Paul
“Bro, you not answering your phone anymore?” James asks. His nostrils flare as he glowers at me and marches into the house.
“Sorry, I got carried away.” I came home after my encounter with Jia, and my intention to brainstorm for a plan came up as shit.
I can’t think of anything, and having James here fussing over me isn’t going to help.
“Doing what?” he asks, raising his hands.
“Fuck, James, I’m not in the mood.” I run a hand through my hair and make my way to the kitchen to grab a cold beer from the fridge.
He follows me in there, so I get him one too and toss it to him.
He catches it and opens it, but he keeps his gaze trained on me.
“What happened? If you didn’t seem so off last night, I wouldn’t be this worked up.”
“I know. I’m sorry, man. Things have just been shit.”
“You’re really hung up on Jia, aren’t you?”
“Fuck, am I ever. I fucked things up. Now I don’t know if I can fix it.” I open my beer and take a swig. The alcohol takes the edge off a little, although it doesn’t quite hit the spot. For it to have the kind of effect I want, I’d have to have about ten cans of beer, and I don’t want to be that guy tonight.
Like him, my fucking father. Jesus Christ, I’m doing it again. Making comparisons.
“You seem worse than last night when you left the club,” James states.
I chuckle and shake my head. “I never left the club until this afternoon. She was there. Jia was there.”
His mouth falls open, and his eyes turn to saucers. He pauses with the beer as he was about to take another swig.
I down the rest of my drink and sit on the stool behind the counter.
“What are you saying to me?”
“I spent the night with her.” I quickly fill in the blanks, and when I finish, he looks shocked to shit. As expected. I’m shocked too because nothing feels real.
“She actually said no?” he asks.
I nod. “She said no, but I’m holding on to the parts where she said she still feels for me. That means I have a chance.”
He seems hesitant to answer. “Look, Paul, I get it. At least I think I do, and maybe you weren’t thinking straight in the past when you broke up with her, but imagine how she feels. It’s going to be hard work to get her back.”
“Yeah, I know. I got that part. She fucking hates my guts for what I did. I’m going to try though.”
“Jesus Christ, man. Well, good luck to you. I don’t have to tell you you’ll have to do whatever it takes to get her back if you’re serious.”
No, he doesn’t have to tell me. That leads me back to the part where I’m stuck on what to do.
My shoulders slump, and I close my eyes. I imagine her, my beautiful girl, and I want her all over again. I want her back.
How do I get her back and make her mine again?
When I open my eyes, my gaze lands on the breakfast table, on the brown manilla envelope containing my copy of the title deeds for Montrose Place.
I stare at it, and selfishness fills me with dark ideas.
A dark idea I’m too much of a bastard not to explore. I said I’d do whatever it took to get her back. Win her back. I think I just found a way.