CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CAROLINE
"No, man, we've had our fun. Now you need to step up," I heard someone say from afar as I slowly came into consciousness.
My head hammered, and I wondered why. The events of last night started filing into my head. I went out with Nat, and we had repeated sex.
I tried to smile, but the hostility I felt in his voice wasn't encouraging friendship.
I opened my eyes slowly, ready to send Nat into a thousand blazes if he dared to play with my heart.
I knew I could no longer play this silly mind game. I opened my eyes, ready to put him in his place. Sleeping with Nat did not mean I handed him control of my life.
I struggled to move, and felt my body respond to my command — slowly, too slow for my liking — but I finally opened my eyes.
I had to close them immediately.
I must still be drunk; that's the only way the man I have ever desired and begged God every night to bring back to me could ever be in my bed —
the man I lost forever to my friends and to my own stupidity.
God knows I could do anything, give up anything, just to be with him.
I don't understand why my mind has decided to play such a trick on me. Why now?
Just when I finally found someone who could replace Phillip in my mind within a minute.
I looked at Nat once again. The picture was the same, and I began to think I must be more messed up than I thought.
"Are you sure you are up?" I asked myself silently.
"Do you still remember me?" he said, rolling out of my embrace.
The voice connected. Phillip is Nat. No, it can't be — yet that was the voice that had been with me all night.
I was so confused I couldn't speak. My brain must have stopped functioning as I watched Nat get dressed slowly.
"I don't date paupers like you, who have nothing going for them. You're poor, and you surround yourself with poor people — family and friends all the same.
I don't think you'll ever be rich, so you can't have me or my 'virginal' ever," he said, almost sounding like me.
That was it — the last straw that broke the camel's back.
He is Phillip, all right. But why now? Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse.
He zipped up his pants and slipped into his shoes.
"It's you," I said, my heartbeat accelerating. I know I messed up back then, but not now. No — this can't be happening.
"Yes, it is. Who else did you think it would be? Some stupid man who would fall into your gold-digging hands?"
"Gold-digging? Is that what he thinks of me now?" I blinked several times.
"Sorry to fall your hands — it's me. And with that said, I think my work here with you has ended."
God, I messed this up big time, didn't I?
I could see he was out for his pound of flesh.
I loved this man back then.
This chance might have been my only way to mend this broken relationship.
As tears ran down my eyes, the ache in my head increased, but I cared less about it.
Why am I crying? I couldn't tell. I just knew I couldn't stop myself, even if I tried.
I made to talk, to explain, but he quickly picked up his phone and walked to the door.
"Phillip," I called. He turned back and answered,
"Yes, the name is Nathaniel Phillip. In what way can I help you?"
I looked at him, hoping to find some trace of feeling for me, but what I saw was anger — lots of it — and something I couldn't define.
"Please, I…"
He opened the door and banged it behind him.
A scream left my mouth. I held my head as pain shot through it. God, I just wished I had died.
I rolled onto the floor, dragging my pillow with me.
The pillow smelled of him — soap, sweat, and regret. I hugged it tightly, sobbing until my throat burned. My heart felt like glass crushed beneath bare feet.
I wanted to hate him, to curse him, to erase him from my soul, but every tear that fell whispered the truth I didn't want to admit.
I still loved him.
---
NATHANIEL
I drove three streets away from Caroline's place, parked the car, and turned off the engine.
With a shaking hand, I brought out my phone and called Matt. He picked up immediately.
"Hello."
I was surprised he answered so fast, so I joked, "Hello to you too. Were you expecting my call?"
"You fool yourself too much. Why should I expect your call?" he said, laughing.
"Because you picked up immediately. Or did you think the call was from a girl?"
Ignoring me, he answered, "That's because my phone is in my hand, and the last I checked, it's called a handset, you fool."
I laughed.
"So, to what do I owe this call, this early on a Saturday morning?" he asked.
My mood changed immediately. "You were right."
All liveliness dropped from my voice.
"Right about what?" he asked quickly, picking up on my tone.
"Caroline," I said simply.
"Oh, not again. What did you do this time? She rejected you again?"
I detected amusement in his voice.
"No. I had her — my biggest mistake."
My voice broke. I don't know why my emotions were turning me into knots, as if someone close to me had just died.
"Oh my God. Where are you? You sound like you're about to make more mistakes."
Matt was right. I didn't know what I was capable of right now.
"Matt, God help me," I said simply.
"I asked, where are you?"
"Three streets away from her house."
"Fine. You know what? Just drive home. I'll meet you there."
"Okay." I hung up the call and dropped the phone on the seat beside me.
For a long time, I didn't move. I just sat there, staring through the windshield at nothing. The street was quiet, lined with trees and sleepy houses. Morning light spilled across the road like mockery — too calm, too peaceful for the storm raging inside me.
My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white. I wanted to hit something, scream, break the car window, anything to stop this feeling.
I thought revenge would satisfy me. I thought watching her hurt would heal me. But instead, all I felt was emptiness — deep, consuming emptiness.
Her face flashed before me again — the confusion when she realized who I was, the way her lips trembled, the tears that filled her eyes. She didn't fight me. She didn't even curse me. She just broke. And now, I couldn't unsee it.
I leaned back against the seat, breathing hard. My heart was pounding, my head spinning.
"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, slamming a hand against the steering wheel. The sound echoed in the stillness of the car.
How did it come to this? I had spent years building myself back up, teaching myself to hate her name, her voice, her memory.
I swore I'd never let her make me weak again. And yet here I was — feeling like the villain in my own story.
Traffic moved slowly ahead, and I finally turned the ignition. My reflection in the rearview mirror caught my eyes. I barely recognized the man staring back — cold eyes, clenched jaw, regret written across his face.
I drove aimlessly for a while, not caring where I was going. Every turn brought back pieces of the past — the laughter, the dreams we once shared, the day she walked away.
I could still hear her words from years ago, sharp and cruel, telling me I wasn't good enough.
Maybe I deserved to remind her how that felt. Maybe. But this — what I did — was too much.
The guilt burned like acid in my throat. I gripped the wheel tighter, fighting the urge to turn back. But I couldn't. I had already done enough damage.
And somehow, I knew this wasn't over — not for her, not for me.
I slowed the car near an intersection, staring blankly at the red light.
"Caroline," I whispered to the empty air, "what did we do to each other?"
The light turned green. I didn't move right away. I just sat there, watching cars pass, until someone honked behind me.
Then, slowly, I drove home — the silence in the car louder than any scream.
,a