Not Looking for Love: Episode Six: Not Looking for Love, #6

By Lena Bourne

Episode Six of the Not Looking for Love series. For the full enjoyment of the series please start with Not Looking for Love Episode One, as this is an ongoing series. 

Is there a barrier strong enough to stop true love?

Days are long, and nights even longer when you can't be with the one you love. But Gail is standing firm, because everything gets easier with time.
Scott is experiencing the full consequences of the bad decisions he made in the past. And it's not right or easy. It's just the way things have to be.

Intended for mature audiences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lena Bourne
• Release date: Jan 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393984931

Lena Bourne

About the Author: Lena Bourne writes stories about independent and smart women who mean everything to the strong men they love. If you're looking for deep emotions, hot bedroom scenes, and some suspense thrown in, look no further than her books. Connect with Lena: www.lenabourne.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lenabourneauthorTwitter: https://twitter.com/Lena_Bourne

Book preview

Chapter One

Scott

---

My mom's apartment is so icy that the vodka's cold even though it's been sitting on the counter for the last three months. There's only about a third of it left. I take a long swig straight from the bottle, ignoring the burning that brings tears to my eyes. I have to drink it fast, there's too little of it left to have any real effect if I don't.

I can't believe I called Gail back. Can't believe I confused her even more by telling her I love her and want to be with her, then refusing to return. Though maybe she's even more pissed off at me now because of it. Maybe my weakness worked for the best for once.

I couldn't face going up into this apartment once I finally reached it. So I sat downstairs in the car, letting it idle, because the moment I turned off the engine that would be it. Once I did that, I'd have left Gail for good. My fingers dialed her number before my thoughts caught up to what was happening. The need was too great, too dire, the pull too strong. But I should've fought it.

I sit down at the table, take another long drink. My throat and stomach are both burning now, but at least that pain masks the other one, the one which feels like my heart's been beaten and bruised, is bleeding now, and not how it's supposed to. I drink more. But I already know it's no good. I'll get messed up physically, sure, but my mind will stay clear. Like it usually does, unless I drink a whole bottle. Drowning my sorrows never actually worked for me.

There's a noise in the hallway, sounds like footsteps on the stairs, and my heart stops. I'm completely paralyzed, my whole body taut, waiting for the knock. Which doesn’t come. And I recognize the noise for what it is now. They're opening the bakery downstairs. The smell of freshly baked bread and pastries is already filling the apartment. It turns my stomach.

I finish off the vodka and take out my phone, stare at the picture of Gail all swaddled up in a huge scarf, fat snowflakes covering her black woolen hat, her cheeks cherry red from the cold. I took that picture in Alaska, and the tall mountains are just barely visible behind her through the falling snow.

I could just call her back. Tell her everything. Maybe we can work it all out together. But the thought sends a cold stab straight through my stomach like someone's aimed an icy cold jet of water at me. The threat is too great.

Instead I dial the number Mike called me from. But it just rings a few times then disconnects. No voicemail. I try again and again. Maybe the guards will find the phone, take it away from him. Lock him up more securely. But that would solve nothing. I have to talk to him, have to make him take his threat back.

Vodka won't solve this, feeling sorry for myself won't solve this. Calling Gail won't solve it. Mike has to take it back.

The sky outside is almost white now, no sunshine, just a shimmering wintery mist. My skin is cold, but my insides are burning. I call Jerry. I've waited long enough. Maybe he knows something.

What? he answers groggily. In the background, I can hear his bed creaking.

Do you have any news on Mike's case? I ask.

Scott, it's five in the morning, he says and starts coughing, hacking up a wad of phlegm loudly.

Do you? I ask right over his coughing. About Gail's case?

They accepted the diminished capacity plea, Jerry says, his voice raw. He's already at the psych ward. Haven't you spoken to him?

There's no way he's doing time for attempted murder then? I ask.

No, Jerry says and lights a cigarette, exhaling into the phone. It's unusual it went over so smoothly for him. Diminished capacity is hard to get.

Must be his friends, I mutter, before realizing I've actually spoken aloud.

What friends? Jerry asks, his voice sharp and clear all of a sudden. What do you know, Scott?

Nothing, I say. Forget I called.

He falls silent, probably struggling with himself whether to pester me more or let it go.

How is Gail? he finally asks, and I'm glad he decided on letting it go. Tears are in my eyes now, cold because the apartment is so chilly my breath’s misting.

Fine, I managed to say before my voice cracks.

She'll get better as time passes, Jerry says, probably to save me the embarrassment.

I just nod, even though he can't see me. I say goodbye, because call waiting is beeping in my ear. And I really hope it's Gail. But at the same time I don't.

What are you doing calling me? Mike hisses into my ear.

I clear my throat, keep my voice as level and non-threatening as I can. I'll do whatever you want me to, Mike, just leave Gail and her family out of it. Please.

I hate groveling before him like this, and my whole body is actually seething with hatred, but I somehow manage to keep it out of my voice.

Did you break up with her? Mike asks.

Yes.

Then she's safe, Mike hisses.

Can't we just be rational about this? I ask. I'll do what you want.

I want you not to see her, he says. She makes you weak and we have work to do.

What work?

I have to go now, we'll talk later.

Why is it so important to you that I don't see Gail anymore? I ask anyway. He has to take his threat back. There's no other way.

Don't call me again. I'll call you, he whispers and disconnects.

Tears are running down my face now, colder than my frozen skin. All anger, hatred, fire, hope, desire to make this alright are gone, obliterated by vast, endless, paralyzing sadness. Gail thinks I cheated on her and I can't even call her and beg her to forgive me.

The vodka's gone and apart from the room spinning slightly as I walk to the bed, I'm as sober as I was when I came here. I get into bed without even taking my shoes off, and pull the blanket up over my head. The two air mattresses sag under my weight, since I should add more air. But I can't move anymore, can't even think.

I keep my mind completely blank, only focus on seeing black. Like that Aikido exercise for falling asleep I read about once. I let nothing touch me, just see the black. But I still have no fucking idea how I actually manage to fall asleep.

Gail

---

Once the sky outside is completely white, I finally get up from the kitchen table, my whole body stiff because I haven't moved for hours.

I slip off my dress, put on my pajamas, take off my make up, brush my teeth. But the bed smells like Scott, his cologne mixed with clear winter air and the faint scent of our lovemaking. Tears well from my eyes, but I don't sob, don't even whimper. They're coming hot and thick, and I'm seeing the floor as though through a sheet of water as I walk to the living room and lie down on the couch, wrapping myself in the blanket.

I wish he'd call back, but mostly I wish we could start last night over again differently, that we never went to Kate's party. But that would change nothing. Certainly not his wish to cheat on me, and be rid of me. So instead, I wish I could rewind time back to late last summer. I'd walk away from him after he refused to go for a drink, and never look at him again this time.

I wipe away my tears on the blanket, and new ones don't come. I can rewind time to that point in my mind. I can pretend Scott was just a distraction. A way to feel better. My stomach clenches at the thought, and my heart feels like it just burst open, is spewing a mess of blood and scabs. Because I can't pretend that.

But I know I can get through this regardless. For the first time in months, I know I’m strong enough to deal with anything. I watched my mom die and survived. Had an abortion, been kidnapped. And I survived. I will survive Scott leaving me too. Get over him cheating on me. Helping his diseased brother without even telling me. Believing I was just a spoiled rich girl using him for a kick. Not trusting that I love him enough to do anything for him, understand everything, work it out, and let it go. Forgive and forget. He wanted me out of his life from the moment I crashed into it. I wish I'd been able to understand just how much he really wanted that sooner. Because then I could have avoided this blinding, jagged, sharp piercing pain in my heart.

But he called me back. Told me he loved me. Why?

I let the thought go. That call was all wrapped up in rejection. Neatly, with a bow on top. Frankly, he always sucked at rejection, and maybe that was more about him than me all along. Maybe he just didn't want to be the bastard who chased away a poor unstable girl. Which is just fine. I will never again go where I am not wanted.

Sunlight is hitting my face, and a sweet, faint birdsong starts outside. I close my eyes, listen only to it, think of nothing else, see myself lying in the soft grass of a meadow in springtime, the sun warming my face, birds calling to each other all around me. It's impossible not to see Scott there with me. But it's fine, I'll just ignore him, like I should've from the start.

Chapter Two

Scott

---

I wake up shivering, even though sunlight is streaming through the window. And for a single sweet moment I don't know where I am. Then I remember. I still stretch my hand out to the edge of the bed, holding on to the deranged wish that Gail is here with me. But she isn't, and I might never wake up next to her again.

Mike hasn't called me yet. I almost call him right away, before I even get out of bed, because this seriously can't stand. I'm all for facing ugly, brutal truths, but this is ridiculous.

The room sort of wobbles around me as I walk to the bathroom, but that's probably just from sleeping on the air mattress. I'm still so cold I can't stop shaking. I really should've turned on the heat when I got here.

I haven't eaten anything in more than 24 hours, I realize after sitting in the silent room for almost half an hour, wearing my jacket and wrapped in the comforter. I can't warm up. No one is calling me.

Figuring I should probably move just to get my blood flowing again, I walk down to the deli, cranking up the heat before I leave. I get a lot of noodle soups, instant mac and cheese, some bread and milk, and a large vodka. When I try to pay, I realize I only have sixty dollars in my wallet. All the rest of my money is in a safety deposit box back in Connecticut. I'm not going back there to get it. I'll never be able to stop myself from going to see Gail if I do.

In the end, I can only afford a couple of the soups and the vodka. But that's alright. Because Mike'll call soon and take it all back, and maybe I won't even have to spend another night in the apartment alone. I should get back there now. I can't have that conversation with him in a store.

I eat one of the soups when I get back, and drink some of the vodka. I'm still cold though, and the room is kinda fuzzy now, but that's probably just because I have the heat cranked all the way up.

I lie down, and wake up in a sweat. It's already dark outside. I don't remember falling asleep, and the air is so dry now my throat scratches. Still no call though. From anyone. Gail is staying true to her word too. Unless she's in some hospital again.

My heart hammers at the thought, fresh beads of cold sweat erupting on my forehead. How can I do this to her again? What the fuck was I thinking?

She picks up on the third ring. Scott? It's one AM, she mumbles, her voice all soft with sleep. It's that late?

Are you OK? I ask.

She's silent like she didn't hear. Like maybe I didn't even call her.

Why are you calling me? she asks, her voice sharper. I can just see the look in her eyes too, anger flashing.

I wanted to know that you're alright, I stammer.

I will be. Don't bother worrying, she snaps.

Good, I manage. The selfish part of me really doesn't want her to be alright about this. Ever. But I'm pretty good at silencing that part. I wish Mike would call, so Gail and me can talk normally again.

Is that the only reason you called? The accusation is so thick in her voice I have to ignore it, pretend I didn't hear.

I should go now, I add. You can go back to sleep.

You can't just cheat on me and break up with me, then call me in the middle of the night to ask if I'm alright. No, I'm not alright. But I will be, she huffs. I can just see her, sitting up in bed, her hair all wild, her chest heaving, redness rising in her cheeks, her lips wet and glistening. Why did you even call?

Because I had to know she was OK, had to hear her voice, can't have her believing that leaving her was anything I wanted to do, can't stand the thought of never speaking to her again.

But I don't say any of that. I just say, Bye, and hang up.

She doesn't call back, though I'm shaking with anticipation and need for her to.

The next thing I know it's morning again, and I have a serious fever. So I might as well not get out of bed at all.

Gail

---

I stayed awake for hours after Scott's crazy call in the middle of the night, going over all the things I did wrong, he did wrong, we both did wrong. I came to all the same conclusions and woke up sitting up on the sofa, the phone still clutched in my hand and