195
Sarah isn’t home when I let myself into the apartment carrying my case. I let Jefferson go, assuring him I could manage, and despite his fatherly protests, he is finally gone. I still have a key to the apartment and want nothing more than the coziness of the couch and throws and space to mull over Jake’s asshole attitude.
I text Sarah informing her of my arrival so she won’t be surprised when she gets home, but my heart sinks at her response. Marcus has taken her to Florida for a few days to meet his family; she only left this morning. She tells me to help myself to the freezer contents and to call her later. My heart aches, but I don’t tell her why I’m here.
Meeting the family equals seriousness. It signals forever!
Maybe Sarah and Marcus are really making a go of it this time; the thought bothers me but not as much as it did before. I feel lost now that my stability isn’t here to lift my chin and help me get through my first meaningful relationship fight with Jake. Not that there is much of a fight, just him acting out like the spoiled brat he can sometimes be and trying to domineer his way as usual. Sometimes I like Jake’s wealth and the confidence it gives him, but at times like this, when his tantrumming, asshole, moody attitude, which money has ingrained in him, rears its ugly head, I hate it.
I submerge myself in catching up with Margo and working via email. Step one of showing Jake this is not how a relationship works. I’m going to reacquaint myself with the current tasks he’d been overseeing, touch base with Rosalie, and make it known I want to be involved again. I’ve become too used to being kept by Jake in endless vacation mode, and stubborn PA Emma is stamping her foot in defiance at his behavior today. He seems more than happy to slide me into his personal life more and more, taking me worlds away from PA mode, and partly it’s what’s wrong with me lately, the weird moods and emotions, the tiredness, and listless feelings deep inside. I have lost my value as his partner in work and have been left only as his girlfriend with no real security, which I need.
I want to be more than just his bed partner and cuddle buddy; I need that challenge back of being his partner in work, decision-making, and overseeing things. I am so out of touch with all of that and disappointed in myself.
The thought of making a home in the Hamptons with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs makes me terrified. I don’t know how to be nothing—a doting girlfriend and kept woman. I don’t know how to slot into domestic life and leisurely existence, and I don’t want it. I want to be worth something, to be something worthwhile for me, something to aspire to.
Margo soon dumps the email exchange catch-up for a real phone call and has me up to speed, then lost in idle chit-chat and asking how life as Jake’s love is treating me. It feels so good to talk to her, to talk through everything, and even to confess to the fight at his parents. This opening up to people has slowly been getting more natural with me, shockingly so, and I’m finding it helps me right now.
She assures me that Jake will come around and realize that pushing me has never worked in the past and has always sent me running away from him, and to have a little faith in his ability to retrace his bad decisions and make things right. I smile when we hang up, more assured and less heartbroken. She’s right. Jake may be an impulsive ass sometimes, but eventually, his logical brain brings him back around, and he sees the error in his judgment. I’m just not sure how long this is going to take him.
Good move. You made him feel like he wasn’t what you wanted in life, Emma. That ego alone has taken a massive dent today, never mind his heart.
I sigh in exasperation and try to focus on anything that’s not him.
By late evening I’ve returned to despair at his lack of contact, checking my phone endlessly. A pit of anxiety and tension courses through me from the absolute agony of not knowing what he’s thinking anymore. Finally, I can’t stand it and call him beyond hurt that my absence has been ignored.
So much for caring about my feelings!
“Jake?” After endless ringing, he finally picks up, and all I get is noise and music all around him; it’s obvious he’s at a nightclub, and my heart thuds hard through my chest, winding me painfully. Jake has never just up and gone out without me like this, not since he told me he loved me. He’s out getting drunk and ignoring my existence.
What the fuck?
“Hello?” his slurred, husky voice comes through the noise; he’s extremely drunk, but he’s talking to other people in the background. I hear some female voices too, giggling and chattering and a lot of hilarity. My tears well up, and anger flies higher.
“Hello?” He can’t seem to hear me over the music. My jealousy rages, my heart and temper sparring with one another, and it engulfs me.
“Jake, where are you?” The pitiful tears slip out unexpectedly and warmly roll down my cheek despite my rage. My heart’s breaking. I hate the way he can twist a knife in me this way. All he’s done is go out, but somehow it feels like a momentous thing considering how we left things.
What’s he doing, and who with?
I suddenly feel so alone and so insecure it’s almost strangling me, cursing my inner stupid self and her eternal inability to believe Jake would never hurt me this way.
“Look, honey, I can’t hear you. I’m staying out. Maybe see you tomorrow or something. We’ll see.” He sounds distant and cold, just like the Jake, who left me on that yacht to have sex with other people. He doesn’t wait but hangs up and leaves me staring numbly at a blank screen, my heart ripping free in screaming agony.
He obviously hasn’t been home, never realized I didn’t get there, or, if he has, then it doesn’t matter to him, and now his attitude … calling me ‘honey’ … the pet name he used for his casual sex buddies. The anger soars through me, and I yank the phone back up, calling again. This time when he answers, the noise isn’t so loud, as though he’s moved to another room or maybe the bathroom.
“Where the fuck are you?” I stand up, rage coursing through me, pacing hysterically. My body trembles with so much emotion ripping through me at one time.
Who the hell is he to treat me this way, like I don’t matter? He has spent months making me believe that I matter more than anything in the world, then, on the back of one stupid disagreement, he’s treating me like one of his passing whores. Some of whom he’s probably with. I mean, who in New York hasn’t he had sex with? Our relationship is more than this.
I’m so angry the pulse beating in my head is almost audible.
“Calm the fuck down and go to bed. I’m out. I told you. I need space to figure things out,” is his reply, and it only makes me seethe more. I hear a girl say his name and giggle; the phone muffles as he replies to her, and I can’t determine what she is saying. I see red, jealousy spiking to psychotic levels, and my lungs explode to battle my pain.
Screw him. Screw Carrero and his stubborn, arrogant, dick-faced attitude! Screw him and his whores and playboy fucking lifestyle.
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