Pulled(45)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Home. My heart swelled with the few precious memories I had of this place.

I stalled when I noticed the little, white, beat-up car sitting on the street. I hoped he didn’t have company; I wanted this homecoming to be just between the two of us. I went up the two steps, dragging my suitcase behind me. I slipped my key into the lock and swung the door open.

I was ready to run into his arms, but the room was empty—and filthy. I was stunned. Daniel had always been meticulously clean, but the house was trashed. A feeling of unease swept through me as I stepped inside. I tried to focus on the pull, relying on it to lead me to him.

Everything was silent except for the distant sound of the shower running and the sound of pots rattling in the kitchen. The smell of canned spaghetti sauce stung my nose.

My attention was drawn down the hall—Daniel’s soul called out for mine, and I started for him. I don’t know why, but I hesitated, my curiosity winning out, and walked toward the kitchen. My kitchen.

Walking through the archway, I froze when I saw the blonde girl in a tight red tank top and very, very short skirt, cooking. Her back was to me as she stood in front of the stove. It took a second before I recognized her.

“Stephanie?” I whispered. I had a sinking feeling, the high from just moments ago knocked out of me. What the hell was she doing in my kitchen?

She whipped around, startled, her hand grasping her chest as she caught her breath.

“Shit! You scared me!” Her face went from stunned to irritated to determined in a second flat. “What are you doing here, Melanie?” She had her hands on her hips as she glared at me. Was she mad?

“Daniel.” It was the only word I could form, but it also was the only one that mattered.

She turned and started stirring the pot, my pot; the one Erin had picked out for me.

“Did you really think he’d just be sitting here waiting for you, Melanie? After all this time?” My head started to spin. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? No, it wasn’t possible. I stared blankly at the back of her head, waiting for her to explain.

She turned back toward me, her voice

patronizing, soft, and sarcastic as she tilted her head to sneer at me. “He really was heartbroken. You should be thanking me. I was here to pick up the pieces you left behind. But it didn’t take long for him to realize what he really needed. Somebody to take care of him, somebody to give him what he’s always wanted, something you can’t.” Her words cut to the core as she confirmed my deepest fear. From somewhere deep within, from a place where souls connect, a voice screamed that her words were impossible. He needed me as much as I needed him.

Not her.

I watched her standing there in my spot, and I knew she could never replace me. She didn’t fit him the way I did. I was made for him. My head began to shake of its own accord. “No. You’re wrong. I don’t believe you.” She let out a small, evil laugh, my body recoiling from it. “Then why do you think I’m here, Melanie, in your kitchen, making dinner for your boyfriend?” I stood there, dumbfounded, unable to find an acceptable answer to her question. Was I wrong? Had Daniel really moved on? I could still feel him. I didn’t believe I would still feel the pull on my heart if he had given up on that love. He had to love me. But what if it wasn’t enough. What if he wanted more?

She must have sensed my confusion, the questions running through my head, rejection starting to seep in. “Haven’t you done enough? Hurt him enough?

Let him go, let him be happy.”

I reached out to grab the wall for support as everything she said came crashing down upon me. The thought of him with her was like a knife to my heart. Had she been staying here? Visions of the two of them in our bed flashed through my mind before I could stop them. It nearly brought me to my knees. I braced myself on the counter.

“Go!” Her voice pierced my ears, stinging, burning, destroying. “Get out of my house.” She hovered over me as she spat her final words at me. I scrambled to escape, tripped over my feet, and fell to my knees in the living room.

I choked on the sobs erupting from my throat as I struggled to stand, my bad leg becoming uncooperative as I tried to get away. I crawled across the floor, clawing at the couch to pull myself up. It was almost impossible to stand. The pain was too great; my broken heart too heavy.

But I had to escape. I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t hear him tell me that I wasn’t enough. It would be too much.

I made it out to the porch, slamming the door behind me. I curled in on myself, clutching my stomach. I was still drawn inside, my feet glued to the peeling wood beneath me. How could I just walk away from him forever?

The notion made me physically ill. I almost didn’t make it to the railing before I vomited over it. I tried to force myself down the steps. My fingers curled around the handrail as I willed myself away from this place. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Daniel was so close. I squeezed my eyes and tried to ignore his pull and deny my need for him, but it was too powerful.

Slowly, I turned, catching sight of him through the window. His sandy blond hair was dark from his shower, slicked back as if he’d run a comb through it without a second thought. His dark blue shirt clung to his toned body, his jeans hung low on his waist.

The draw was just too much. I had to talk to him, make him see he needed me. I reached for the door but stopped short as I saw his face as he turned toward the kitchen.

It was beautiful and perfect, and it broke my heart because he was grinning as he gazed into the kitchen. He was happy—with her. I choked on the bile that rose in my throat once again.

All I’d ever wanted was for him to be happy. Of course, I wanted to be the one to make him that way, but I had to accept that I couldn’t anymore. He needed more.

He deserved more. I stood staring until he disappeared from sight.

Leaving him was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I had to because I loved him. I’d give up everything to make him happy. I would do anything to bring him joy.

So I forced myself to leave.

My heart died as I walked away. My blood felt stagnant, soured, poisoned, no longer filled with life. I was numb. The only feeling left was the distant tug calling me back to him.

Blindly, I walked the streets, having no idea where I was going. I found myself in a shopping center and called a cab to take me to the airport. I boarded a flight back to L.A., staring straight ahead, as it took me away from my home, from my love, from my life. Only now, my life was over.

We landed in L.A. and I eventually found myself in a lounge, sitting alone at the bar and sipping on a soda that burned as it traveled down my dry throat. It was the only thing open, and nobody seemed to care that I shouldn’t be there. I was so tired. All I wanted was to find a place where I could fall asleep and never wake up.