Write later,

**Taylor G.**

1 comment posted:

KayTROLL: 36 posts in three days?! Your life isn’t THAT interesting...

GATE B31

JAKE

JFK (New York)

A line of cars slowly drove down Hampton Avenue in Brooklyn, honking their horns at me as I slowed my car in the right lane. A heavy rain was falling over the city, drenching every walking straggler in sight and damn near flooding the city drains.

I looked outside my window at the address Jeff gave me for Gillian—a brick building that looked more like a haunted house experiment than an apartment, and shook my head.

We hadn’t spoken since she blocked my email address, and the few times I’d seen her in passing, she’d done everything she could to avoid me. The more recent occasion, when I saw her boarding a tram in Atlanta International, she glared at me before rushing away. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I was needed for a quick turnaround flight, I would’ve gone after her.

Braving the rain, I stepped out of the car and shut the door. I walked up the steps at the front of her unit and pressed the call button for unit four. The panel let out a loud, screeching sound, and then the entire thing fell to the ground.

Jesus...

I knocked on the warped wooden door, but as the winds blew by, it immediately gave way. I headed up the steps to the fourth floor and came face to face with two apartment doors, but when I saw the words “Two Broke Girls” artfully written in pink across the one on the right, I knocked on it a few times and waited.

Two minutes passed.

I knocked again, even louder this time.

“I heard you!” Someone yelled. “I heard you!”

The door swung open, but it wasn’t Gillian. It was a brunette in a bathrobe with huge red rollers in her hair.

“Yes?” She crossed her arms. “It’s two in the morning, asshole. What the hell do you want?”

“I’m looking for—” I paused. “I’m Jake.”

“I know who you are.” She glared at me. “May I help you with something?”

“Is Gillian here?”

“I don’t know a Gillian.” She leaned against the frame. “I’m pretty sure you have the wrong address.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t. Is she here?”

She shrugged. “I think she’s flying to Los Angeles right now.”

“Her line says she returned from Los Angeles yesterday.”

“Oh, well I guess you’re right,” she said. “Well, I guess she’s still out on a date. You know, those things you never take her on.”

I rolled my eyes. “When will she be back?”

“Tell him never.” Gillian whispered harshly from inside the apartment. “Never.”

I peered through the crack in the door, seeing Gillian standing in the kitchen with her arms crossed. She was shaking her head and wiping her eyes with a Kleenex.

“Never.” Her roommate repeated. “She’ll never be back, Jake. I’ll tell her you stopped by though. You can go now.”

“Did you get my flowers?” I ignored her, knowing damn well Gillian could hear me right now.

“She never got any flowers.” Her roommate stepped back. “Best of luck, Jake.” She slammed the door in my face before I could say anything else.

I started to knock again, but since the walls were so thin, I heard Gillian begin to speak.

“I hate him...” she said. “I fucking hate him.”

“No, you don’t.” Her roommate countered. “But you don’t have to put up with him anymore.”

“I won’t. He just...” She was crying. “I can’t handle no strings attached sex. I should’ve listened to you, Mer. I just—I thought he was starting to fall for me, too.”

“Are you going to spend your next two days off crying about him?”

“No.” Her tone was sharp. “I need to do the same thing I did to get over Ben. I need to go out and find someone else. Maybe not to sleep with, but...Just someone else.”

My blood boiled at the thought of her being with “someone else” and I started to knock again, but I didn’t feel like wasting time. I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, walking right inside.

“What the fuck?” Her roommate jumped up from the couch. “Don’t make me call the cops, Jake. You’re breaking and entering.”

I ignored her and walked right over to Gillian, stopping dead in my tracks when she recoiled. She didn’t look up at me. She simply stared at the floor with her arms crossed, with her face beet red as tears fell down her face.

“Gillian—”

“No.” She cut me off, still not looking at me. “Say whatever you think you need to say and then leave. Now.”

I sighed, looking over my shoulder to where her roommate was now watching us from the couch. I scanned the room, noticing that despite the drab exterior, they’d managed to make the inside look like it belonged in a completely different apartment. And in two of the corners, in front of massive stacks of piled envelopes, were eight of the flower bouquets I’d sent yesterday.

“Say whatever you think you need to say,” Gillian said under her breath. “And then leave me alone, Jake.”

“Okay.” I adjusted my watch. “I honestly think you’re the most insane and infuriating woman I’ve ever met. I knew from the moment you gave me a tour of my own goddamn apartment that you were a special brand of psycho.”

“Okay, you know what?” She looked up and her eyes met mine. “Don’t say whatever you think you need to say. Just leave.”

“I miss the way you fuck me.”

“Oh, be still my beating heart.” She hissed. “How could I ever be okay with letting you go after hearing that?”

“I figured I’d start with honesty.”

“How about starting with transparency instead?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Where do you go every three weeks? Why is it that we can never meet up on those weekends? And why do you always take your phone calls in another room and change the subject when I ask about it?”

“Gillian...”

“Why is it that every time we’re on the verge of getting closer—every. single. time.—you shut me out and act as if I can turn off my feelings as easily as you can?”

I stepped back. I’d seen her angry before, seen her damn near on the edge of lividness, but the look on her face right now was beyond different from that. It was pain.

“Those flowers don’t make up for you being an asshole, Jake.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t care how beautiful they are. And neither does this.” She opened a drawer and pulled out the watch I’d given to her and threw it to me.

“You don’t have to give this back.”

“I want to give it back,” she said harshly. “I want you to give it to a woman who can deal with you treating her heart like a goddamn yo-yo. So, like I said earlier...Say your final words and leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Well, I will. Hurry up.”

Her roommate noisily opened a huge bag of potato chips and sat up on the couch, watching us intently like we were her entertainment.