Mine Would Be You (6)

I gently cover his ears and scowl at her. “Watch me.”

He purrs on my lap, and the conversation drops, thankfully. I’m in no position to talk about the idea of me opening up to someone or dating. I just want to wallow.

We sit there for a little while more, letting the episode play out before Sloan stands up. “I have to be at the salon super early tomorrow. Are you gonna be all right tonight?”

Her brown eyes watch me, hesitation appearing in them as she does. “Yeah, I’m gonna be fine. I’m just going to bed, and I’ll be fine until Friday.”

She pulls me into a hug and holds me tight. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop more tears from flowing out the sides and down my cheeks. My head is pounding just slightly, like it always does when I try to hold in the tears, but I ignore it.

After placing a quick kiss on my cheek and hugging Harper, Sloan slings her bags over her shoulders and bundles into her coat as she walks out the door, bidding us goodbye. I can feel Harper’s eyes on the back of my head.

I turn. “I’m gonna head to bed. I’m starting to get a headache from drinking.”

A lie because I never get headaches or hungover. Harper knows that too.

“Nina.”

I gather Jenko into my arms, the vibrations of his purring sending a flood of calming waves over me. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna go sleep it off. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She watches me closely as I head down the hallway to my room. I press my back against the door after I shut it. The warm yellow glow of my lights welcome me in with the green of the plants on my windowsill.

Photos and collages I’ve made of my favorite old Poze covers and photoshoots are framed together above my bed, certain quotes and photos front and center. Piles of old magazines like Harper’s Bazaar, Cosmo, Vogue, and others sit under the window and at the foot of my bed.

Pictures of the three of us from childhood are framed around my speaker on the mahogany dresser from my family that matches my bed frame. Pictures of my family also line the dresser. Various perfumes and a collection of makeup sit to the side, and candles are haphazardly thrown around the surfaces of my room: the dresser, the window, and my nightstand.

I walk over the pink fuzzy rug that matches the blanket over my gray comforter and bury myself into it. Jenko curls tightly into my stomach as I lay on my side after shutting the lights off.

Darkness floods in from the space between the windowsill and where my curtains stop, letting only a faint glow from the city streetlights in. It surrounds me as I lay there, unable to stop reminiscing on the relationship that used to be mine. Every wrong and every right. I couldn’t stop the tears even if I wanted to.

I bury my face into the pillows so that when Harper walks by, like I know she will, to listen for my quiet sobs, she won’t hear them.

Tomorrow I’ll wake up and pick myself up. Walk myself through my routine—gym, breakfast, work—and I’ll be okay. I’ll remember that I’m happy here with my friends and on my own.

I’ll be okay.

But for right now, I’ve accepted it’s okay to be sad about Myles getting married. About officially losing someone who was a part of me for so long, even after letting him go.

The last piece of him that had a hold on me is being chiseled off my shoulder with a pickaxe.

And despite me wishing it wouldn’t, it still hurts.





I thought this week would never end.

Between having to write four articles for work on different upcoming trends, making final edits for the March magazine, the wedding invitation, and my undying desire to drown my sorrows in alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism, it feels like years have passed.

To make matters worse, my parents also got invitations to the wedding which resulted in a two-hour phone call with them on Wednesday. My mom kept flying in and out of Spanish as she asked how I was, when this happened, and other questions I had no answers to, all between cursing Myles out in Spanish, even though she used to love him.

My dad was much less animated as he took the phone. He quietly reminded me that he never liked Myles, which he didn’t, and when he quietly whispered he loved me more than anything, I broke down in tears. He let me cry to him in silence and told me that my favorite meal would be waiting on the table on Sunday afternoon if I wanted to venture into Brooklyn. Which I would. I could use the company of my parents and their cooking.

But finally, after a long, exhausting week, it’s Friday.

As the night sky deepens and the city lights up, leaving rays of building lights on our apartment floors, I am no longer concerned with my pity-inducing feelings.

Because before that invitation and before the flashing warning signs of me missing him, I was doing fucking great.

Correction, I am doing fucking great.

I am done shedding tears over someone I know I’m better off without—at least for now. With our speaker playing my favorite songs throughout the apartment, I am becoming myself again.

Jenko is sitting on my vanity as I apply the finishing touches on my deep red lipstick.

He watches me with perked ears before I pick him up in my arms, letting the black robe fan out around my legs as I dance to the song. His body vibrates as he purrs, and I lose myself in the lyrics, lose myself in the excitement flooding through my body as I embrace this feeling.

Harper appears in my doorway, hands on her hips as she watches me with a bright smile.