Intrigued

Chapter Ten

*You know, it's funny. When you look at someone through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags just look like flags.*

-Wanda Pierce, BoJack Horseman

Roxanne's P.O.V.

Three months ago

With blurry eyes, I flung the front door open, struggling with my purse, cell phone, and bags, while also fumbling for my car keys. I finally wrestled them out of my purse, hurriedly unlocked my doors, and hurled my bags into the backseat. I slid behind the wheel of my Chrysler 300, and jabbed the ignition button. Is this what the manufacturers had in mind making push-to-start vehicles? Hysterical women whose hands were too shaky to get a key in the ignition? My phone dinged with a new text message. I glanced at it - Brian, of course. 

I'm so sorry. Please come back. I'm begging you. Please don't leave baby.

I was having trouble catching my breath, as if there were a large hand squeezing the life out of my lungs. My mind was racing like a champion Greyhound, and I was filled with an intense anxiety I've never quite felt before. Was this a panic attack? I suddenly felt a strong surge of affection and sympathy for anyone who experienced this hell on a regular basis.

I love you, but I can't do this. I have to leave. I'm sorry, Brian.

I know you think I'm a piece of shit, and I don't blame you, but I really am sorry.

Please, just give me a chance to explain.

I love you more than anything in the world, Roxanne.

Please don't go.

After that fourth text, I just had to shove my phone back into my purse; I couldn't see any more of those right now, or I was going to lose it. It took everything in me - every single ounce of self-control and will-power I possessed to not run back inside, into Brian's arms. Finally, I managed to compose myself enough to pull away from the curb. I drove to my apartment blinded by tears, completely in my own world, and after I pulled into the driveway, I realized I had not remembered making the drive at all. I was in a complete daze the entire time. I grabbed my bags out and juggled my keys in my hand until the door key popped into sight. I let myself in and immediately dropped the numerous heavy bags next to the door.

"Rox? Hey! What are you doing here?" Emily asked, coming in from the kitchen to greet me. I smelled something good cooking, and she quickly wiped her hands on a small towel flung over her shoulder, before reaching out to hug me. "What's with the bags," she asked, with a furrowed brow. I didn't answer right away, I couldn't. I felt a lump form in my throat, and my eyes started watering again. "What happened? Talk to me," she demanded.

"Brian cheated." I said simply.

Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes went wide. "He did not! You can't be serious; he's crazy about you!" She exclaimed. 

As soon as I saw the look on her face, I started sobbing again. "Apparently he's more crazy about the whores he fucks during his drunken conquests on tour."

She quickly ushered me to the couch and pulled me down next to her. "Whoa whoa, back up and tell me everything! When? Who? How long? Are you sure?" She asked hurriedly.

I sighed. "When they went to Chicago. You know how I told you that he surprised me and came home early? Well... he felt guilty, that's why. He fucked some slut on Saturday, flew back Sunday and fucked me. And yes, I'm sure. He just broke down and told me himself."