easy. All Jed would have needed to say was that heâd made a mistake. That he missed me and wanted things to go back to the way they were. We could wipe the slate clean, pretend that none of it had ever happened.
But now, itâs different. The things he saidâthe things that were printedâwill live on, long after the magazines have been tossed in the trash. Anytime anyone searches my name, it will all come back. We were a team, and now weâre not. Itâs over.
I toss my phone back onto the nightstand and lean heavily into the pillows. I feel almost sick. How can somebody be two people at the same time? Thereâs Jed, the guy on the balcony I couldnât wait to get to know, the person I imagined would be my other half forever. Jed, the guy who knew exactly how I was feeling, exactly what I was going through, exactly all of the time.
And then thereâs the other Jed, at the restaurant, playing with his soup. Jed in print, telling our secrets, betraying my trust, making me look like a fool.
I groan and throw off the covers. Sleep is definitely out of the question.
Through the window, the moon is big and ringed in gauzy white. I pull on a long cardigan over my pajamas and stuff my journal and a pen into the oversize front pocket. Maybe I can distract myself by writing. I creep downstairs and find my flip-flops and a towel.
Outside, the air smells like rain. Afternoon showers kept us inside most of the day. I had taken out my guitar for the first time since weâve been here and messed around while Sammy read and Tess tried to nap. I hadnât played music just for fun in a while. Without the stress of trying to come up with a melody, it started to feel natural again.
I follow the moonlit path to the stretch of beach behind our house. Itâs quiet, and a little bit eerie, and I think for a minute about turning back, but thereâs something about the ocean that draws me in. I need to feel something big, bigger than the doubts and anxieties that live inside my head. Something powerful and self-assured.
I strip and leave my clothes and towel in a pile on the rocky shore, then splash into the ocean before I have time to change my mind. The water is brutal and exhilarating.It shocks my limbs and turns them instantly numb. My heart feels like itâs stopped beating. Good , I think. Maybe if my heart is frozen, it will stop aching once and for all. Moments or minutes later, when I feel on the verge of true hypothermia, I stumble over the rocks toward the beach.
Back on dry land, I close myself in the big, warm towel, and stare up at the glow of the moon. Ahead, the coastline stretches out for miles. I find a clear patch of sand, wiggle into my clothes, and nestle into a spot on the shore.
I lean back and close my eyes. A snatch of melody has been running through my mind since this afternoon. Sometimes it feels like songs flutter in and out of my consciousness like teasing butterflies, daring me to catch them.
I almost have the lyricsâsomething about morning amnesia, waking up in a strange bed and remembering, every time, that youâre alone. When I open my eyes each day, Iâve forgotten where I am, and why Iâm here. Itâs sort of like meeting yourself for the first time, just for a moment, before it all comes rushing back.
Itâs not only the fact that Iâm in a strange house. For the first time in years, Iâm totally and completely unattached. The last time I spent a full week on my own was when Iâd recently moved to LA. In what is now essentially partof the public record, I took a waitressing job and worked all of one shift before quitting. Sebastian was at my first table. He asked for my number with the check, and we went out the next night. Three weeks after that, we moved in together.
Iâm not exactly used to taking things slow.
The melodyâsimple, and a little bit melancholyâruns through my whole body, but as soon as I find
But now, itâs different. The things he saidâthe things that were printedâwill live on, long after the magazines have been tossed in the trash. Anytime anyone searches my name, it will all come back. We were a team, and now weâre not. Itâs over.
I toss my phone back onto the nightstand and lean heavily into the pillows. I feel almost sick. How can somebody be two people at the same time? Thereâs Jed, the guy on the balcony I couldnât wait to get to know, the person I imagined would be my other half forever. Jed, the guy who knew exactly how I was feeling, exactly what I was going through, exactly all of the time.
And then thereâs the other Jed, at the restaurant, playing with his soup. Jed in print, telling our secrets, betraying my trust, making me look like a fool.
I groan and throw off the covers. Sleep is definitely out of the question.
Through the window, the moon is big and ringed in gauzy white. I pull on a long cardigan over my pajamas and stuff my journal and a pen into the oversize front pocket. Maybe I can distract myself by writing. I creep downstairs and find my flip-flops and a towel.
Outside, the air smells like rain. Afternoon showers kept us inside most of the day. I had taken out my guitar for the first time since weâve been here and messed around while Sammy read and Tess tried to nap. I hadnât played music just for fun in a while. Without the stress of trying to come up with a melody, it started to feel natural again.
I follow the moonlit path to the stretch of beach behind our house. Itâs quiet, and a little bit eerie, and I think for a minute about turning back, but thereâs something about the ocean that draws me in. I need to feel something big, bigger than the doubts and anxieties that live inside my head. Something powerful and self-assured.
I strip and leave my clothes and towel in a pile on the rocky shore, then splash into the ocean before I have time to change my mind. The water is brutal and exhilarating.It shocks my limbs and turns them instantly numb. My heart feels like itâs stopped beating. Good , I think. Maybe if my heart is frozen, it will stop aching once and for all. Moments or minutes later, when I feel on the verge of true hypothermia, I stumble over the rocks toward the beach.
Back on dry land, I close myself in the big, warm towel, and stare up at the glow of the moon. Ahead, the coastline stretches out for miles. I find a clear patch of sand, wiggle into my clothes, and nestle into a spot on the shore.
I lean back and close my eyes. A snatch of melody has been running through my mind since this afternoon. Sometimes it feels like songs flutter in and out of my consciousness like teasing butterflies, daring me to catch them.
I almost have the lyricsâsomething about morning amnesia, waking up in a strange bed and remembering, every time, that youâre alone. When I open my eyes each day, Iâve forgotten where I am, and why Iâm here. Itâs sort of like meeting yourself for the first time, just for a moment, before it all comes rushing back.
Itâs not only the fact that Iâm in a strange house. For the first time in years, Iâm totally and completely unattached. The last time I spent a full week on my own was when Iâd recently moved to LA. In what is now essentially partof the public record, I took a waitressing job and worked all of one shift before quitting. Sebastian was at my first table. He asked for my number with the check, and we went out the next night. Three weeks after that, we moved in together.
Iâm not exactly used to taking things slow.
The melodyâsimple, and a little bit melancholyâruns through my whole body, but as soon as I find
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