The Thing About Love... (The Thing About... #1)
Page 1
The Thing About Love…©
A novel by
J M Raphaelle
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © J M Raphaelle, 2016
The Thing About Love…©
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The Thing About Love…© is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2016
JMad's House Publishing
Instagram: JMRaphaelle
Twitter: J_M_Raphaelle
FB: J M Raphaelle
DEDICATION
"Jack,"
Thank you for the memories…
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Mom,
I love you and miss you, always!
"Marie,"
It was a hell of a ride!
"Rob,"
You're a "once in a lifetime" kind of guy…
To Pao, Miri, and Kris,
Thank you for your friendship, support, and shenanigans, which are exemplified by the "Marie" of this tale…
To the family and friends who kindly took the time to read — partially or completely — one of the many versions of this manuscript…
To Sandy, the patience you had every time I got stuck and had a question about the Spanish translation is a virtue few possess.
Thank you!
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
EPILOGUE
THE VOWS
THE "TALK"
TRANSLATIONS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
"PLEASE GET UP, Ellie. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning, and you're starting to worry me."
Marie is standing next to my bed with a tray of food, pleading with me to get up and face life.
"I'm declaring your weekend pity-party done!"
"I really don't want to," I moan into my pillow.
"Okay, but at least eat. Please. I don't want to have to call your mom to tell her you're starving yourself, and I've had to hospitalize you," she insists.
"It's not that bad," I argue.
But it is.
It's been five months, five long months of feeling empty and tattered.
Ever since the darkness and cold settled inside me.
Ever since the sun stopped rising for me, and all the warmth left my body.
Five months since he left me. My love left me, and I don't know why.
My head is aching. I should probably eat.
Marie continues standing over me, looming, willing me to come to my senses.
"Ellie Isabel Valencia, please get up!"
Marie Sofia Alba has been my best friend since kindergarten. We grew up together in Chicago, until her dad was offered a job in Los Angeles that he couldn't turn down, and they moved to the City of Angels at the end of eighth grade. The distance brought us closer. We've been there for each other through all the major milestones and all the trivial occasions of our lives. She's the only one who can push me beyond my comfort limits and, in this case, my unreasonable self.
I sit up slowly, more for her sake than mine. It's not easy to ruffle Marie, but the compassion reflecting in her eyes shows just how worried she is. She's powerless to help me, and it's getting to her. I don't want to be responsible for her distress. I have a hard enough time coping with my own.
"Okay, I'm up," I mope and cross my legs.
She sighs with relief, "Some days you seem to be doing so much better, but then…"
"I know," I interrupt. "But when night falls and all is quiet, my thoughts begin to wander and get the best of me. I'll try to do better, I promise."
"It's been five months, Ellie, five months. You're seriously going to stay in bed every weekend, wearing those old PJs, not eating, and hiding from the world?" she reprimands.
As upset as I'm making her, she's gone all out, hoping I'll eat, and prepared a hearty meal for me: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fresh fruit, and tea.
She doesn't understand the depth of the agony I'm going through. I don't blame her. Half the time, I don't understand it either.
My irrational self is having a duel-to-the-death with my rational self, and irrational is winning.
I'm broken hearted, and I insist on dwelling in the pain. In part because it ended so abruptly — he didn't even bother to actually break up with me, he just disappeared. And if I'm really being honest, I deceived myself into thinking the relationship was actually real. I feel foolish and duped…duped by my own feeble heart.
"Thank you," I hug her, then take the tea from the tray she's placed on my bed and reach for the toast. I finish it and grab the fruit. The rest is too much. "That's all I can handle right now," I say in a sorrowful tone.
"Okay, but get up, take a shower, and let's go out and get some fresh air," she begs.
I twist my mouth, not keen on the idea, but she ignores my discontent.
"Enough is enough, Ellie! I know you love him, but I have to be honest, he might have just done you a favor."
I scowl at her, but she doesn't stop.
"I've known the guy since I arrived in LA and consider him a friend, but he's not exactly Prince Charming."
Way to rub it in!
I roll my eyes, clearly showing my displeasure at her tough-love approach, but she continues.
"I'm just saying maybe he's not prepared to love you the way you should be loved or need to be loved. And by leaving you, he's giving you the opportunity to find a great guy who will."
Whatever, I love him and that's that!
Nothing she's saying is registering in my current reality, true as it may be. The fact is that I don't want to hear it.
"Where's the smart Ellie I know? You're better than this poor, withering little girl," she scolds. "Please listen to me, Ellie, or I'll call Rob, and maybe he'll give you a swift kick in the ass," she adds frustrated.
My bestie in New York? No, he'll
talk my ear off!
I roll my eyes again feeling chastised. I scoot out of bed, grab my iPhone, and drag myself to the bathroom without saying another word.
As much as her words sting, I have to admit she's right, but right now, I just can't process it.
Maybe a shower will help, or at least get me out of earshot of Marie's "sensible" advice, which I'm stubbornly choosing to ignore.
I turn on the shower, put on some music, and peel off the old, pink PJs that need a good wash. I lean my hands against the vanity and get a quick peek in the mirror, while Luz Casal's lovely voice sings "Piensa en Mí."
I've created a personalized commiseration playlist that includes No Doubt's "Don't Speak," Adele's "Don't You Remember," Christina Perri's "Jar of Hearts," Shakira's "No," and Billy Vera's "At This Moment," among other heartbreak songs. I've gone there. I am there! And it's on auto replay.
Ugh, the reflection in the mirror staring back is pathetic: big brown eyes, dark circles, pale like a ghost, blotched red nose, raven hair in disarray, and gaunt — I've lost at least 15 lbs. since he left me.
How can I be this broken at 22 years old? A girl that once had so many plans, so many life expectations is now undone.
Marie is right, I have to help myself, but how?
The shower's warm water falling over me hides the unwelcome tears rolling down my cheeks. I bring my hands to my face in a pitiful attempt to suppress my sobs. I've shed so many tears, I should've run out already.
I thought time healed all wounds. I'm still waiting…
Has it really been five months? What did I do wrong? How could I have misread our relationship so badly? Why did I believe he loved me when he really didn't? Why didn't I see the signs?
I'm asking the same questions I've been asking myself every day for the past five months. The same wretched questions that have caused my life to spiral out of control.
If he had only told me why he left...
In the solitude of the shower, I think back to that day when I forced him to speak to me. I go over every detail of our non-breakup breakup, and his involuntary explanation, in search of the answers he never gave me.
CHAPTER 2
FOUR MONTHS AGO
SAM IS TAKING MARIE to his friend's wedding. He's into her, but she won't go out without me — she's concerned about my post-break up isolation, so she drags me along everywhere.
I'm actually in mild spirits, enough to manage a few forced smiles and some small talk at the wedding reception. But it doesn't take long before I spot him, Mike Aragon, the guy responsible for my month-long broken heart. He's cheerfully chatting with Jack and Mario.
Mike Aragon, Sam Galeas, Jack Milian, and Mario Mesa have been best friends since they were kids. They obviously have the same friends in common, so of course Mike's here.
The three amigos are standing close to the stage where the band is set up. Marie and I follow Sam to meet them. I feel an ache of nervousness in the pit of my stomach, as I start walking toward them, looking down at my feet.
This is the first time I'll be seeing him since the day he left me a month ago. The first time I'll be speaking to him, because he won't take my calls or return my texts.
The guys shake hands and greet us with a kiss on the cheek.
Except Mike.
He says hello with an awkward half-wave and immediately makes an excuse to walk away.
I feel so small.
All the blood drains from my face as everyone looks at me with sympathy, making me feel more insignificant. I look down at the floor again, feeling rejected.
God, please help me!
I recover as quickly as I can and smile coyly, trying to disguise my humiliation.
I didn't do anything wrong.
Jack and Mario give me a mercy grin but don't say anything. I'm grateful for their discretion, because we have never really built a rapport.
My embarrassment is clear, so I make a quick getaway to the bar.
"Are you okay?" Marie is by my side in seconds.
"No, he just walked away. He might as well have slapped me," I say, feeling sorry for myself.
The bartender is busy, but I get his attention, "Vodka tonic, please." He rewards me with a kind wink, as if he knows how much I need that drink.
"I thought maybe he'd be here, but I wasn't sure. I told Sam this might not be a good idea, but he insisted. Bastard, I'm going to kill him!" Marie's piercing eyes are fixated like lasers on Sam, as he approaches.
"It was bound to happen. I had to see him someday," I attempt to calm her down.
She pulls Sam by the jacket and lets him have it. "I told you this was a bad idea. Why do I listen to you? Fix this!"
Sam glares apprehensively at her, then at me. He can't afford to piss her off, not if he's going to make any headway.
"I'm sorry. But listen, you have to get over it," he squeaks at me.
Not quite the answer I was expecting.
His hazel eyes are pleading with me not to make a bigger deal of this awkward situation.
I sense he knows something I don't.
Have they talked about me?
"What do you know? Has he said something to you?" I plead with him for any morsel of information.
He shakes his head, his hands in his pants' pockets, and he shrugs. "I don't know anything. And it's not my place."
He does know something. Traitor!
"I thought you were my friend. If you know something, please tell me," I implore.
He looks torn but won't admit to anything. "I don't know. But as your friend, I'm advising you to let it go."
Let it go? Let it go! Has he met a girl before? Girls can't let anything go! We have to know!
I feel like I'm running out of time to finish a jigsaw puzzle, and he knows exactly where the pieces fit but won't tell me.
"Seriously, Sam, if you know something…" insists Marie.
"I really don't," he replies, taking her hand to try to calm her down.
The bartender hands me the drink. I take a sip, look up, and see Mike. He's back with Jack and Mario sharing a good laugh. He doesn't seem to have a care in the world.
So, it's just me that's falling apart.
After the way he's treated me, that shouldn't surprise me.
I decide to go talk to him, but as soon as I take a few steps, Sam grabs me by the arm.
"Don't," he pleads.
I frown at him. If he won't tell me what he knows, I will find out myself. I pull my arm from his grasp and keep walking. Marie follows quietly behind me.
"Damn," he sneers.
"Hi," I say hopeful, as I walk up to Mike and his friends.
"Hi!" Jack and Mario respond in unison.
Before I can utter another word, Mike interrupts. "I have to go," he says sharply and walks away.
What the hell!
He's just put me on display again. I've become the pathetic girl that's hung up on him. The tragic person he wants nothing to do with. He actually left the wedding and his friends, rather than be in the same room with me.
This is the guy I love. The guy I've been crying for…
"Why do you love him, sweetie? He's kind of an ass. What do you see in him? Please explain it to me." My best friend Rob Bellatorre's harsh words come to mind.
"I obviously don't know him that well, but I can see who he is."
Rob has only met Mike over FaceTime, but I've shared with him every detail of our relationship. I had often thought about that comment with some resentment toward Rob.
What had he seen that I didn't…or chose not to see?
Jackass!
I'm peeved and determined to find out who he is and what he's made of. I'm going to get my answers once and for all!
"I have to talk to him," I say to Marie.
"But he just left," scoffs Sam, pointing to the exit. "That should tell you everything you need to know!"
Jack and Mario politely excuse themselv
es.
I'm glad they left. This fairy-tale-gone-dark has nothing to do with them. The only reason Sam is involved is because he's chasing after Marie and hangs out with us all the time.
Mario seems to be the quiet one, but I've never said more than "hello" to him.
And Jack…well, I've just heard stories about Jack, but I've never said more than two words to him.
Marie gawks at Sam, essentially shutting him up. "What do you want to do?" she turns to me.
"Go to his apartment, knock on his door, and make him talk to me," I say firmly.
Sam rolls his eyes in disgust.
I don't care. As long as Marie has my back, I'm good.
"Let's go," she affirms.
CHAPTER 3
FOUR MONTHS AGO, CONT…
ON THE WAY to his apartment, Marie is quiet — very much unlike her. Sam is driving and turns his head to take a quick peek at me.
"What are you going to do?" he questions me with trepidation.
"I have to talk to him. I need to know why."
We're parked outside of Mike's place. He's definitely home, because his car is here, and the lights in his apartment are on.
He lives in a small studio on the first floor of a six-apartment building. He's in his second year of graduate school, working on his masters in political science, and money is tight.
"Are you sure about this?" asks Sam, hoping I'll change my mind.
"Yes," I reply with absolute determination.
Their eyes follow me, as I exit the car.
I have to do this, I have to do this, I CAN DO THIS!
I walk toward his front door with a steady resolve, an unwavering purpose, and knock.
It doesn't take long. He opens the door, and there he stands: tall, slim, dark hair, olive skin, brown eyes, and those lips…those full lips that have kissed me so many times.
"Our lips are made for each other," I whisper as we're kissing, "they fit perfectly together."
"Yes, they do," he replies.