put the pieces together. I remember going to the dance studio yesterday morning and getting a text from Gina …
It all starts to come back to me. While rehearsing in the studio, I got a text from Gina saying she saw Evan in town. It’s been a month since he moved out. I try not to think about him.
We were good together. I may have even loved him. I don’t know. It wasn’t like an epic love story where you would do absolutely anything for that person. We didn’t exactly have a Romeo and Juliet connection. I’m fairly certain neither of us would have taken a bullet for the other, but there was respect, and for me, that was plenty. Everything we did, we did it together. And I was content. My friends told me that wasn’t enough. They thought for love to work, there had to be passion and longing, but I don’t know. I’ve never had either of those things with a man, so I couldn’t say whether they’re important in a relationship. I was perfectly fine being content.
But being content wasn’t enough for Evan in the end. One day, I came home, and all of his stuff was gone. He just disappeared. I texted and called, worried about him. Eventually he texted back and said he wasn’t happy and needed to move on. I understood.
I was crushed, of course. Who isn’t after a breakup? Part of me thought he would eventually come back, and that all we needed was some space. I asked him about it. He agreed that was probably what our relationship needed. He had my hopes up. I stopped crying and got myself back in the studio. I was determined to work on myself so I could be better for him. When he came back I would be a different person. I would be loving and passionate, all the things he needed me to be.
But then I got that text from Gina yesterday. It wasn’t just that she’d seen him in town. She saw him there with another woman. They were kissing and holding hands and looked cozier than two people who were just on a date. I asked her who the woman was, if she was someone we knew, but she wasn’t able to get a good look at her, afraid Evan would catch her spying.
When I texted Evan later that evening, he admitted that he’d been seeing her for a year before he moved out. For an entire year of our two-year relationship he was seeing someone else and I didn’t even know it. How could I have been so blind? The betrayal was more than I could handle, so I opened that bottle of wine we’d been saving for a special occasion and I drank it. The whole thing.
Everything that came after that is pixilated. God, I hope I didn’t drunk-text him. I look around for my phone, but don’t see it. It’s probably in the living room. Hopefully it’s in my purse and hasn’t been touched.
I sit up. The sheets fall off of me. Why the hell am I wearing this bra and panty set as well as my sheer robe? This isn’t my normal sleeping attire. This is something I’d wear when trying to be sexy, and I’m pretty sure after what happened with Evan, I was not feeling sexy last night.
And where’s Hercules? He always sleeps at the foot of my bed. There’s a permanent indention in the mattress where he curls up at night. My door is shut. I must’ve left him in the living room. He’s not whining at the door, so he’s probably still asleep. Getting up, I look at myself in the mirror and cringe. My hair is a rumpled mess and I have makeup smeared all over my face. Before taking the dog for his morning walk, I decide to brush my teeth and jump in the shower really quickly. The warm water cascading over my shoulders feels wonderful, and my headache starts to ease. I feel much better after, and I almost look human again. Grabbing a couple ibuprofens from the medicine cabinet, I pop them in my mouth and try to swallow them dry, but they get stuck in the back of my throat. I go back into my room and find a bottle of water next to my bed and take a gulp. But I don’t remember putting water next to my bed. I’m a sound sleeper and never need