Romancing the Rebound

26

୨𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚢୧

I didn't figure out what I wanted to when I got here. I wanted to see if I'd really move out here—Not for me but just to piss Veronica off.

Which was a really bitter thing for me to consider. But it's not the worst thing I considered.

I kind of forgot the point of this whole thing—is my point. I was supposed to come out here to simply stick it to her that I made all of our reservations in my name on a trip that was her dream one. And I guess I still kind of stuck it to her because I ended up sharing the bed we were going to share with another woman. But somehow, that doesn't feel as rewarding as I'd think it was.

Being with Skylar hasn't felt like a hit at Veronica. I haven't really thought about her when it comes to being with Skylar even though I half wanted to move on just to get back at her because I'm technically on our honeymoon. Haven't even thought about childishly taunting her. She's blocked everywhere and I have a lawyer's number in the small chance that it comes to that.

Half of me wishes I had thought about getting back at Veronica while I've spent my time with Skylar. At least then it'd be easier to come to terms with the fact that I won't see Skylar again after we get home. The issue is though, I don't want to use Skylar like that. I don't want to use her at all. That part of me wishes I wasn't on my honeymoon in the first damn place so I could ask her to dinner when we get home without her looking at me with pity as she reminds me she's not a rebound. Not that much of a rebound anyway. She already admitted that she hates that she let herself become one.

At the very least, I think Skylar has helped me come to terms with the end of my relationship. I may not never see her again, but I won't forget her. That's something I'll never admit to her though—It'll do nothing but stroke her big ass ego.

Another thing I'll never admit to her is that I kind of wish we had more time. I wish I wasn't an ass to her from the get-go. She's a sweet girl, and had I just smiled back at her and asked if she needed help on the plan, we could've had more time. That's all we would've needed for me to be able to ask her to dinner when we get home. If I'd just let her in sooner like she wanted me to, we could use that time for something that'll mean something.

It's too late for that now though. Way too late for the what if game. We're already four hours out from our flight home, and my luck has already run out on the fact that we're going back on the same plane at the same time again. I'm not sure if I have any more to spare.

For now, I bask in what my luck has given me. It's given me a table in a local restaurant across from a pretty girl who likes her pictures. She likes her phone held up high—but not too high. She smiles me to smile when it's pointed my way, and she likes me to just know how to hold my drink when she wants to take a picture of them together.

I still don't get it, but it's important to her that she has her memories catalogued in a little device that she can carry around wherever she goes. She says like likes to walk down memory lane often, and she wants to do it from anywhere—whether she's home or not.

I do as she says so I don't get yelled at.

Once she's happy with her pictures, she takes her phone and smiles as she sets it aside without looking through them here and now. We're both learning to get out of our comfort zones a little. She still gets to take her pictures but doesn't get to check them right at the table, and I try to make myself comfortable with more pictures being taken of me. At the end of the day, it is nice to have those pictures when you want to relive something.