Lingering feelings

Lingering feelings


EMILY

Irobotically put items in my basket as I went through my shopping list. I hadn't done any kind of grocery shopping in almost a week, and I was out of nearly everything. Life had become mediocre in a way, and I didn't know how to shake the feeling. All I wanted was to be happy, yet it seemed the happier I attempted to be, the harder it was to make that happen.

I had confided in Maddy that I was having a difficult time dealing with this, and she did her best to be there for me, but she also insisted that I find ways to move on. Though I knew she was absolutely right about Kyle, I found the direc- tion to be nearly impossible to achieve. How was I supposed to move on from someone that had matched me so per-

fectly?

How was I supposed to just walk away, when all I could think about was the time we'd spent on the dance floor, or the moments we'd spent together in pri-

vate?

I knew there had to be more to the connection than just what I felt on my side, and I desperately wanted to prove that feeling right. But the fact that he had left me money in exchange for the night I'd spent with him continued to haunt me. It was clear that he thought I was nothing more than a prostitute who viewed modeling as a part-time job. Why would he want to hear from me again? Surely, if I did contact him, he

would think of me as some sort of a stalker who was just trying to get more of his money. I was sure that he had to deal with plenty of those kinds of women as it was especially if he so casually threw so much money around for an es- cort for one night. Yet, in spite of all my negative feelings about the situation, I couldn't help but

make excuses for him in my mind. Of course he would use escorts. Men had needs, and if there was no one in his life to fulfill them, then he was certain to turn to such events in an attempt to meet those needs.

And who could blame him? Though I could never imagine being in that kind of

lifestyle myself, I had to admit, I wasn't in any place to judge. At least, that's

what I told myself as I continued to browse the shelves of the grocery store. My rational mind told me that I should be realistic about life, and if I wanted to quit being single, then I ought to get out there and go on some proper dates. I would be sure to find someone who would be interested in dating me, and I was sure we could be very happy together.

I didn't need some playboy billionaire to fill the relationship void in my life. But

needs and wants were two different things, and the war between my head and heart continued to rage on.

I grabbed the few remaining things I needed and put them in my basket before heading for the checkout. Though I was only the second person in line, my heart sank when I saw the older woman in front of me counting out all her coupons. Normally, it didn't bother me when the people in front of me took a long time to complete their purchases, but I was feeling agitated and ready to get home.

The cashier was doing her best to keep the woman moving along, and she threw me an apologetic look. I smiled and acted as though I didn't even notice the woman in front of me taking her time as much as she was, then turned my attention to the magazines that lined the rack. Something caught my eye as soon as I began scanning the covers. Kyle Cun-

ningham's name was written in bold print across the top of one, and my heart

skipped a beat. Though the name hadn't been far from my mind since the day

I'd met the man, seeing it in print right there in front of me was enough to give

me butterflies in my stomach.

Those butterflies quickly turned into a knot, however, when I read both the headline across the top of the page and then skimmed the article itself. There was a photograph of him with another woman—and I knew it had to be recent. He'd mentioned that he was going out of town for work, and would first be in New York, then overseas, and this photo was clearly taken somewhere in New York.

The image, clearly taken by paparazzi, showed Kyle with a blond woman pressed against the doorframe of an exclusive, downtown restaurant. It was difficult to see clearly what was going on, but it was more than evident that they were lip-locked, and I could only imagine what else was happening. I knew I shouldn't read the article as I picked it up off the shelf, but the woman

in front of me was still getting through her coupons, and the checker wasn't

doing much to make her go any faster. There was absolutely no way I could sit

there and see such a thing without having to also read it.

The article written like a true tabloid-was, of course, filled with all kinds of

gossip and speculation, with very few facts to back it up. It didn't say anything based on actual evidence besides what could be seen in

the photo, and I tried to find some solace in that. However, seeing Kyle with an- other woman on the front of the magazine made me feel a bit sick, and there was no way I would be able to get that out of my mind. To make matters worse, there was a secondary picture in the article inside, showing much the same thing.

Sure, I considered that the same photographer had taken multiple shots and

had tried to pass it off as multiple encounters. I had heard of paparazzi doing such things in the past, and I desperately wanted to believe that that was what had happened here.

However, they were dressed differently in the second photo, and I knew Kyle wouldn't pull such a stunt for publicity. He had enough going on in his life; he didn't need to add to the drama to get some attention in the media.

I felt like a knife had been plunged into my stomach and pulled out again, just to be thrust back into place once more. I didn't know why, but I genuinely thought that he was out there somewhere, keeping himself for me, for some re- union he would have with me when he got back to L.A.

Somehow, he would learn the truth of my lingering feelings and come find me, declare his undying love, and he and I would drive off into the sunset to live happily ever after.

I knew it was nothing more than my own wishful thinking, but I had been be- lieving such things long enough that I had thought, somehow, that they would.