Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
When I returned to America and started college, Rhys and I had exchanged regular emails. He didn’t have any active social media since that wasn’t his thing, but I’d received an email from him at least twice a month. Then one day a couple months in, the emails had just … stopped. I’d spent weeks re-reading the last email I’d sent, fearing I’d said something wrong, but I couldn’t find anything that might’ve stopped him from replying. So, I’d reached out to Nuala. She’d told me Derek and Tristan had stopped hearing from Rhys, too, and they’d suspected his training had intensified, that he might’ve been deployed somewhere with little to no telecommunication and probably wouldn’t have the means to email or call for a while.
So, I’d waited.
I’d made some friends at college and attended classes, but I’d also developed an obsession, relentlessly researching schizophrenia and worrying I was going to develop it. I’d started questioning everything I did. Analysing my thoughts and fretting that I was growing increasingly paranoid, which was also a symptom of the condition.
I’d stopped attending classes, retreating into my shell. Mom had grown so worried about me that she’d insisted I start seeing a psychotherapist. I’d agreed to go mainly so I could be evaluated for schizophrenia. I’d received a diagnosis, but it’d been for depression instead. It had almost been a relief. Depression had felt manageable. It’d felt like something I could tackle or at the very least live with. I’d returned to college and started going to classes again. I was taking some mild anti-depressants and having regular therapy sessions.
And that was when I’d met Jesse. We’d shared some classes and quickly become close. I’d spilled my guts to him, told him all about Rhys and how long it had been since I’d last heard from him. He’d been a shoulder to cry on, a great listener, and I’d valued his advice. He’d convinced me to move on, that holding out hope for Rhys was a fruitless endeavour. He’d showered me with so much attention and care at a time when I’d been vulnerable and in need that I’d started to believe I was in love with him. It was only in hindsight I saw it wasn’t love at all but love-bombing.
When Nuala had eventually sent word that Rhys had come home to visit his mother and asked if I wanted her to ask him to call me, I’d been mad and infuriated that he hadn’t thought to call me himself to let me know he was okay.
So, I’d done something incredibly selfish and said no, I didn’t want her to speak to him for me. He could have written me an email explaining the reasons for his silence, but he never did. Then after a year or two, I’d lost touch with Nuala. I’d allowed Jesse to take over my life. I’d let him push everyone away until he’d had complete and total control over me. Sometimes, I’d mentally berate myself for being so weak, for letting things happen when I might’ve stopped them. But it didn’t feel that way when it was happening. It had just felt like a relationship until one day I’d realised it wasn’t.
It had been a prison.
I often wondered what had become of Rhys. When Nuala and I got back in touch, she hadn’t mentioned him, and I suspected she and her brothers had simply lost touch with him over the years, too. It happened. People grew up and went in different directions.
Well, wherever he was and whatever his life had become, I hoped he was happy. The old hurt and rejection was gone. It barely registered after all I’d been through with Jesse. And besides, Rhys had his demons to fight. I was certain that whatever his reasons had been for cutting off contact, they weren’t malicious or heartless. That boy had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever known.
When Aunt Jo had heard from Mom that I’d left Jesse and was back living with her, Jo had suggested I come to Ireland, that the head accountant at Padraig’s city hotel was retiring and the position was mine if I wanted it. I’d been in similar roles my entire career, but I hadn’t worked in almost three years, and I was rusty. Still, the idea of moving an ocean away from Jesse, with bed and board and a job and relatives I adored all waiting for me, was an offer I couldn’t refuse.
I stayed in the bath until my fingers turned to prunes. When I got out, I dried off and dressed in some black leggings, a long grey cardigan, and a loose camisole. Staring at myself in the mirror once again, I noticed how drab and washed out I looked. It was like I’d become a ghost, too checked out to even care about my appearance anymore.