I’m self-aware, at least. I know I’m high-strung. And I’m fine with that. I’ve accepted that I’m likely to die young from a stress-induced stroke. And you know what? After I die, I’ll wallow in my grave, and I’ll enjoy the hell out of that, too. Wallowing is fun, and anyone who says it isn’t is a liar.

Sort of like how I’m a liar. Only, I’m a worse kind of liar because I lie to myself. I wake up every day and tell myself that it’s okay to grieve the life I would’ve had. But I’m not grieving anymore. I’m longing. I’m in denial. And there’s a major difference. Grieving is coping. Longing is not.

More than anything, I want to go back in time and change things. A sick part of me doesn’t even care that Milo cheated. I just wish I never found out. If I’d never found out, I could live in a blissful state of purity and innocence in a world where men that you love don’t take advantage of the love that you dared to give away. I miss it there. I miss him. But I’m not allowed to miss him. I’m allowed to be angry, and I’m allowed to hate him, but I’m not allowed to miss him. Because then I would have no self-respect. No dignity. I would be a pathetic woman, a dull housewife who lets her husband do whatever he pleases. I would be a maid, there for the entertainment while he’d share our bed with his other women. But despite it all, I think I would take that life over waking up every day in agony because I miss him so much.

Agony.

It’s a strong word, but it still isn’t enough to describe the feeling of hopelessness, of utter despair and heartbreak, that comes with losing the person you love most on this earth. It doesn’t capture the anger or the desperation. The pure delusion that it’s all just one bad dream, but every morning you wake up and it’s the same. He’s still gone, and I’m still alone.

More alone than I have ever been.

And I wonder when it came to this. Did Milo wake up one morning and decide that I wasn’t enough? Or was it gradual? Did he stop being aroused by me? Did he stop thinking that I was beautiful? Did he ever think that I was beautiful? Maybe it was all a lie. Maybe I was nothing but a show for his family. Maybe he cracked under the pressure of being told to settle down and start a family.

Not knowing is nauseating. I could spend a lifetime wondering why, but it would never be enough. I would never find the answers I so desperately want.

I can’t do this anymore. I know that I can’t. I’m going to drive myself to insanity with the back and forth. With the constant analyzing and picking apart my every thought and feeling, trying to find a rhyme or reason for why everything sucks so much. I know, deep down, that there’s nothing I can do to fix this. I could meditate. I could drink myself to death. Hell, I could call Milo right now and take him back. But none of it would fill the gaping pit in my chest.

So, what am I to do?

I know the answer, but I don’t like it. It’s the scariest thing imaginable, and the thought of it makes me sick.

I have to… try new things. I have to get out there and try different puzzle pieces, hoping they’ll fit in the hole in my chest to make me complete.

And as much as I may dislike it, I think I might know where to start.

I think I should learn to ski with my best friend’s older brother.