Page 17 of Never Enough
Every day, I’m slowly dying inside and no one knows.
On my worst days, I want the dirt surrounding my coffin to finally enter my throat and kill me.
I pull up outside Celeste’s apartment, the building towering over me—a monolith of steel and glass that reflects the waning sunlight. I turn off the engine and just sit there for a moment, trying to piece together the right words. It has to be done. I need to break things off with her.
There’s this small, twisted part of me that hopes Daphne is there. I want her to see it, to witness the end of my relationship. But as I climb the steps to Celeste’s door, I know that’s not going to happen. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?
“Alex!” Celeste flings open the door and, in a sugary voice, chirps, “Alex!” She’s alone.
“Hey,” I manage, the word feeling like a stone on my tongue.
She steps aside, and I enter her apartment. It’s all pristine surfaces and expensive decor, a reflection of the life she’s used to: polished and perfect. Yet none of that glitters for me anymore.
“Can we talk?” I say, turning to face her.
“Of course, babe! What’s up?” Oblivious to the storm brewing within me, her eyes are bright and expectant.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself. This isn’t just the end of us; it’s the start of something new. For both of us, I hope.
For a brief moment, her brow furrows, and I suspect that she knows I’m about to break up with her. It’s written across her face. But then it’s gone and she must dismiss it, because she leaps intomy arms, wraps her legs around my waist, and pulls me close. I can feel the force of her need, the desperation in her actions, and it only makes the pit in my stomach grow deeper. It’s like she thinks she can grind away the truth between us with lust.
Might have worked B.D.—before Daphne—but not anymore.
“Hey, hey,” I murmur, gently but firmly setting her down beside me on the couch. Ripping the band aid off, I say the words no woman wants to hear. “We need to talk.”
She’s unfazed. “Oh, come on, Alex,” she protests, her pout full and glossy, engineered for maximum effect. “Can’t it wait? I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Exactly why we can’t hold off,” I press, feeling the gnawing inside me that has nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with dread. The kind that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin or sleep for a year straight.
“Remember senior prom?” she says suddenly, eyes sparkling with the memory as she throws her hair back in a practiced move. “We were, like, the ultimate couple. You looked so hot in that tux, and we danced all night long.”
That night is etched vividly in my memory. It was one of those rare occasions when the heaviness lifted from my shoulders, and I felt weightless. We spun around the dance floor, laughter mingling with the music, and for those hours, my demons receded. I couldpretend, for a little while, that I wasn’t shackled to this perpetual darkness.
“Those were good times,” I admit, voice softening despite myself. There’s an ache in acknowledging the past. They’re like ghosts now, haunting me with the reminder of how things used to be before everything got so complicated.
“Let’s have more of them,” she insists, her hands reaching for me again.
Yet I can’t let her, not when every touch feels like a lie.
A tear escapes, sliding down my cheek. If my old middle school bullies were here, they’d call me a pussy.
“Listen, Celeste, I care about you, a lot.” My words are as deliberate as the decision that brought me here. Victoria told me to be honest and to the point. So I will. “It’s time to move on and pursue other people.”
Her eyes urgently seek my attention. Unfortunately for her, there’s only truth in my gaze.
“Please, Alex, don’t say that,” she pleads, her voice stripped of its usual confidence. Her hands tremble as they clutch at mine, as if she could physically hold us together. “Let’s work this out. Don’t—”
I pull back gently, steady despite the quiver in my heart. “We can still be friends. I hope you know that.” Aiming to soften theblow I add, “I really don’t want this to affect your friendship with Victoria either.”
Celeste collapses into herself, her sobs ricocheting off the walls. I feel like shit. She gasps between tears, words jumbled and desperate. “No, please! I’ll do anything, Alex. Whatever I can do to keep you.”
Guilt gnaws at me. This is about Celeste too. She deserves a man who’s consumed with his entire being, like Daphne consumes mine.
“Alex, think about our parents and friends; they want us to get married! Everyone thinks we’re perfect together!” She’s grappling for any argument to sway me.
For so long, I cared about appearances. If I seemed happy and it appeared like I had friends, I could pretend that everything was okay. Now, having Daphne return to my life reminded me that pretending to be happy and being happy are two very different things.
“Being good on paper isn’t enough,” I counter, each word laced with conviction. Sometimes, I wonder if my parents are satisfied together. Dad’s always gone, and Mom’s a pain in my ass. They never share affection, and honestly, I have a hard time believing that they’ve had sex at least twice to make Vic and me. Do I want that for my own life?