Chapter 26

                                    

                                          
Chapter 26
I don't give myself enough credit.
You never really know just how much pain you're able to withstand, until you're actually faced with it. 
These past few days have been the equivalent of hell of earth. 
Between Ryan, the pregnancy scare, and my failed attempt at a rebound, I was stuck with the one option that I adamantly tried to escape.
Facing my feelings. 
Feeling my feelings. 
Heartbreak comes in waves. First, is the initial sting. The shock...the confusion as you try to make sense of the fact that going forward, you and your person are set to live two separate lives apart. The idea is jarring, so much, that sadness doesn't fully have room to seep in yet. Of course, you'll feel a little sad, but the real pain comes later. After the denial, the shock, attempted distractions, and even brief surge of hope, is when it really hurts. When there's nowhere left for your sadness to go.
That, plus work, and having to maintain a bubbly façade left me defeated. 
The only thing keeping me going is the fact that the holidays are coming up, and I'll have some time off work. Time to rest, and cry, and sulk, and breathe. 
Time to collect the shattered pieces of myself, and gently try to make them whole again. 
There's only one last thing I need to get out of the way, and then I'll feel a bit more at ease. 
As the week passed by, I grew more and more anxious, absolutely dreading this one event on my calendar. The thought of it made me physically nauseous, so I'm actually shocked that I made it after all.
I've been standing outside of Andreas' door, nervously clutching this bottle of vodka for about seven minutes now. In my other hand, is a pie holder, containing the flaky pastry that I woke up at 2am to bake from scratch.
I was nervous about today. Nervous about seeing Ryan. Nervous about having to be civil. 
Nervous about everything.
So nervous that I ended up baking about four pies and giving them to my neighbors in the morning. 
When I start impulse baking is when I know I've hit a new low. 
"It's not too late," I whisper to myself. "You can still leave. Nobody will even know you came."
I genuinely consider turning my heel, and walking back into the elevator, but ultimately decide against it. I gave Andrea my word that I'd come to her Friendsgiving. Worst comes to worst, I'll fake a migraine in the middle of dinner and see myself out. By then, everyone will probably be too drunk to even think anything of it. Hopefully.
With a long inhale, anxiety and all, I reluctantly knock on the door. A soft knock, which still gets someone's attention, because moments later, the door is opened.
I'm expecting to see Andrea on the other side, but I don't. Instead, in her place, is a man unfamiliar to me.
He stands tall, at about six feet. A strand of brown hair falls between  a pair of green eyes that now size me up.
"You're not Andrea." I blurt. 
I think that part is pretty obvious, don't know why I had to say it.
The attractive stranger gives me a half smile, exposing a dimple on his right cheek.
"No," he replies. "But I can be."
He speaks suggestively, which weirdly amuses me.
"Do I not have the right address?" I look around dumbfoundedly. He laughs, and then Andrea shortly joins us by the door.