I start the car up and pull through the rest stop and back onto the highway. I'm not sure if I feel better, per se, but I'm not about to pull into another parking lot and collapse again. So I guess that's an improvement.
The car is full of the smell of Triple Fudge hot chocolate rising from my cup. A clump of bright white ice floats on the top of the cup, a snowball that I mashed together and plunked into it to help cool it down.
Paul wasn't much help. He said he'd just been over to Aedin's for dinner, and that he was doing okay.
Just "okay." He didn't have anything else to say.
"Nothing?" I asked.
"Nothing." He said.
I hung up.
This is bullshit. I can't just let this happen. I turn around and start driving back home. There has to be a way to get in contact with Aedin. I'd give anything to hear his voice again.
I'd do anything. Anything at all.
I pull back into the rest stop and pull into a parking spot, then pull out again and drive back onto the highway, this time going in the other direction.
This is a bad idea. I shouldn't do this. But I'm going to do it anyway. I'm sick of behaving logically when this whole thing has nothing to do with logic.
I love him. He has to care about me. In some small way, he has to have some kind of affection. He won't be angry, if I just want to see him, one last time?
He can't be angry if I just want to see him?
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My voice is drowned out by the hail crashing in waves against the windshield and the sound of FM radio in my ears, but that doesn't matter.
I'm just trying to get the words right. We're coming up on an hour and a half of straight driving in a storm, my hot chocolate is cold, and so are my fingers. My windshield wipers fall back and forth across my vision, the open road ahead of me. Nobody is driving at this time, especially in this weather.
"I'm sorry that I made it weird," I murmur under my breath. "I love you, and I just think that if you give me a chance, then I can convince you..."
What am I thinking? This is so bad. You don't just show up to someone's house out of the blue and confess your love after already getting rejected.
First of all, that makes me look pathetic. Which, I mean, I feel pretty pathetic right now, but there's a difference between feeling and being.
And second of all, stalker vibes. I should turn off as soon as I can and go home. Or maybe get a hotel and wait it out.
Did he reject me? He didn't say anything. He hasn't tried to contact me, but maybe that's because I smashed my phone. Paul says he's doing okay.
"Okay." He said. Not good, which would be good, or fine, which would mean dangerously depressed, but "Okay." Which is... confusing to me. 'Okay.'
If I go, I don't have to talk to him, I can just make sure he's actually okay, and then go home.
No. That's just stalking.
I pull off the highway and onto the main road of a small town, parking in a motel parking lot. Hail pelts my forehead as I walk into the building. I check in in a daze and follow my feet up the stairs to my room.
It smells like stale flowers, a gentle sweet smell that relaxes my shoulders gently. I shut the door behind me and fall into the bed, kicking my shoes off.
If he doesn't love me back, then I just have to get over it. I just have to figure out how to be okay on my own. I can't drive three hours in the middle of the night in a snow storm. I can't spend every night thinking about him and how I miss that house.
I have to figure out how to be okay on my own.
What do I do to be okay?
I want to cry, right now.
Something from my chest harmonizes, telling me to cry. I slide under the covers and hold a pillow, letting the tears start to flow. It's only a few, and I wipe them away quickly.
He's gone. Everyone's gone. I don't want to go home. I want to be someone else.
I shake my head, relaxing into the pillows and letting out a jagged sigh. The places aren't the problem. When I move, I pack up my problems just like everything else that's mine. I bring them with me.
I look around the dimly lit room. I think I should just be here for a little while. I just need some time.