Page 108 of Stroked Hard
I don’t even bother searching through my viewing options on Netflix, I go straight to Mad Men and pick up where I left off. With a water bottle in hand, I scrunch down on my bed, rest my computer on my lap, and try to forget about the gnawing feeling in my gut that Melony has ended things with us without my knowledge.
So glad I get to dive tomorrow. Please note: that was sarcasm.
I’m barely enjoying John Hamm’s asshole character when my phone beeps with a text message. Showing no hope that it’s the girl I want to talk to, I glance at the screen.
My stomach drops when I see the name on the front.
Melony.Thank. Fuck.
Scrambling, I reach for my phone.
Melony: I made it. I’m sorry.
She’s sorry? What the hell is she sorry about? Is she sorry for not talking to me? Is she sorry for breaking up with me without saying a word? Is she sorry for ripping my fucking heart out and stomping on it every damn day she didn’t communicate with me?
Calming myself, I take a deep breath and try to channel the caring part of me rather than the pissed-off version. Remember: she’s skittish, she’s scared, she’s been burned. She needs someone who understands, no matter how much I want to be pissed at her. No matter how much I’m hurting too.
Hollis: Thank you for texting me back. Are you okay? Can we talk?
The little bubble on the screen indicates she’s writing. I hate having this conversation through text message. I would rather hear her sweet voice, plus text messages can be so misconstrued.
Melony: Bellini has an awful schedule for us right now. She’s using the bathroom so I slipped out to text you.
Hollis: When can you talk?
Melony: Not sure. You’re diving tomorrow, so you should get some sleep.
Hollis: I haven’t slept at all since I haven’t heard from you, and I’ve made it to the finals. Doubt sleep will help with my diving now.
No response.
No response for at least ten minutes as I sit in silence, not even pushing play on Netflix.
I fucking hate this.
I hate everything about it. She’s running, and I can’t stop her.
And the worst part? I have no clue why.
I’m about to call it a night when I get another text message.
Melony: Good luck tomorrow. Wish I could watch.
I have to compartmentalize this. Because if that doesn’t fuck with my head, I don’t know what does.
Diving is for now, and I have no choice but to make it my focus and do my absolute best.
Melony is forever.
I hope.
Chapter Twenty-Four
MELONY
A few days ago . . .
“He sounds nice, Mom. I’m glad you had a good time.” Why do those words taste so bitter coming out of my mouth? Like battery acid. I knew she was getting serious. I told Hollis about it yesterday, how my mom has a boyfriend. His attitude toward the conversation was less than pleased. Not because of my mom having a boyfriend, but because of my comment about relationships.
