Chapter 25 Chapter 25 The Break Up
I have been dreading this day. The past two days, sleep escaped me every single night. The pain in my chest is becoming unbearable as I watch him put away the last few things in his luggage.
Last night we went out to dinner and then fucked all night. And then he did it—he told me he has a solution. Sergey asked me to move, to move to Russia with him, to marry him and be his forever. He has a fucking ring and everything. He is well aware long distance is not going to work. I am needy—I need to be adored, I need to be loved, I need attention, and, well, I need dick. Sergey can’t give me half of that long distance.
There is no way I am going to marry at seventeen and move back to Europe. There are too many things I still want to do. I have a life to live, and my father didn’t move us halfway across the world for me to run back there over a man. I shake my head without realizing it, and Sergey stops to look at me.
“Is everything ok?” he asks.
I nod, but that is a loaded question. Everything is not alright, not okay, not in any way. My heart breaks. I wish he could stay; he wishes I could go.
God, he looks so good in his red sweats, his sunglasses hanging off the zipper, a white tank underneath. His gold chain smacks against his bare chest as he moves to zip his bag up. The shine from the Rolex I got him blinds me, the inscription on the back—“Forever in my heart.” I am so glad Gemma didn’t ask to see it. Alek told me he would like it. Sergey collects them; he has over twenty, some vintage. Sergey looks so damn good, I can’t help but stare at him. His hand folds the visor of his hat, and he looks up at me.
“Fuck! I am going to miss you! If I walk out the door and you change your mind…” he tosses the ring box at me. I toss it back and shake my head. He tosses it back again. “Keep it, Elena! I got it for you! Wear it when you get cold at night!” he laughs, but it’s a sad laugh.
Sergey drags his luggage out of my room, through the hallway and living room. He stops at the door. Alek is waiting for him downstairs; he said he can’t say goodbye to me—he hates goodbyes. Sergey puts his hand on the doorknob and sits still for what feels like a lifetime. He looks over at me; I am standing behind him. The pain in my chest intensifies. I am holding my tears back. Don’t you fucking cry, I tell myself. Wait until he leaves.
Sergey slides the sunglasses onto his face, and I see it—one, just one tear slips down his perfectly sculpted face. I wipe it away as he cups my face and gives me one last kiss. The goodbye kiss, packed with so much sadness. We pull away, trying to catch our breath one last time. Without another word, he opens the door and closes it behind him.
My chest splits open. He is dragging my heart away with him. Gemma warned me—I wish I had listened to her. My legs give out, the tears fall, and I hit the floor. I try to breathe through the pain, but it’s not working. It’s too much. It hurts so bad I think I might be having a heart attack. The silent tears continue as I lie on the floor. I stay there until light turns to darkness.
The next five months are harsh. I go to school, tennis practice, and work. I don’t go out on the weekends. I stay home, sulking. I miss him still. I can’t get over him. I will never fall in love again. The walls come up—I am putting them up. No one will get close enough to hurt me again. Stupid doesn’t even begin to describe what I did with Sergey. The sad girl inside me wears the ring to bed every night. It’s dumb, but I do it anyway, and I have kept that as my little secret. Gemma, Tish, and Erika don’t need to know how pathetic I am.
My other secret—I stalk his socials. It’s been workouts and training pictures. Some videos of his pet bear, Masha. Fucking Russians and their exotic pets. The rest of the things he posts are thirst traps—videos and pictures I have been using to… I miss him. The stupid, love-sick girl inside me has been contemplating following him home. A few clicks is all it would take to buy a plane ticket, I think, holding my phone as I scroll through his pictures.
I have not been posting anything. Gemma has been sharing our tennis matches and practice pictures. Tish has new pictures of her and Colt from their nightly dates and food. Erika is dating some baseball player from school, Kyle something. Pictures of him at practice fill her stories. I refresh the app, and my jaw hits the floor. I don’t know what I was expecting—he has moved on, of course he has. It still hurts. The pain of him leaving comes back tenfold. I close my eyes—maybe the picture will go away. Please go away, I beg. I open my eyes again. The picture is still there.
Sergey at a hot spring, surrounded by snow. It’s tagged somewhere in Siberia. He is in up to his knees, a girl in a bikini in his arms, her back to the camera. His hand on her bare ass, the Rolex I got him blinds me one more time. I wonder if it’s cold against her skin like it was against mine Christmas morning. Tears escape my eyes again as I stare at the picture. Sergey smiles—that damn smile I miss so much. She is tall and blonde, thin with a tiny waist. Then I see it—she covers some of him, but he is wider, he has no shorts on. I close my eyes, trying to make the image go away, but it’s burned into my eyelids.
Why am I still sulking? I wonder how long he hasn’t been. Maybe he never hurt—not like my stupid ass. What am I even doing crying over one guy? There are ten more sitting around waiting to take his fucking place. Fuck this!!! Anger fills me as I wipe the tears from my face.
My phone dings.