My first big love got married. I’m going through so many fucking emotions right now. I don’t know how to deal with them. I’m either drinking or sleeping. Drinking currently, obviously.
I’d be happy if he was with someone he loved, but a guy doesn’t fly to Baltimore to see his ex for shits and giggles. I think he wanted me to tell him to stay.
I slept with him. Not fucked. Just slept next to him. Jet lag is a killer. I remembered his smell; it was the same. I held back the tears. I knew it would be the last time. I didn’t want to ruin it.
Do you love me?
Of course. Always.
Can you say it…?
I’ll love you for always.
I drove him back to the airport and then laid in my bed, holding the pillow his head had rested on and breathing in his scent. It was the only thing that really proved he had actually been there.
I slept on the sofa that night.
And then I washed my sheets in the morning.
I’m numb. Jameson’s, my sweet James… You won’t marry Jose Cuervo, will you? He probably will. That’s how my life has always played out. Even my booze can’t stay.
I need to drink more. I’m starting to think of the house, the children, the love, the life I could’ve had with him. All gone. Fortunately I took a minor to the liquor store, and, honestly, who shops better for cheap booze that’ll fuck me up? The owner, a Korean man I call Uncle, gave us a free bottle of Absolut.
It’s the little things…right?