4: Over

Ian wasn’t picking up my calls. I didn’t want to panic, but what the fuck was going on? I paced my room, the phone pressed to my ear as I listened to the ringing on the other end. Before his stupid voicemail came up, I ended the call. Becca’s name flashed on my screen as I was about to redial Ian’s number. She had talked about getting freaky with Ian tonight. Given his recent withdrawal, I was down for it as long as we didn’t go too far.

I sent her a text and called my boyfriend. He picked on the first ring. For the first few seconds, I was too stunned to say a word. 

“Beth,” he started.

“Baby.” I sat on the bed, my hand placed between my legs. Emotions swelled inside me, mostly fear, and my eyes found the ceiling as tears gathered in them. “You didn’t call or text me. I missed you, baby.” 

“I need to tell you something.” 

“Are you back?” 

“That’s not what this is about. I need to—” 

“Where are you? I could come over.”

“You are not listening to me, Beth. I need to tell you something.” The tone of his voice made me quiet. “I’m breaking up with you.”

One.

Two.

Three.

Four. 

Five. 

“What?” I whispered into the phone, refusing to believe what my boyfriend of five years was saying. “Baby. Ian, we can work this out—” 

“I’m sorry, it’s really over, Beth,” he said. 

Ian’s crisp voice washed through me like ice on a rainy day. There was none of that kindness when he approached me in college and asked me to join him for coffee.

I sniffed and wiped the tears rolling down my cheeks. He couldn’t mean this. Where was that wristwatch? I would show him his gift, and we would play around. This was a mistake. 

“I’ll come over.” 

“No.” 

Without thinking, I hurried to my closet and pulled out my favorite dress: a red, backless design that stopped at my mid-thighs. Ian must be saying this because of my reaction to sex before his last trip.

“I’m on my way, Ian. We can fix this. We can fix us.” 

“There’s nothing to fix.”

“Then why are we breaking up?” Silence met my ear because there was nothing for him to say. “I’ll come over, and we’ll talk.”

“Don’t come over. I’m out of town. I left.” 

I shook my head fast. No, he was lying. The call ended before I could say another word. My phone slipped from my grasp, and I crumbled to the floor. Ian was lying. My baby wouldn’t do that to me. 

Our future was certain. We would get married, have three kids as planned, and tour the world when they were old enough to live independently. Yes, that was the plan. 

With this in mind, I wiped my tears and rushed to the bathroom for a shave and a warm bath to refresh my thoughts. It was because of the sex, wasn’t it? That was no problem. We would fuck until he couldn’t get enough of me. I exited the shower, dried my body, and put on light makeup. Staring into my closet, I wondered if I was about to do the right thing. We wouldn’t have had this issue if he loved me like he claimed. 

Was it because I shouted at him? 

Ian was a high-paid model who traveled often and was around weird people. After his last trip, he came home wanting to explore unusual fantasies with me. I refused, and we spent the night on opposite sides of the bed. We made up before he left. I mean, he kissed me, and I let him go down on me. I pushed those thoughts out of my mind and pulled out a red thong to match the color of my outfit. I didn’t require a bra for the dress. 

Dressed, I sprayed perfume on my pulse points and slipped my feet into four-inches stiletto heels. After one look at the mirror and my bright red lipstick, I skipped out of my house. I flagged a taxi down and, on my way there, I dialed Ian’s number a few times. 

He never answered. 

How could he break up with me a few days before his thirtieth birthday?

God, I couldn’t lose him. This was my fault. I shouldn’t have complained when he tried introducing a butt plug to our poor sexual life. While we waited for our wedding night, we explored other areas. But his sexual appetite had only grown bigger by the day. 

The cab slowed down in front of a tall apartment. Ian’s flat was on the fourth floor. I paid the driver and hurried out, ignoring the greetings from the security. Somehow, I got to his floor in one piece. But my hand shook as I reached for his door. I knocked three times, but there was no response.

Thank God I brought my keys. I tried the lock, and it gave way easily. I stepped into the dark room and flipped on the lights. The place smelled like Ian and something else. It was neater than I would expect from Ian. I checked the rooms, opening and closing doors to be sure he was not hiding somewhere. On getting to his bedroom door, I delayed to open it. Finally, I did. Also empty. Going further inside, I sat on the bed. Did he really mean it when he said we were over? 

I dialed his number for the fifth time tonight, and this time, it wasn’t reachable. So, what? Was he going to break up with me without even collecting his keys? I stood up, intending to return later when something on the floor caught my eye. It looked like a diamond stuck in the rug. Squatting, I pulled out the earring under the bed—a diamond earring. 

Holding it up, the lights caught the diamond in the earring, and my heart skipped. I didn’t own a diamond earring. I charged for his closet, not knowing what I was looking for. Ian’s clothes were on one side. On another side was a dress on the hanger. I removed it. 

It wasn’t mine. 

My mind filled with distinct possibilities that I didn’t want to consider. He was breaking up with me for another woman? I called him again, leaving him so many messages and curses. Not knowing what else to do, I checked his Instägram. He loved posting on his Instägram story. Ian was the type of man you could get an update on his life from his social media posts. I was the opposite, but I never complained. Life was about balance. 

I gulped when I noticed his onlinē status. If he was onlinē, why didn’t he answer his calls? 

The next thing I checked was his story. His story started with pictures of only him, and then it rolled on to show photos of him with a group of friends. I recognized none of them, but they looked like they were on a ship. Okay. That wasn’t totally abnormal. Ian loved parties. He used to say they were a fun and easy way to grow his connections. 

Becca and Fumi would agree. Parties were rich people’s excuse to get out of their boring routines. They always dragged me along to as many as they could. Thank God for Mr. Parker and my promotion to his assistant, I would have been partying all weekend. Now, I had good reasons to avoid them.

The next picture shocked me. My phone nearly rolled to the ground, but my quick reflexes saved me. I dropped the phone on the dresser to avoid it falling and tapped on the video. 

It was a video of Ian and another girl. She was grinding her ass all over his crotch. It was evident from the tent in his pants that he loved the experience. That should have made me stop checking the string of pictures, but I continued swiping, maybe because I was still in denial. He would never cheat on me.

Ian could be annoying, but he was faithful. 

The next video showed that everything I believed was a lie. There was my boyfriend kissing another girl while ‘his friends’ cheered him on. How could he? I stared at myself in the mirror. Tears rained down my cheeks, smearing my mascara, and I hurriedly wiped it off. I could not cry because of a cheater. I was better off without him. But the ache in my chest didn’t subside as I told myself this. I loved this man.

Without thinking, I got a pair of scissors and ripped the dress I pulled out of his closet, leaving the pieces on the bed so they would know I was here. The next thing I found was a bat. There was nothing of importance to break, so I raided his wristwatch safe and emptied all of them to the ground. The ones that could be smashed, I smashed. My anger was poured into every hit. I didn’t know when I moved on to the mirror, smashing it into a million pieces. It helped a little. Taking a deep breath, I found my way to the bathroom to clean up. I opened his drawer and scoffed. 

My makeup bag was gone. I always kept a bag for when I slept over so I could leave to work from here without worrying about my looks. I opened the last drawer and saw a pink makeup bag. Was she living here? For how long? He told me I couldn’t come over because he was sick, and I might get what he had. 

Liar. 

I yanked her bag out of the drawer, and a bitter smile twisted my lips. She was using Mac products. Those had to be expensive. Her foundation was a different shade from mine, but I could make do with the other things. I used her wipes and makeup to fix my face. When I was done, I used her purple lipstick to write on the mirror. 

You are dating a psycho. Have fun with the loser while you still can.

As I stared at those words on the mirror, I almost cried again, but I put on my big girl panties and raced out of his place. Downstairs, the chilly air bit into my skin. I should have come with a jacket. I raised my hand to flag down a cab, but they all rushed past me. 

Minutes later, I was still standing in front of his apartment. A cab slowed a few feet away from me, and I rushed to it. I tried to open the backdoor at the same time another person touched the knob. Our hands met, and I jerked back. 

“Sorry, miss. This one is for me,” he said. His voice was smooth to the ears. So was Ian’s. These men all sounded the same. I scoffed, and he chuckled. What could be funny? He opened the door for me. “We could share if you’re going my way.” 

“I’m not going your way,” I spat out.

This time, I looked at him and wished I didn’t. His lips lifted in an arrogant smirk as I craned my neck to get a look at his face shielded by his baseball cap. Wisps of blonde hair peeked out from a cap that hid his eyes from my view. 

The driver honked, and I jumped back. The guy laughed again. Could he possibly tell me what was so funny? Did I look like a clown to him? If anyone looked like a clown, it was him. Who wore a baseball hat over an expensive-looking suit? And was he wearing sneakers? Ugh. No sense of style or taste. He was a walking fashion disaster. Becca would rate him two, and that was because he looked like he could be handsome.

“It’s alright. You can take this one, and I’ll get the next one. I have all night,” he said. I clicked my tongue to let him know his gesture wasn’t appreciated. Men were scum led by their dicks. But he wasn’t listening to me. I slid into the backseat because I was not about to spend another hour out here in this cold. He moved toward the passenger side, and his head poked through the window. “Take her wherever she wants. On me.” 

I didn’t process the stranger’s words until the car had gone a few yards. At the traffic light, I asked the driver, “Did he… did he pay for me?” 

“Yeah, he also left me a tip.” 

Oh, shit.

“Very well then, take me to the best club you know.”