Trouble in Paradise

Chapter IV - Luke

It feels like my heart is being carved out of my chest with a jackhammer. That's how much I've been hurting since Peter broke me with seven simple words that separately are just part of the dictionary but together they became the weapon that turned my soul to shreds with one shot. It's better if we get a divorce.

Crying hasn't fixed it. Skipping classes so I could hide in our guestroom —my room now— and pity myself through self-doubt didn't fix me either. Nothing ever will. Because last night I lost my partner, my one true love.

The man who promised to love me through eternity and beyond just broke his promise.

My phone rings for the umpteenth time and I ignore it leaving it behind and finally getting up off the bed to get downstairs. I drag myself to the kitchen as if I were a zombie. On automatic I make some tea and eat some crackers, and when Peter enters the room out of nowhere, my heart and soul plummet into the abyss that is my suffering. He sees me and walks toward me pressing his hand to my forehead when he's close enough. He asks how I'm doing... How the hell does he think?

"I caught the flu or something," I lied. Seeing him looking better —for whatever he's doing tonight— than he's looked for me in all the dates we've had these past few months squeezes something inside me. Though now that I think about it, they were fewer and fewer as time passed.

I walk upstairs hugging my blanket with Peter right behind me. "Luke, will you stop? I need to make sure you're okay before I leave!"

That stopped me and made me turn. "Leave?" I ask. "You're moving out?"

"No! No. I'm just going out on a—"

"On a date." I finished for him. He can't be this dense, he has to see the pain he's causing me. Still, all I say is "I'm fine. I texted Wells to come hang out. You can leave now." with a nod he turns to leave.

I don't know how long I hid under my covers crying, sobbing, and feeling as if this pain would never go away. What happened to us? What did I do wrong? Why did he stop loving me?

Unsure of how long I sob I start feeling out of air and out of tears. I need someone here or I'm afraid of what I could do. Things like going out and getting fucked by the first man I meet, or worse, calling Peter and begging him to take me back.

LUKE: Home alone. Do you want to hang out?

Wells' text arrives almost immediately.

WELLS: Where the fuck have you been all day? I can be there in 30.

I send him a thumbs up and nothing more, hiding back under the covers instead until he arrives and I can tell him face to face. True to his words he makes it in thirty minutes exactly.

My doorbell rings and rings, increasing my headache and I want to murder my best friend. At last, I opened the door and whatever he was gonna say next died in his gasp. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Ignoring the question I ask, "How did you make it in exactly thirty minutes? Were you speeding again?"

"Actually, I got here a while ago, Dad. Waited until the thirtieth-minute mark for the dramatic effect." I roll my eyes and he badges into my house as if he owned it. "Oh, Boo Bear, I missed you!"

"Stop it," I tell Wells, "Peter is not here."

Over the years Wells made it a point to piss Peter off by flirting with me. My best friend couldn't be less interested in me but I guess riling up my husband brings him joy.

"So, are you going to tell me what have you looking like a cow chewed you and spat you out?"

"Come up to my room. I'll explain."

As I walk toward my room with Wells following behind me he blabs about whatever last guy he's been hooking up with until we reach the bedroom. "Why are you–?" I turned to see a frowny face, "Did you guys move to this room?"

I dread the truth but keeping it to myself won't stop it from being true so I just dump myself on the bed, cover myself head to toe, and as if on cue, my tears rain down my face when I say, "Peter asked for a divorce."

It takes me about forty minutes to tell Wells everything between doubts, self-monologues, and tantrums.

"That asshole!"

I appreciate my friend's support but I wince when he calls Peter an asshole. Apparently, a broken heart doesn't stop me from being an idiot.

"And with that twinkish brat? Seriously? I knew I shouldn't have told him to apply. Fuck! Fuck! Oh, Liam is going to hear about this."

Up until now, I didn't even remember that we're the reason Gabe works for my husband. Liam, Wells' new brother-in-law, asked if we could put in a good word for a recent graduate cousin of his who had just moved from California and needed a chance. Mom always said my good heart would come to bite me in the ass and oh how fucking right she was.

"So what then? Did he leave?" I consider not telling him this next part but my face gives it away that there's something more. "Luke?"

"He, eh," I cough, "Peter didn't leave. I mean, he didn't move, he's just out," I whisper the last three words, "on a date."

"That. Fucking. Asshole!" Once again, I wince. "That's it. We're going out."

"I don't feel like—"

"I don't give a fuck what you feel like," Wells shouts, already rummaging through my closet looking for an outfit. I might have too many clothes and so does Peter, so the walking closet in this room has always been mine and the one in our master has always been Peter's. We kept our day-to-day necessities in our dresser but all else was designated to our respective spots.

"Wells, listen, I appreciate everything you're doing but I don't feel like going out."

He looks at me with pity for a few seconds before walking my way and sitting on my bed. He leans down to hug me and sighs. "Do you have any idea what it'll feel like when he comes back from his date? Or worse, if he stays the night out?"

And another fit of sobs breaks through me. Great. What a fucking mess.