Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (25 page)

“Do you really believe that’s what she wants?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know.” Right now, I would give her anything she wants to have even the slightest chance of getting her back.

Brock leans against the bar on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand. “Giving her time and space won’t change things. Believe me, I know this
all
too well. The only ones who can change anything in your situation are you and Ivy. You both have to recognize that the past is what it is. You can’t just jump in your time traveling DeLorean, go back a few years and change the course of your present. From what I’ve gathered in the short time I’ve known Ivy is that she’s absolutely crazy about you. And girls? They act out on emotions rather than logic. She’s clearly hurting right now. And I understand why you’re giving her space, but I’m not so sure you should be rolling over to give her what she’s asking for. She’s a stubborn bull, that one, but she probably doesn’t truly know what she wants right now because she’s too focused on the hurt. Once she can get beyond that, I imagine she’ll see the reality of your situation—that all of this happened
before
you fell in love with her. Hell, before you ever met her. I wouldn’t give up on her just yet. But she’ll probably need a nudge in the right direction.”

Maybe he’s right? Maybe I shouldn’t have left. Maybe I should have shown more fight. Stayed there until we talked it out. Made her listen to me. But no, I gave her what she thought she needed. Me out of her life.

Ivy is the typhoon. And I know that if I give myself to the storm, I will help destroy everything in her path. Including us. I have to refuse to let that happen. I have to get her to hear me out. Make her understand. I need her to realize that sometimes wrong choices bring you to the right ones.

And
she
is all that is right.

Brock wraps an arm around my shoulder, shaking me from my thoughts. “Your past doesn’t define you. What you do right here. Right now.
That
does. And
that
is the
only
thing that matters.”

I didn’t think Brock was capable of this kind of sage wisdom. He sits back and pulls his wallet from his back pocket, tossing a credit card onto the counter for his drinks. “So she really threw you out?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I roll my neck feeling the pain from last night’s fitful sleep in the hallway. I’m going to have to go and sleep on the floor in my office when I finally leave this bar. Fitting, considering trash belongs on the floor.

He claps his hand on my shoulder as he begins to stand. “Well, we can't have a pretty boy like you out on the street. You'd be eaten alive. C'mon, you unlucky Casanova, you’re coming home with me.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm just gonna stay here a little bit longer.” Another drink or two should help erase this trip down memory lane. I lean against the bar as the room spins around me.

“It wasn't an offer. I'm leaving, and you’re coming with me. End of story.”

I snap my gaze up to him and try to look threatening. “Don’t you dare try to make out with me tonight, Brock.”

“Ivy would cut off my balls if I did. And I’m quite fond of my junk.”

I go to stand, but my legs turn to jelly. Brock scoops under my arms and somehow holds my body weight upright. “Easy does it, El Capitan.” As he steadies me, I feel a rogue hand squeeze my ass.

“Watch the hands!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes with a wink. “Hey, Aston, can you help me get him out to a cab?”

The barkeep grunts in response, not bothering to hide his annoyance. He obviously hates me. I find it humorous because there isn't a person in this world who hates me more than I hate myself in this moment.

Aston opens the door as Brock helps keep me upright. I practically stumble over my own two feet.

A high-pitched whistle shrieks.

Tires squeak in front of me.

I slump face first into a curry-scented cab.

And the whole world goes black.

MY DAMN PHONE WON’T SHUT up. I would have chucked it into the Hudson River days ago if I could afford a new one.

The first thing I did was change my ringtone. Foo Fighter’s
Everlong
has been replaced. Now, whenever my phone rings or I receive a text, I’m treated to some generic shrilly jingle. It makes me cringe when it sounds off, but it doesn’t make me cry, so that’s a bonus.

I guess.

Then I trashed the selfie that Phoenix and I took in Central Park that served as my phone’s wallpaper. I didn’t bother replacing it with anything, so my phone remains a black screen void of any memory.

Black is fitting.

The past week has been broken up into flights of work and fits of deleting. I work for hours, check my phone and delete the latest traces of him, then I put my head down and continue to work again.

I avoid the apartment we once shared as much as possible. It hurts too much to be there alone in my thoughts and all of the photos of us happily smiling down at me.

I lather, rinse, and repeat into the late hours of the night.

Today is no different.

Phoenix:
We need to talk.

Delete.

Phoenix:
Can I come by later?

Delete.

Phoenix:
Ivy … please call me.

Delete.

Phoenix:
I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.

Delete.

Phoenix:
Ivy … please … I love you.

Delete.

Phoenix:
We can work this out.

Delete.

Phoenix:
I know I'm a fuck up. Just let me explain.

Delete.

Phoenix:
It's been days, Ivy. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't function. Please talk to me.

Delete.

Phoenix:
Look. I know you're pissed as hell at me right now, and you should be. And I hate myself enough for the both of us. But you need to know that that night meant nothing to me. You’re my everything. YOU ARE.

Delete.

Phoenix:
I miss you. Will you at least hear me out?

Delete.

Phoenix:
You can’t end things like this. You can’t end things, period.

I’m half tempted to write back and remind him that
he
ended things before we even began. But I refrain.

Delete.

Phoenix:
I realize that no apology will ever make things right. Those are just words and while I mean them, words will never repair the faith you lost in me. But damn it, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.

Delete.

Phoenix:
Please?

Delete.

Phoenix:
I don’t just love you, Ivy. I’m in love with you. Don’t you fucking see that? And nothing from my past, present or future will ever change how I feel about you. Nothing.

My finger hovers over the trash can icon, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. While I can delete his words from the screen, I’ll never be able to delete the imprint he’s left on my heart, and I can never forgive him for what he’s done. But no matter how much I hate him, I just can’t stop loving him.

No matter how hard I try.

I SIGN MY NAME AT the bottom of the square and begin mindlessly folding.

Corners in.

Crease.

Unfold.

Refold.

Tuck.

Spread flat.

It’s amazing how something as complex as origami becomes second nature once more, even after all these years. I’m beginning to understand why my mother spent so much time making these damn cranes after we left my father. It’s much easier to lose myself in trivial work than actually face my problems. It’s all I can do to keep the fucking head games at bay.

I’ve lost count as to how many times I’ve sat down to write this letter and ended up staring at a blank page for an hour. But now that I’ve finally got my thoughts out on paper I’m afraid I’ll second-guess myself and chicken out if I attempt to re-read the words on the page.

I hope this works. It
has
to work. The past week has been torturous. She says she needs space, but I know the more space she puts between us, the easier it will be for her to push me away. And I can’t lose her.

I can
’
t.

When I finish folding the crane, I pinch the beak and hold it in the palm of my hand.

“Is that it?” Brock asks coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He eyes the bird tentatively. While I certainly appreciate him letting me crash on his couch until I figure out what the hell is going on, I wish he would at least act like he has a houseguest. The walls of his studio apartment are getting smaller with each passing day, but I can’t complain about his generosity.

“Yeah.” I take a slow, deep breath and try to release the building tension from my shoulders.

“Want me to take it in for you tomorrow?” He shakes the water from his hair and droplets rain down on me.

“No. I know she doesn’t want to see me, but I really think a few moments together will help.”

“Your funeral.” Brock takes the towel from around his waist and rubs it through his hair. I turn my head and look out the window. I’ve lost the number of times he’s conveniently found a way to flash me his dick.

“Is it really
that
bad with her?” The clouds are rolling in and I can tell we’re due for a storm. How fitting.

“I don’t know, man,” he calls out from the bathroom. “She refuses to talk about anything other than work. She’s bitchier than normal and she still looks like she’s been put through a meat grinder.”

Typical Ivy. Throwing herself full force into her career. Classic avoidance.

“Your girl has serious issues.”

If only you knew the half of it.

I look down at the paper bird, realizing I’ve done the same damn thing. Only I’ve thrown myself into the mindless mundane to avoid letting myself feel the magnitude and hurt of our situation. I look at the ever-growing pile of paper cranes on the table.