Simple Love, Simple Pain

Chapter Twenty-One

 After a grueling nine-hour drive I pull into her driveway and park the car. The only other car in the driveway is Ella's. Shit, I'll never get to talk to Jules if Ella's in there acting like a guard dog, but I have to try, so I walk up to the door. I know she's here—she has to be here. I can feel it.

I step up on the front porch and ring the doorbell. I wait, and wait, and wait. No one answers. Growling in frustration, I bury both my hands in my hair and pull it before beating on the door with my fists. "Jules! Open the goddamn door!" Finally, after what seems like forever, the door swings open. But instead of Jules or Ella, it's Daniel, and he doesn't look happy.

"What the hell are you doing here? Can't you just leave her alone?" he shouts, gritting his teeth and blocking the door.

"Get out of my way Daniel or I swear to God I'll make you move." He doesn't budge, so I reach out and grab the collar of his shirt and yank him outside, letting him fall on the porch behind me. When I turn back around, Ella's in the doorway, hands braced on either side of the doorframe.

"Get out of here, Dallas. She doesn't want to talk to you and I don't blame her. What the hell is wrong with you?" She narrows her eyes, her face a mask of disgust.

"How am I supposed to fix this if I can't talk to her Ella?" I mean for the words to come out as accusing, but they sound more like pleading than anything else.

"Some things just can't be fixed. You have no idea how bad it hurts to be called by an ex-girlfriend's name. It's not just a little deal."

"I know that, but I need her to forgive me. I just need her. Please, Ella." She shakes her head and looks over her shoulder. I do too, but I don't see her.

"She doesn't want anything to do with you right now. You didn't see her when I showed up here. She was hysterical. It took me over an hour just to get her calm enough to tell me what happened. She'll talk to you when she's ready—if she's ever ready. Don't push it, this isn't about you."

"It was never about me! It's always been about her! Everything I do is for her! Don't you get that?" I run my hands through my hair in frustration—I've been doing it a lot over the last nine hours and my hair sticks up all over the place.

"If it was for her, you wouldn't be here," she growls, still blocking the door. My throat gets thick with tears and my eyes well up.

"I'm here for her! She needs to know I love her! If I didn't love her, I wouldn't be here—I'd be with Rosie, but I'm not because I don't give a fuck about her." My voice cracks, but I keep going. "Please, just let me see her. She's my everything. She's everything to me. Everything." A few tears slip down my cheeks and I brush them away angrily.

But Ella just shakes her head, looking at me sympathetically. "I can't, Dallas," I growl deep in my throat, whipping around and slamming my fist into the concrete railing.

"Motherfucker!" Ella gasps and I cradle my hand with the other one, gingerly trying to move my fingers. A blast of pain shoots through my hand and up my arm, but it's nothing compared to the agony I feel in my heart. I've lost my angel. She's never coming back. I've sufficiently destroyed the only happiness left in my life.

As I make my way down the stairs, I look back at the open living room window where my little angel waved goodbye to me not even a week ago, and where she now stands on the couch, banging her little fists on the glass with tears streaming down her precious face. Her lip is stuck out in a little pout and her eyes are red and swollen. Those beautiful emerald eyes, so much like her mommy's. Even now, with tears on her cheeks, I'm sure they're the same.

Then she opens her mouth and screams the only thing that could manage to break my heart even more. "Daddy!"

I lose all control of my emotions as tears pour down my face and sobs rip from my chest, I bring my damaged hand to my lips and blow her one last kiss before turning around and forcing myself to get in the car and drive away.

***

I burst through the door of the boarding house, receiving curious looks from all the guys. I don't pay them any attention as I open the liquor cabinet and take out a bottle of whiskey and head for the stairs.

"What the hell, Dallas? What's wrong?" Cam catches up with me and grabs my arm, swinging me around to face him. "What happened to your hand?" I pull my arm out of his grip and keep walking.

"I punched a railing," I mumble, continuing up the stairs.

"That'll do it, but why did you do it?" He's walking behind me, trying to get me to stop, but I ignore him and keep going.

"Jules and I are over." I unscrew the lid on the bottle and bring it to my lips, tipping my head back and letting the amber liquid burn down my throat. Just thinking it hurts, but saying it out load burns my throat worse than the whiskey.

"No fucking way!" He stops walking, seeming to understand I need to be alone. I don't say anything, just keep walking up the stairs until I reach the third floor. I lock my door behind me, crank some music, and drink the whiskey. A few hours later, I'm sobbing like a baby while holding the sweater she left here against my nose—breathing her in. The bottle of whiskey is on the floor, as empty as my heart.

***

I don't go to school on Monday. Or the rest of the week. Actually, I don't know how long I'm out of school for.

My days all just run together. I guess that's what happens when you're passed out half the time and drinking the other half. I'm surprised I'm not dead actually. I might as well be—death would be a whole lot better than this.

I've woken up countless times in a puddle of my own vomit with a hot iron piercing my skull. I just clean up the mess and grab another bottle of whatever's in the cabinet.

Cam doesn't bother me; he knows his nagging won't change anything. There's only one thing that would change anything and she's never coming back. So, every day I drink myself unconscious, and every morning I wake up with a pounding head in a puddle of vomit.

Until, one day, I don't.