Scream For me

“He just kissed me, Xana; he didn’t propose. Like you said, I think he’s just looking to get laid. Besides, I’m not so sure I’m ready to jump back into something yet.”

She gives me a look of pity. “I thought you were ready to move on and explore things with other people?”

“Explore, yes, but jumping into another relationship right away ju-”

“Right away? Daph, it’s been two years.”

I fiddle with my fork, my shoulders dropping as I exhale. “I felt something.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the way, he kissed me, held me, looked at me. It made me feel-I’ve never felt that way before and it scared me.”

“Is it fear or guilt?”

“Both. I think I feel bad that I’m interested in someone else. I can’t help but compare how he makes me feel to how Carson made me feel. What I had with Carson was completely different. It was emotional, but I’d be lying to myself if I said that Carson could ignite this passion and fire inside me with a single touch or kiss like Weston has. It’s all so new. Do you have that with Ryan?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “With Ryan, it’s exactly like what you’re describing but it’s also emotional. I think that’s what makes it so fiery and exciting, knowing we connect on all levels. I’m sorry you didn’t have that with Carson; I didn’t know that.”

I give her a half smile. “It’s not like our sex life was bad. I loved it. It’s like not realizing what you’re missing because you don’t know what you don’t know. I wouldn’t say that was one of the strong points. I would have liked to explore that side of myself more with him but when I would try, it was usually shut down.”© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“Is that why you loved those romance novels?” She laughs and it makes me laugh.

“Yeah.”

“Hey.” She reaches out and tgoboth my hands in hers. “Don’t worry about what me or anyone else thinks when you’re deciding about this trip. If you want to go, have a fling for two or three days, and never speak of it again, then fine. Or maybe you are falling and maybe there is the potential to have the fire with the emotions. Just listen to your heart, babe.”

I think about Xana’s words the rest of the weekend and all through next week. I bounce back and forth between being convinced I’m going to not going.

I lie on my battering at the ceiling as I hum a song to myself. I haven’t seen or heard from Weston since the night he kissed me in my kitchen. Tomorrow is Friday and we not only get it off, but also Monday for the holiday. I roll over and look at the clock; it’s just after ten and I can’t fall asleep. I flip the covers off and walk to the living room, grabbing my Kindle and flipping open the latest romance novel I’ve been reading.

I don’t realize how long I’ve been reading until my head lulls forward, my eyes closing. I jolt awake, rubbing my eyes and squinting to see the time on the microwave. It’s almost one now. I yawn, shutting my Kindle down and trudging back to my bedroom. I grab my phone, about to silence my alarm for tomorrow since I’m off work when I see a text from Weston.

Weston: In case you change your mind. Here are the departure details for my private jet tomorrow. And don’t forget… doors close FIFTEEN minutes before departure. 😉

I stare at the text with the directions to the private terminal his plane is leaving for and the time it departs. I reread it three times, his comment about the departure time making me laugh, something that before would have made me roll my eyes. Now, I can hear the playful mocking tone of his voice in my head.

I look over at the bag that’s still sitting in the corner of my room with the dress and swimsuits I purchased this past weekend. I sit on the edge of my bed, adrenaline coursing through me, making me way too wired to sleep now. I bounce my leg up and down, staring at the bag as if it’s going to tell me what to do.

“Screw it.” I stand up and walk to my closet, pulling out my suitcase from the back where it’s been buried since I moved into this apartment. I pull open drawers, grabbing underwear and bras, shorts, shirts, and shoes. I tell myself not to think, just pack.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I search through my nightstand, almost panicking when I can’t find my passport. “Oh.” I drop to my hands and knees, reaching under my bed to pull out an old shoebox. “There you are.” I located it under my birth certificate, completely forgetting I had put it in this box when I moved. I’m about to put the lid back on when my eye catches the corner of a small maroon box sticking out from beneath a stack of photos. I know what the box is; it’s my engagement ring. I’m tempted to pull it out and put it on, something I found myself doing almost weekly after Carson died. I would wrap myself in one of his sweatshirts and sob on the floor for hours until my body couldn’t shed another tear.

“Now isn’t the time,” I say to myself as I close the lid, sliding the box back under my bed. By the time I’m finished packing in a flurry, it’s well after two and according to Weston’s text, his plane will be departing at eight sharp. I set my alarm, triple-checking it before falling into bed.