Haunted

Chapter 2: Firsts

My heart did all sorts of weird things when I saw Billy walk in. At first, it started beating fast, which he had always made it do. And then it almost stopped beating altogether, realizing that after all this time of not seeing him that it was really him. When that realization sank in, my heart plummeted, shattering into a million pieces all over again. I hated how he was able to break my heart not just once, but every time I saw him. I had often wondered if I would ever be able to get the thought of him in our bed with another girl out of my mind.

Our salon team was leaving for the International Beauty Show in New York City when we got off of work that Friday. We had all been so excited and loud the entire day, anxious for our trip to the big apple. It's weird how a person can go from such excitement to total devastation in a matter of seconds. I had forgotten one of my bags, so we stopped by my apartment on the way to the airport so I could get it. I wasn't surprised to see Billy's truck at home, since it had been raining all day. Aside from being in a band, he also worked in construction, which usually came to a soggy halt on bad weather days. I knew he had a gig that night, so I figured he was getting ready for it. Boy, was I wrong.

When I walked in the front door, I headed straight to our bedroom to get my bag, which I'd left on our bathroom counter. As I walked into the bedroom, the curtains were drawn and it was dark, so I thought he was sleeping, until I heard a bunch of commotion. 

"Sorry, Babe, I didn't mean to wake you. I forgot my—" My words caught in my throat, almost choking me, as I walked out of the bathroom and back into our room. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to see that Billy was, in fact, far from asleep. Once the realization of what was going on—in my bed—sank in, I ran over and flipped on the light, causing them—yes, them—to shield their eyes from the sudden brightness. "What the hell are you doing?" I screamed. "Who is she?" I yelled as my eyes fell on the naked blonde lying next to him. 

"What are you doing home?"

"Really? I catch you with some slut in our bed and you've got the nerve to ask me what I'm doing?" I flipped out. The next thing I know I was on top of him, clawing and punching his face, trying to cause him as much pain as he was causing me, if that was even possible. He didn't fight back; he just grabbed my arms so I couldn't hit him anymore, so I used my feet. I didn't see the blonde get up and leave, which was probably a good thing, because she would've surely been next. 

I called him every filthy name that I could think of, but it still couldn't convey the anger and hurt I was feeling. He finally forced me onto my back, pinning me to the bed so I would stop kicking his ass. As soon as my body stilled, the devastation set in and the tears started to flow. How could he do this to me? To us?

"Jacynda, this was a big mistake. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? You're sorry? Yeah, sorry that you got caught! Now, let me up," I ordered as I wiggled out of his grasp, "because there's no telling what I might be laying in." My anger was flaring back up, and I welcomed it. I wanted him to feel my wrath, not my weakness. I'd have to save my tears for later, when I was several states away.

Needless to say, my co-workers got a show that day, and so did several of our neighbors. As I sent his things flying over the balcony, it made me appreciate the fact that we lived on the second floor. I had only seen him twice since then; once when he came back to our—no, my—apartment and begged me to forgive him, and then again at a club he was playing at. I didn't let him come in when he begged for forgiveness, shutting the door in his face, and I left the club as soon as I saw his band go on stage. He had a way of tugging on my heart strings the same way played his guitar, but I wasn't going to be played . . . not again.