Perfect Regret
Page 1
I didn’t do depressed. I wasn’t one to wallow when life sucked. I was the girl who picked herself up, dusted off the bullshit and kept on trucking. I doled out the advice about making lemonade out of lemons and put one foot in front of the other.
I didn’t get pulled down into crappy emotion filled holes.
But that was before I got dumped.
And we’re talking remove his testicles with a teaspoon dumped.
It hadn’t been pretty. It hadn’t been civil.
It had been nasty and hurtful and had reduced me into a giant pile of pathetic.
And instead of bouncing back and getting into the life groove, here I was, lying on my bed feeling so sorry for myself that even I hated me.
Riley Walker had been reduced to the sad and lonely dumpee. And that wasn’t a person I had ever thought I’d be.
Because Damien Green and I had been perfect. Things had been fantastic. We had fit together like the proverbial missing puzzle pieces, each complementing the other just as we were supposed to.
Our relationship had been simple. Easy. And maybe that’s why this hurt so badly. Because now I was forced to admit that my simple and easy relationship had bored my former boyfriend to death.
So much for soul mates and eternal, undying love. Clearly what Damien and I had couldn’t make it past junior year and was causing me to question my judgment when it came to guys and dating and all that other blah blah stuff.
And I hated questioning myself. Because for a girl who always had the answers, I was finding that I had woefully failed the test.
So, yeah. Love sucks.
And to commemorate my recent descent into early spinsterhood, I had compiled a play list of the most obnoxious and annoying love songs ever written. Nothing says heartache and the overwhelming urge to disembowel yourself with a butter knife quite like an hour of Celine Dion ballads.
I picked up the remote and cranked the volume of my stereo, gritting my teeth through another round of “Because You Loved Me.” If I was going to wallow, I might as well do it right.
I caterwauled along with the lyrics, adding my own tone-deaf rendition to the horrendous soundtrack off my life. I ignored the knock on my bedroom door, singing louder to try and drown it out
“Dear God, enough already!” Maysie yelled over the kitschy strains of some ridiculously horrendous One Direction song. She cupped her hands over her ears as she entered the room.
I pointed at the open door. “Get out,” I told her, trying to put feeling into the words. Too bad I only sounded tired and defeated.
Maysie threw a pair of ear buds at me and I didn’t bother to try and catch them. I appreciated the dramatic effect of letting them hit me on the chest and fall off my side and onto the bed. My best friend and roommate of the last year and a half rolled her eyes.
“I thought I had the market on over dramatics. Don’t you think it’s time to give your best friend and the rest of the people living in the building a break? Because if I have to hear Vanessa Williams sing about Saving the Best for Last one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” she complained.
I picked up the ear buds and sat up. Balling them in my fist, I chucked them back at her. She caught them clumsily. “And how about you let a gal listen to cheesy music and mire in the untimely demise of her relationship?”
“And friends don’t let friends listen to Chicago,” Maysie said, turning off the stereo just as the beginning notes of “Look Away” started to fill the room.
“Hey, I was enjoying that,” I whined.
Maysie shook her head. “I don’t think anyone this side of 1985 enjoys that, Riley,” she quipped and I couldn’t deny her point. I hated it when she out snarked me. There was something fundamentally wrong about that.
Maysie, clearly bent on an intervention, came over and sat down on the bed. She put her arm around my shoulders and I tried to shrink away from her.
I hated the touchy feely stuff and she knew it. I wasn’t the kind of girl who squealed and hugged her friends. Sheesh, I wasn’t five. I had successfully avoided the stereotypical trappings of my gender and was proud of it. I wasn’t some crazy fem Nazi. But I sure as hell didn’t spend hours doing my hair and make up. And I most definitely didn’t moan about why a guy didn’t call me. I hated each and every show on E! and I refused to upgrade our cable package just because the Style network was now available.
So why, do you ask, was I subjecting my eardrums and sanity to an over-indulgence in feel sorry for myselfitis, which was a clear sign of estrogen gone wild?
Damien Green happened, that’s why.
Stupid, too-cute-for-his-own-good and recent Riley dumper Damien Green.
“You’re supposed to be at Barton’s in thirty minutes. Maybe you should get up and get dressed. Do that whole shower and grooming thing that most people do,” Maysie remarked, squeezing me tightly, with a grin. I glowered at her with every ounce of baleful irritation I could summon.
Maysie tossed her annoyingly shiny hair over her shoulder and winked. Looking at my best friend, I couldn’t help but wonder for the millionth time what sort of crack fate had been smoking when it threw the two of us together, thus creating the most unlikely friendship in the history of unlikely friendships.
Maysie Ardin was my polar opposite in every way. She was girlie and gorgeous and way too into shopping and color coordination. Whereas my wardrobe was monochromatic in color and style. I didn’t do skirts, I sure as hell kept all flesh from the ankle upwards perfectly covered.
Not that I was a prude. Screw that. I just hated dressing like I was headed for a nightclub at ten in the morning.
But Maysie, she treated fashion like a religion. If you need more convincing that our friendship was a result of something far more whacked than coincidence, take this on for size. She had rushed a sorority! The unholy pinnacle of the stereotypical bullshit college experience.
Though, to be fair, she had woken up and smelled the fake about the illustrious Greek system after the majority of her so called sisters had single handedly trashed her reputation last school year.
The girl had been put through the ringer. But I thought she had come out on the other side for the better. And seeing the concern and understanding on her face, I knew why we were friends and always would be. Because my girl was loyal to a fault.
“Yeah, yeah. Personal hygiene is overrated,” I muttered, getting to my feet and going over to my dresser to pull together my outfit for work. Thank goodness it only consisted of a polo shirt and black pants. Given the level ten crappiness of my mood, I didn’t think I’d be able to put together anything more complicated.
“Is he working tonight?” Maysie asked and I tried not to flinch. Christ, this was almost comical if it wasn’t so damn depressing.
Damien was just a guy. Sure he was the guy I had dated for over an entire year. The guy who I had talked about marriage and a future with. A guy who I had been able to see in my life for the long haul. And now he was just a guy who had put me out like yesterday’s trash for no real reason other than, “he needed something more.”
“Yeah, I think so,” I answered her, feeling the heavy dread of my evening crash down on top of me like a three ton weight. Yep, a three ton weight of nasty, funky dread. Sounds like the makings of perfect night to me.
“Just try to ignore him, Riley. Jordan will be there. I know Jaz is working too. Try not to breathe the same gnarly air. He’s not worth it,” Maysie fumed and I appreciated her mama bear protectiveness.
I slammed my drawer shut and gathered my clothes. I didn’t bother with responding and instead headed to the bathroom. I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want to converse about what a dick Damien was. Stating facts didn’t seem necessary. I sure as hell didn’t need to remember how I had been completely blindsided by my former boyfriend’s inner asshole. He sure as hell had kept that hidden.
I closed myself in the bathroom and wished I could fast forward time and be on the other side of graduation all ready.
The door pushed against my back and I stumbled forward as Maysie came inside. I arched an eyebrow at her as I reached behind the curtain to turn on the water.
“I knew you always wanted to see me na**d,” I smirked, dropping my clothes on the floor and grabbing a towel off the rack.
Maysie snorted and then gave me her serious look. “I’m just worried about you, Riley. This whole depressed girl act is freaking me out a bit. I don’t know if I should be plying you with liquor or forcing you to go to church. Because I’m beginning to think you’ve been possessed.”
I sighed and opened the bathroom door. I not so nicely shoved her out into the hallway. “I’ll be fine. Aren’t I always fine? I just need more than two days to reconcile myself to the fact that the boy I thought I loved was a complete and total assface. Now please, I have to shower and get ready to face said assface at work this evening. And I don’t need to spend the next twenty minutes listing all the reasons he sucks and how I should react to seeing him. I just need to be alone, all right,” I said a bit more harshly than I meant to.
I knew Maysie meant well, but right at that moment I had very little patience for well- meaning chitchat. Though perhaps I should be a bit more receptive to her advice. Because the girl did know how to do the tragic, broken hearted thing with the best of them. Lord knows I had to sit through a mountain of it last school year during the drama otherwise known as “Jordan-gate.”
After getting out of the shower, I stood in front of the bathroom vanity and started to blow-dry my hair. I stared hard at the girl in the mirror and wondered how it all went so wrong.
Because, seriously, Damien and I had been solid. I’m not just saying that because I’m in some crazy state of denial. I know girls will whine “but things were great!” right after being dumped by their dick of a boyfriend while her friends laugh behind her back because the jerk had been boning half the campus and snorting coke off a hooker’s boobs in his free time.
But seriously, we had been solid! Better than solid. We were the perfect package. He got me. Or at least I had thought so. We had been together for over a year. And even if it wasn’t the crazy, passionate relationship Maysie had with Jordan, it was good. It was nice.
And my heart felt heavy without it.
My eyes narrowed as I took stock of my appearance. I was pretty. I could admit that. I didn’t do self-deprecation very well, among other things. I had nice, shoulder length hair that was so dark it was almost black. My eyes were a pale blue. Everything was proportionate. My nose wasn’t too big and my ears didn’t stick out. I felt pretty confident that I could check off raging case of the fuglies on the why-I-had-been-dumped-on-my-ass list.
So why hadn’t Damien been happy?
I snarled at my reflection. I was annoying the shit out of myself. Who was this girl and what happened to her self-esteem?
I was not one to question myself. I was very clear on my thoughts and opinions about things. I never deviated from course. And Damien had fit nicely into the picture I had created of my future.
So when he had come over three days ago and gave me the lame “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, I was left in recoil. I mean, who the f**k still gives that line of crap?
Yeah, I lost it. I’m ashamed to admit that when he had told me that he felt our relationship wasn’t going anywhere and that he wanted something a bit more than what we had together, my vision went a little blurry and all I saw was red.
Some not very nice words were hurtled in his general direction. I kind of threw a lamp at his head, which he dodged, by the way.
And then I cried. Oh hell had I cried. We’re talking snot all over yourself cried. And you know what my f**k nugget of an ex did? He patted my back and said, “There, there. It’ll be fine.”
I will repeat…WHAT. THE. FUCK?
I spent a good thirty minutes ugly crying all over his shirt and then he got up, said he had to go and left. I had been able to pull together what small semblance of pride I had left and didn’t run after him and beg him to stay. So that was something.
So, yeah, I’ve been in mourning. Not just for a year of my life wasted. But also the death of my dignity. Because it was currently taking a long vacation with my self-respect. And I’m pretty sure my confidence and backbone had stashed away in their luggage.
I hadn’t been back to work since the break-up. I had called in sick yesterday and I knew Moore, the general manager, would expect a doctor’s note tattooed to my forehead if I tried to flake on my shift tonight. And of course, he who shall not be named would be working. Because we had purposefully coordinated our work schedules so that our shifts fell on the same night.
I really wish I could smash my former blissful ignorance in the face.
I was lacing up my black sneakers when Maysie came into my bedroom again. Girl really couldn’t take a hint that I didn’t feel like talking.
“You want me to do your hair or something? Nothing gets back an ex like looking fabulous,” she suggested, holding up her hairbrush. I rubbed my temples, feeling the throb of a headache coming on.
“I’ll pass, thanks. I could walk into Barton’s with my tits hanging out and I don’t think it would make much of a difference,” I said blandly. Maysie tugged on my ponytail affectionately.
“His loss, Riley. Seriously. Am I gonna have to go tough love on your ass and smack the shit out of you like you so lovingly did for me?” she threatened, holding her hand up. I grabbed her by the wrist and tugged it down.
“You don’t have the balls, my friend,” I said, my lips quirking into the shadow of a smile.
Maysie laughed. “You’re right, you scare me. I wouldn’t even try it,” she said shuddering and then looped her arm through mine and tugged me to the door.
I didn’t get pulled down into crappy emotion filled holes.
But that was before I got dumped.
And we’re talking remove his testicles with a teaspoon dumped.
It hadn’t been pretty. It hadn’t been civil.
It had been nasty and hurtful and had reduced me into a giant pile of pathetic.
And instead of bouncing back and getting into the life groove, here I was, lying on my bed feeling so sorry for myself that even I hated me.
Riley Walker had been reduced to the sad and lonely dumpee. And that wasn’t a person I had ever thought I’d be.
Because Damien Green and I had been perfect. Things had been fantastic. We had fit together like the proverbial missing puzzle pieces, each complementing the other just as we were supposed to.
Our relationship had been simple. Easy. And maybe that’s why this hurt so badly. Because now I was forced to admit that my simple and easy relationship had bored my former boyfriend to death.
So much for soul mates and eternal, undying love. Clearly what Damien and I had couldn’t make it past junior year and was causing me to question my judgment when it came to guys and dating and all that other blah blah stuff.
And I hated questioning myself. Because for a girl who always had the answers, I was finding that I had woefully failed the test.
So, yeah. Love sucks.
And to commemorate my recent descent into early spinsterhood, I had compiled a play list of the most obnoxious and annoying love songs ever written. Nothing says heartache and the overwhelming urge to disembowel yourself with a butter knife quite like an hour of Celine Dion ballads.
I picked up the remote and cranked the volume of my stereo, gritting my teeth through another round of “Because You Loved Me.” If I was going to wallow, I might as well do it right.
I caterwauled along with the lyrics, adding my own tone-deaf rendition to the horrendous soundtrack off my life. I ignored the knock on my bedroom door, singing louder to try and drown it out
“Dear God, enough already!” Maysie yelled over the kitschy strains of some ridiculously horrendous One Direction song. She cupped her hands over her ears as she entered the room.
I pointed at the open door. “Get out,” I told her, trying to put feeling into the words. Too bad I only sounded tired and defeated.
Maysie threw a pair of ear buds at me and I didn’t bother to try and catch them. I appreciated the dramatic effect of letting them hit me on the chest and fall off my side and onto the bed. My best friend and roommate of the last year and a half rolled her eyes.
“I thought I had the market on over dramatics. Don’t you think it’s time to give your best friend and the rest of the people living in the building a break? Because if I have to hear Vanessa Williams sing about Saving the Best for Last one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” she complained.
I picked up the ear buds and sat up. Balling them in my fist, I chucked them back at her. She caught them clumsily. “And how about you let a gal listen to cheesy music and mire in the untimely demise of her relationship?”
“And friends don’t let friends listen to Chicago,” Maysie said, turning off the stereo just as the beginning notes of “Look Away” started to fill the room.
“Hey, I was enjoying that,” I whined.
Maysie shook her head. “I don’t think anyone this side of 1985 enjoys that, Riley,” she quipped and I couldn’t deny her point. I hated it when she out snarked me. There was something fundamentally wrong about that.
Maysie, clearly bent on an intervention, came over and sat down on the bed. She put her arm around my shoulders and I tried to shrink away from her.
I hated the touchy feely stuff and she knew it. I wasn’t the kind of girl who squealed and hugged her friends. Sheesh, I wasn’t five. I had successfully avoided the stereotypical trappings of my gender and was proud of it. I wasn’t some crazy fem Nazi. But I sure as hell didn’t spend hours doing my hair and make up. And I most definitely didn’t moan about why a guy didn’t call me. I hated each and every show on E! and I refused to upgrade our cable package just because the Style network was now available.
So why, do you ask, was I subjecting my eardrums and sanity to an over-indulgence in feel sorry for myselfitis, which was a clear sign of estrogen gone wild?
Damien Green happened, that’s why.
Stupid, too-cute-for-his-own-good and recent Riley dumper Damien Green.
“You’re supposed to be at Barton’s in thirty minutes. Maybe you should get up and get dressed. Do that whole shower and grooming thing that most people do,” Maysie remarked, squeezing me tightly, with a grin. I glowered at her with every ounce of baleful irritation I could summon.
Maysie tossed her annoyingly shiny hair over her shoulder and winked. Looking at my best friend, I couldn’t help but wonder for the millionth time what sort of crack fate had been smoking when it threw the two of us together, thus creating the most unlikely friendship in the history of unlikely friendships.
Maysie Ardin was my polar opposite in every way. She was girlie and gorgeous and way too into shopping and color coordination. Whereas my wardrobe was monochromatic in color and style. I didn’t do skirts, I sure as hell kept all flesh from the ankle upwards perfectly covered.
Not that I was a prude. Screw that. I just hated dressing like I was headed for a nightclub at ten in the morning.
But Maysie, she treated fashion like a religion. If you need more convincing that our friendship was a result of something far more whacked than coincidence, take this on for size. She had rushed a sorority! The unholy pinnacle of the stereotypical bullshit college experience.
Though, to be fair, she had woken up and smelled the fake about the illustrious Greek system after the majority of her so called sisters had single handedly trashed her reputation last school year.
The girl had been put through the ringer. But I thought she had come out on the other side for the better. And seeing the concern and understanding on her face, I knew why we were friends and always would be. Because my girl was loyal to a fault.
“Yeah, yeah. Personal hygiene is overrated,” I muttered, getting to my feet and going over to my dresser to pull together my outfit for work. Thank goodness it only consisted of a polo shirt and black pants. Given the level ten crappiness of my mood, I didn’t think I’d be able to put together anything more complicated.
“Is he working tonight?” Maysie asked and I tried not to flinch. Christ, this was almost comical if it wasn’t so damn depressing.
Damien was just a guy. Sure he was the guy I had dated for over an entire year. The guy who I had talked about marriage and a future with. A guy who I had been able to see in my life for the long haul. And now he was just a guy who had put me out like yesterday’s trash for no real reason other than, “he needed something more.”
“Yeah, I think so,” I answered her, feeling the heavy dread of my evening crash down on top of me like a three ton weight. Yep, a three ton weight of nasty, funky dread. Sounds like the makings of perfect night to me.
“Just try to ignore him, Riley. Jordan will be there. I know Jaz is working too. Try not to breathe the same gnarly air. He’s not worth it,” Maysie fumed and I appreciated her mama bear protectiveness.
I slammed my drawer shut and gathered my clothes. I didn’t bother with responding and instead headed to the bathroom. I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want to converse about what a dick Damien was. Stating facts didn’t seem necessary. I sure as hell didn’t need to remember how I had been completely blindsided by my former boyfriend’s inner asshole. He sure as hell had kept that hidden.
I closed myself in the bathroom and wished I could fast forward time and be on the other side of graduation all ready.
The door pushed against my back and I stumbled forward as Maysie came inside. I arched an eyebrow at her as I reached behind the curtain to turn on the water.
“I knew you always wanted to see me na**d,” I smirked, dropping my clothes on the floor and grabbing a towel off the rack.
Maysie snorted and then gave me her serious look. “I’m just worried about you, Riley. This whole depressed girl act is freaking me out a bit. I don’t know if I should be plying you with liquor or forcing you to go to church. Because I’m beginning to think you’ve been possessed.”
I sighed and opened the bathroom door. I not so nicely shoved her out into the hallway. “I’ll be fine. Aren’t I always fine? I just need more than two days to reconcile myself to the fact that the boy I thought I loved was a complete and total assface. Now please, I have to shower and get ready to face said assface at work this evening. And I don’t need to spend the next twenty minutes listing all the reasons he sucks and how I should react to seeing him. I just need to be alone, all right,” I said a bit more harshly than I meant to.
I knew Maysie meant well, but right at that moment I had very little patience for well- meaning chitchat. Though perhaps I should be a bit more receptive to her advice. Because the girl did know how to do the tragic, broken hearted thing with the best of them. Lord knows I had to sit through a mountain of it last school year during the drama otherwise known as “Jordan-gate.”
After getting out of the shower, I stood in front of the bathroom vanity and started to blow-dry my hair. I stared hard at the girl in the mirror and wondered how it all went so wrong.
Because, seriously, Damien and I had been solid. I’m not just saying that because I’m in some crazy state of denial. I know girls will whine “but things were great!” right after being dumped by their dick of a boyfriend while her friends laugh behind her back because the jerk had been boning half the campus and snorting coke off a hooker’s boobs in his free time.
But seriously, we had been solid! Better than solid. We were the perfect package. He got me. Or at least I had thought so. We had been together for over a year. And even if it wasn’t the crazy, passionate relationship Maysie had with Jordan, it was good. It was nice.
And my heart felt heavy without it.
My eyes narrowed as I took stock of my appearance. I was pretty. I could admit that. I didn’t do self-deprecation very well, among other things. I had nice, shoulder length hair that was so dark it was almost black. My eyes were a pale blue. Everything was proportionate. My nose wasn’t too big and my ears didn’t stick out. I felt pretty confident that I could check off raging case of the fuglies on the why-I-had-been-dumped-on-my-ass list.
So why hadn’t Damien been happy?
I snarled at my reflection. I was annoying the shit out of myself. Who was this girl and what happened to her self-esteem?
I was not one to question myself. I was very clear on my thoughts and opinions about things. I never deviated from course. And Damien had fit nicely into the picture I had created of my future.
So when he had come over three days ago and gave me the lame “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, I was left in recoil. I mean, who the f**k still gives that line of crap?
Yeah, I lost it. I’m ashamed to admit that when he had told me that he felt our relationship wasn’t going anywhere and that he wanted something a bit more than what we had together, my vision went a little blurry and all I saw was red.
Some not very nice words were hurtled in his general direction. I kind of threw a lamp at his head, which he dodged, by the way.
And then I cried. Oh hell had I cried. We’re talking snot all over yourself cried. And you know what my f**k nugget of an ex did? He patted my back and said, “There, there. It’ll be fine.”
I will repeat…WHAT. THE. FUCK?
I spent a good thirty minutes ugly crying all over his shirt and then he got up, said he had to go and left. I had been able to pull together what small semblance of pride I had left and didn’t run after him and beg him to stay. So that was something.
So, yeah, I’ve been in mourning. Not just for a year of my life wasted. But also the death of my dignity. Because it was currently taking a long vacation with my self-respect. And I’m pretty sure my confidence and backbone had stashed away in their luggage.
I hadn’t been back to work since the break-up. I had called in sick yesterday and I knew Moore, the general manager, would expect a doctor’s note tattooed to my forehead if I tried to flake on my shift tonight. And of course, he who shall not be named would be working. Because we had purposefully coordinated our work schedules so that our shifts fell on the same night.
I really wish I could smash my former blissful ignorance in the face.
I was lacing up my black sneakers when Maysie came into my bedroom again. Girl really couldn’t take a hint that I didn’t feel like talking.
“You want me to do your hair or something? Nothing gets back an ex like looking fabulous,” she suggested, holding up her hairbrush. I rubbed my temples, feeling the throb of a headache coming on.
“I’ll pass, thanks. I could walk into Barton’s with my tits hanging out and I don’t think it would make much of a difference,” I said blandly. Maysie tugged on my ponytail affectionately.
“His loss, Riley. Seriously. Am I gonna have to go tough love on your ass and smack the shit out of you like you so lovingly did for me?” she threatened, holding her hand up. I grabbed her by the wrist and tugged it down.
“You don’t have the balls, my friend,” I said, my lips quirking into the shadow of a smile.
Maysie laughed. “You’re right, you scare me. I wouldn’t even try it,” she said shuddering and then looped her arm through mine and tugged me to the door.
