Loving Alek came easily. Being indifferent to him was the hard part.
If I wanted any chance of surviving this breakup, I needed to get my acting skills up to par though because something tells me that his walking out the door to go to her is only t...
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One thing I should never do again is call an ex to demand answers while running on little sleep, adrenaline, a touch of alcohol, and anger. Nothing good ever comes from a combination like that. At least, not usually. It's still to be determined whether this time will be different.
From one room to another, I pace through my house as the line rings.
Do I want him to answer? Not answer?
Do I want to tell him to sit on a cactus until it hurts?
I don't freaking know, and it's driving me up the wall.
Indecision had never been a problem for me until Alek blasted into my life, demanding that I see him.
"Hayvin?"
Alek's husky voice slithers across the line, sending goosebumps dancing along my skin.
"What game are you playing?" I demand.
The rustling of his sheets has my mind drifting to places it really shouldn't.
Bad girl, Hayvin.
"Game? What are you talking about?"
"The flowers. The card. The information you absolutely do know about my career after pretending you didn't." I shout. "How did you know about the ceremony and the awards?"
"I know everything about you, Hayvin."
"Bullshit," I spit.
"Ask me anything," he pleads.
"What's my favorite color?" I ask, honestly not expecting him to know this.
"You're angry, so right now, it's orange. You always associate that color with anger or rage. Red when you're writing or singing because you feel passionate about them. Yellow, purple, and pink are when you're happy. You always alternate them. Black when you hit the darker part of you, blue when you're sad because it reminds you of the ocean to try to make your mood lighter."
I stumble back into the wall at his thorough answer.
"Favorite food?" I ask.
"Tacos on Saturday, Pizza on Monday, Chinese on Sunday. You try to eat healthier the other days of the week to make up for days you load up on carbs."
Questions flick through my mind that I could ask him, but I need something I've told him before. Something I don't think he really paid attention to. Something to do with my career.
"When did I sell my first song?"
"Two months after we got together. It was two days before your birthday. I gave you flowers the next day, but you thought I was giving them to you for your birthday and assumed I just got the day wrong."
I slide down the floor and bring my knees up to my chest. "What was the name of it?"
"Broken Lullabies," he answers quietly. "It was about you growing up in a broken home without your dad and wanting better for the kids you would have."
