A Betting Man

Chapter Twenty-Six

Adelaide's Point of View

The following week, I submerse myself in my work. Avoidance has become the new strategy – I avoid Justin's calls, I avoid Fey's persistence to go out, and I avoid the talk Cayden seems intent on having with me. The only thing I don't avoid is work, as it's the only thing that seems to take my mind off my current issues.

Justin calls several times a day. He even comes by a few times, but I'm either not at home or I ignore the knocking. Even when he's not around his presence surrounds me due to the constant barrage of flowers and stuffed animals and "I'm sorry" and "Please let's talk" notes that he sends to me. My apartment soon looks like its very own florist shop, the overwhelming smell and sight of flowers never letting me forget what's happened. I kind of hate Justin for not giving me the space I want, but how could he know this if I'm not speaking to him? Besides the fact that I chained him up and basically told him to go to hell, of course.

On Monday, while I'm at work, he covers my car with flowers. My coworkers think I have quite the romantic boyfriend, and I don't have the heart or the energy to correct them. The petals look like snow as they fly off my car upon driving away.

Cayden picks up Ursula that same day. I leave the key so that he can come while I'm working and I won't have to deal with him – thereby avoiding the talk – but later I feel bad that I didn't get to say good-bye to the beast. As smelly and disgusting as she is, I'm actually going to miss her a little. She was the only one in this entire fucked up charade that didn't have twisted motives, and I value her simplicity.

With her gone, my apartment feels empty. It no longer reeks of dander and poo, and when I lint roll the furniture, the fur doesn't miraculously return half an hour later. But it's quiet – I can no longer hear her yowling around the place or the gurgling rolls of her digestive system as she inhales an entire bowl of food.

And in the absence of sound comes loneliness.

I don't sleep well at night. I lie awake for hours thinking about Justin – I wonder what he's doing, I obsess over whether he's with another woman, and I reread his texts and consider returning his calls. But I do nothing to ease these thoughts, constantly assuring myself that I need more time to think over and consider everything that's happened.

I miss Justin – painfully so – but I don't want this yearning, this desire for his presence, to affect my decisions when it comes to what's best for me. I want to be in a healthy, clear state of mind.

But I want Justin. I want to hear valid excuses and a sincere apology, and I want to forgive him. But is that really wise? Could we ever be anything... more? After all that's happened?

I feel like a zombie at work. I'm unrested and tired, my thoughts threatening to stray every time I allow any sort of weakness to slip through my facade. But I'm dedicated, accomplishing more in these short few days than I would normally complete in a month.

I reacquaint myself with my love of writing during my evenings at home. I lose myself in a fantasy world - one where I dictate the outcomes, the actions, and the consequences of my character's decisions. It's the only safe escape from reality I can find.

This becomes sort of a routine. I half expect Justin to be at my apartment when I get off work, perhaps to grovel or offer an apology in person. Or maybe that's just what I'm hoping will happen, as he's suggested coming by several times in his messages. But I must have scared him away with the handcuffs. Every day, my doorstep is empty.

Then on Wednesday evening, everything changes.

I get off work a little late, as is the norm this week, and head to my car with my head lowered as I try to manage a stack of papers that are slipping from my grip. I've decided to take some work home with me tonight. But looking up, I find a tall figure leaning against my car, and my breath catches.