The goat startled me by jumping through the center console and into the front. I watched as he sniffed the passenger seat repeatedly and let out a few loud, frantic “baa” sounds. It seemed like he was really trying to communicate something to me.
I wondered if he sensed that Chance wasn’t coming back. Animals are funny that way.
“He’s gone. No more Chance,” I said, rubbing the back of his furry head gently and swallowing the pain of my words. I repeated in a whisper, “He’s gone.”
The animal started circling around in the seat until he finally stopped and rested his head down.
Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
What sounded like a whimper escaped him. He couldn’t be crying.
As the sounds got louder and louder, I came to the conclusion that he was. This sweet animal wanted Chance and either understood what I just said or had a sixth sense.
When he looked toward me with his sad eyes, it was at that moment that I finally let go. Everything came pouring out as I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel and sobbed. In just a little over a week, I’d found my greatest happiness and suffered my biggest heartbreak. It felt like I was born again only to be destroyed by the very thing that gave me a new lease on life.
Even though we’d slept together less than twenty-four hours ago, Chance seemed so far away now, like it was all a dream. The soreness between my legs from our one night together—our first and last—was the only evidence that it was real.
I wiped my eyes.
Big girl panties. Big girl panties. Big girl panties.
When I finally developed the courage to drive off, it seemed I had a new copilot. Esmerelda stayed curled up into the passenger seat.
As we passed a sign that read, Leaving Las Vegas, I wished that the saying were true, that everything that happened in Vegas stayed there. I knew better. What happened to me in Vegas would be something that would follow me around for a long time to come.
Chapter Twelve
Two months later and doing my best to settle into my rented bungalow home, I’d come to the conclusion that losing Chance felt a lot like a death. Not only that, I’d pretty much experienced the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.
Back in Vegas, at the first realization that he’d left, I was definitely in denial. Throughout the rest of the ride to California, though, anger had started to set in more and more as I focused less on the idea of losing him and more on the simple fact that he’d ditched me.
The bargaining phase hit me shortly after arriving in Temecula and stayed for about a week. “If only I hadn’t thrown myself at him.” “If only I’d told him how much he meant to me.” I blamed myself for his leaving.
The fourth phase didn’t take long to overshadow all the other stages. Depression was the hardest. It got the best of me for at least a month and a half. Aside from work, I did nothing but come home and wallow in the fact that I would never meet anyone that made me feel like Chance did. Despite how things ended, I truly felt that he’d ruined me for all other men. I’d wake up sweating in the middle of the night, painfully aroused from vivid and recurring dreams of being fucked hard by him as he told me over and over how sorry he was, that he loved me, that he’d made a mistake. I’d then cry myself back to sleep. While the depression never fully went away, as each day passed without any word from him, it gave way to the final stage of grief: acceptance.
As hard as it was, I finally reached a point where I had to accept the fact that he was never coming back for me. I had no choice but to move on with my life. That meant considering getting back into the dating scene even if it killed me. One thing was for certain. There was no way I was going to be able to get over him by continuing to lie in bed at night, reliving how it felt to have him inside of me.
I still longed for him. That might never go away.
If there were such a thing as a sixth stage, it should have been aptly named, Purge that shit. I decided that just being in my car was too painful. More than half of our relationship took place inside that BMW. Every time I would look over to my right, I’d hear his laughter or see him sucking on a Pixy stick. Sometimes, I swore I could still smell him. The spirit of Chance would always be alive and well in that car.
When I got to the dealership to trade it in one sunny Saturday afternoon, I was feeling very emotional.
I’d finally settled on an Audi S3. As I was leaving to get into my new car, the woman who’d assisted me with the trade-in called after me.
“Ma’am!”
I turned around to find her holding the Barack Obama bobblehead in her hand. My chest tightened.