The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle

thirty-one

Dillon

Time slows down when your heart is hurting. The days drag on. I’ve been home for three days. It’s been four days since I walked out of West’s apartment. It feels like it’s been longer.

Not seeing him is agony of the worst kind. I miss him so much. I spent nearly seven weeks with him. The first two of them solidly. I got so used to being with him that not having him around is strange. And shitty. So very fucking shitty.

When I got to the airport after the Uber driver dropped me off, I ended up wandering around and sitting in the airport all night until my flight boarded in the early morning. I was sleep-deprived and emotional. My journey back was hella long with the two stops and plane changes, and looking back now, it wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. Being stuck on a plane with nothing but my thoughts for company for long periods of time was torturous. But I hadn’t exactly been thinking straight when I booked that flight.

I just keep thinking if I hadn’t asked him to read the book, maybe I would still be there with him right now. Maybe if I’d never written the book at all, things would be different. But I guess it was always destined to end at some point. West and I had an end date stamped on us, but it was only him who was privy to the exact date and time.

The funny—or not so funny—thing is, I don’t even have a copy of The Two-Week Stand. I wrote it on West’s laptop, and stupidly, I never emailed it to myself as a backup. I wasn’t even thinking about that when I left his apartment. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized it. And I can’t bring myself to text him and ask for him to send it to me.

I haven’t heard a thing from him. Not even a text to check that I got home okay.

Not that I expected him to. Just hoped. But I guess when West is done with someone, he really is done.

So, after all of that, I have nothing. I don’t have West, and I don’t have my book.

Maybe that book was a curse anyway. I mean, West read some of it and dumped me. Not dumped me. You can’t be dumped if you’re not in a relationship.

He just … put a stop to us.

Actually, you know what? He did break up with me. I don’t give a shit what he might think or say, but for those seven weeks, we were in a relationship. He might not be grown up enough to admit it, but I am. And when he read that ending and saw that possible future with me, he got scared—okay, those are Aunt Jenny’s words. She thinks he maybe has unresolved issues from his mum dying and finds it hard to get close to people. Maybe he’s scared of losing them like he lost her. I didn’t tell her about his difficult relationship with his dad. I trust Aunt Jenny implicitly, but that’s West’s private business and not mine to share. I only told her about his mum dying because it’s public knowledge. You can literally Google him, and it’s there in detail.

And I get what she’s saying, but who the hell doesn’t have issues? My dad died when I was a baby, and my mother screwed my fiancé. You don’t get any more messed up than that! And I was there, ready to be with West.

But whatever.

Actually, no. Screw him!

So, I think I might have reached the anger stage of my grieving over our breakup.

Aunt Jenny says there are five stages to a breakup—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. They’re supposed to go in that order, but mine have been all over the place, and I skipped a couple. I haven’t had denial—probably because my relationship with West wasn’t conventional. Weirdly, acceptance that it was over came first. I didn’t try bargaining with him because I knew it was a lost cause and that his mind was made up. I’ve been dealing with the depression since I left his apartment, and now, apparently, I’m angry.

Thank God Aunt Jenny has gone to the shops to get us some more Prosecco because I could really do with a drink right now. She’s also grabbing takeaway while she’s out because she says I haven’t been eating enough, and she’s right. Maybe now that I’m feeling angry with West instead of just sad, I might feel like eating more.

I’m staying at Aunt Jenny’s until I can get a job and a place sorted—you know, because of the whole having nowhere to live due to giving up my apartment to move in with the prick I was supposed to marry. Now, that definitely feels like eons ago. So much has happened since then. I can’t believe I even considered marrying the prick. What was I thinking? Clearly, I wasn’t.

I hear a knock on the front door. Jenny might have forgotten her key, but she hasn’t been gone that long either, and we’re not expecting anyone else.

I’ve been hiding myself away here. I’ve not even told my friends that I’m home yet. I’m just not up for peopling quite yet. Aunt Jenny told me that I made it into the local newspaper and that there was also a small segment in the nationals. I guess an unknown girl from Hull being seen with the American president’s son would make news. Thankfully, people don’t seem to know that I’m home, or if they do, they haven’t figured out where I’m staying, and as I’m not going to be seen with West anymore, the story should die a quick death.

If only my heart would. At first, I did wonder if a heart was irreparable after being broken twice in a short period of time, but it’s hanging in there, feeling all the hurt and pain and loneliness of missing West and the general shittiness that is my life. I’m just hoping this newfound anger will sort me out.

I get up from the sofa and make my way into the hallway and to the front door.

On my way there, I have these few seconds of stupidness where I think it might be West. That he’s come to see me. Even though, deep down, I know it won’t be him, my stupid heart still reaches for that notion, even with knowing I’ll be left disappointed when I find out that it’s not him.

I reach the door, push up onto my tiptoes, and look through the peephole. It’s not West.

Pain and anger hit my chest like a punch—not because of the disappointment, but because of who’s standing on the other side of the door.

I yank the door open and stare at the woman who gave me life. “What are you doing here?” I snap.

She smiles. “It’s nice to see you too, darling.”

“I know you’re not here to see Jenny, so I’m guessing you’re here to see me. How’d you know I was here?”

“I bumped into Phil at the pub last night. He said you were here. Said he saw you arriving the other day.”

Phil is Aunt Jenny’s next-door neighbor and someone my mother used to see years ago, before she got bored and tossed him aside for someone else. I should have considered that he might have seen me getting here the other day and told her. She has her fucking spies everywhere.

Still, I don’t know why she’s here. Or maybe I do.

“So, you waited until Jenny went out to stop by.”

She shrugs her slender shoulders. “I was out and happened to see her pass by in my car, heading toward the supermarket, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to come see you.”

“Ever think that I don’t want to see you?”

“Now, don’t be like that, darling.”

“You slept with my fiancé!” I yell at her. I can feel all the old hurt and anger seeping up inside of me.

“Don’t shout, Dillon. And you’re still upset about that?” She waves a hand like it was nothing. Like my feelings are nothing. “Tim and I aren’t together anymore. And honestly, sweetheart, I did you a favor. Better you knew what he was like before you tied yourself to him.”

I stare at her, flabbergasted. I shouldn’t be surprised by what she’s saying because she’s been doing it all of my life. Making herself out to be the hero in the story when she’s actually the villain. But still, it stuns me to hear her say it.

I think it’s in this moment that I realize what a true narcissist my mother actually is.

“Are you going to let me inside, or am I going to stand on the doorstep all night?”

I take a deep breath, clenching my jaw. “You slept with my fiancé. For months. Behind my back. You broke my fucking heart. I don’t see that as you doing me a favor. So, no, Mum, you’re not coming inside because I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life, period.”

“You want me to say I’m sorry? Fine, I’m sorry.”

“Wow.” I press my hand to my chest. “If there was a medal to be won for shittiest apology ever, you would win. Hands down.”

She huffs out a sigh, sounding irritated. “There’s no need to be sarcastic. It all worked out for the best. You went off to the Maldives and met that gorgeous man there. I mean, the president’s son, Dillon. I guess I did teach you well after all. Is he here?” She glances over my shoulder. “West, is it? Phil only said he saw you arrive but no man. But I figured you wouldn’t be leaving a guy like that alone. I know I wouldn’t.”

And there it is. That’s why she’s here. Either she’s set her sights on West—or higher—or she thinks there’s some sort of payday to be made from this.

It’s a sad, sorry kind of feeling to not even be disappointed at this point. Deep down, the instant I saw her through the peephole, I ultimately knew that she wasn’t here for me. There was some other reason, something to do with her own selfish wants and needs.

And West was her target.

Well, she’s missed out on that one. She’s four days and about four thousand miles too late. Which gives me a weird sense of satisfaction.

Although it is a singular kind of pain to know that you’re not loved by the one person who should love you. But I also get some clarity. Because the way she treats me has nothing to do with me or the person I am. It’s all her.

Maybe something happened in her childhood that made her this way, and she carried it through to adulthood and never cared to make the change in herself when I came along. Or maybe she was just made this way. That I’ll never know. But I know for damn sure that I am nothing like her, nor will I ever be the mother she is—or lacked to be—if I have a child of my own. My child will know every single day how much they are loved and wanted and that they are the only thing that matters.

I stare at her for what feels like the longest time, knowing this will be the last time I see her. Does it hurt? Of course. But it’s also freeing. Knowing I’ll never have to deal with her shitty treatment of me again.

I’m making the decision to cut her off to make my life better, and I know, ultimately, I’ll be happier for it.

“We’re done, Mum. You and me. I don’t want to see you or speak to you again.”

It’s her turn to stare at me. “Are you being serious?” Her tone sounds angry.

I knew this was the way it would go. If she doesn’t get her way, she turns nasty.

“Yes. I can’t keep letting you hurt me over and over and looking the other way in hopes that you’ll stop one day. I’m done.”

“You always were an ungrateful little cow, Dillon. I should have aborted you when I had the chance.”

Yes, that hurts. But it’s not something I haven’t heard come from her cruel mouth in the past.

“Good-bye, Mum.”

I start to shut the door, but she stops it with her hand.

“You think now that you’ve got your fancy boyfriend, you’re better than me, eh? Well, you’re not! You’re trash. And don’t come running back to me when it all goes to hell, which it will because you screw up everything you touch.”

If you wondered where my lack of confidence and self-loathing came from, well, it’s from right there. From words like that, which I’ve heard my whole life.

“Let go of the door,” I tell her calmly. I won’t fight with her. I won’t stoop to her level.

“You don’t get to get rid of me that easily. I’m owed, Dillon, for all the years of my life that I lost, having you hanging on to me, dragging me down!”

“Not today, Satan.”

I didn’t see Aunt Jenny coming up the path. But I can’t say that I’m not relieved to see her here.

My mum whirls around at the sound of Jenny’s voice. “Oh, here she is. The warden at the gate. Why don’t you just fuck off and mind your own business, Jenny?”

“Dillon is my business, and you’re literally standing at my house, you dumb bitch. Now, get off my property, or I’ll drag your cheap, skanky arse off myself.” Aunt Jenny lowers the bags in her hands to the ground.

My mum lets out a mocking laugh. “You lay one finger on me, you fugly bitch, and I’ll sue your fat arse for assault, and I would have a hell of a time spending your money.” She puts her hands on her hips. “So, yeah, do it. Drag me off here.”

I’m standing here, watching them in a standoff. I don’t know what makes me think of it, but all I know is I want her gone, and I don’t want Aunt Jenny to do something stupid and have my mother sue her because I know she would.

I quickly walk back into the living room while they’re still yelling at each other, and I pick up the full cold cup of coffee that I didn’t drink earlier off the coffee table. I walk back to the front door with it and pour it all over my mother’s head.

She screams and whirls around at me. “You stupid little bitch! What the fuck did you do that for?”

“I was doing you a favor.” I shrug. “Your hair looks dry, and I’ve heard cold coffee is good for it.” Obviously, I’ve never heard that, but it felt good to pour a drink over her. Also, her vanity won’t allow her to stay here, looking like that. It was the best and easiest way to get her to leave.

Aunt Jenny laughs while I just stare calmly at my mum, though my hand is trembling around the mug.

“I could sue you for this, you know?” she screeches at me.

I shrug my shoulders again and allow a smile this time. “So, sue me.”

She glares at me for a moment. “This isn’t over.” She points a finger at me before she turns on her heels and stomps off.

I don’t doubt for a second that it’s not over. It’ll take a while before she fully gets the message. But if I keep ignoring her, she’ll eventually get it, and I’ll finally be free of her and the hold she’s had over me my whole life.

“That was awesome.” Jenny picks the bags up and comes inside.

I shut the door behind her and take one of the bags from her hand.

“And a long time coming.”

“I guess.” I shrug for the third time in minutes. Guess I’ve turned back into a teenager.

Jenny stops in front of me, and then she reaches out and touches my arm, her kind eyes staring into mine. “Awesomeness aside, are you okay?”

“No.” I give a sad smile. “But I will be.”

“Yeah, you will.” She wraps her free arm around me and hugs me, the safe, sweet, familiar scent of her Angel perfume soothing me.

Even though I’m being hugged by one of my favorite people in the whole world, I can’t help but wish that it were West here, hugging me.