End of Eternity 4 Read online

  Moving into the apartment building, I head down to the underground parking garage. It costs an exorbitant amount of money to maintain a parking space in this city, but I couldn’t get rid of my car. Of course, Caroline bugged me to toss the old piece of junk out for years, but I could never bring myself to do it. After the bus ride, I considered taking a cab directly to Carmen’s house so that I could confront her, but I figured that it would be better if I went home to get my car first. I am in great need of the freedom, mobility, and emotional comfort.

  Throughout my life, in all the worst of situations that have happened to me, my only reliable friend (other than Liam) has been my little beaten-down car. I’ve had many woes with womenfolk in the past, and the only surefire way to ease my spirits has been to take a midnight drive while singing my head off at the top of my lungs to some groovy oldies tune. I think that a bit of music and driving will be just the thing to shove the ache of heartbreak out of my chest—at least for a little while.

  It’s a strange feeling, losing someone you care about. Someone you’ve spoken to a gazillion times a day, every single day, for the last twenty percent of your life. Cutting Caroline out was like ripping off a limb, and while I know that the breakup text I sent was ghastly, I just couldn’t bring myself to go through with it any other way. If I tried to be nice, or look into her eyes, I’d lose my nerve. If I spoke to her on the phone for more than a Manhattan minute, I would break down and cave.

  Are there any good ways in which you can cut off your own leg?

  Whether you use a chainsaw, and do it in one fell swoop, or take hours chipping away at the flesh and sinew with a tiny razor blade, the end result is the same: you’ve still lost your leg in the end. It’s still excruciating and unbearable. You’re still going to be hopping around on one leg for the rest of your life, painfully aware of what you’ve lost, and emotionally crippled.

  Unfortunately, when that leg is putrid and infected to the point where it’s poisoning the rest of your body, you’ve just got to bite the bullet and cut it off.

  The only way I could do what needed to be done was to hold on tightly to Carmen. By spending every waking moment in the company of someone who made me feel good, I could potentially alleviate the suffering that came from losing someone who made me feel bad, but someone I could not live without. Even though our relationship was dead a long time ago, Caroline was so inexorably a part of me that I could not seem to get through the day without having her insult me, poke fun at me, or make me feel small. It’s strange how addicting it can be to simply remain miserable, as long as it means that nothing will change and you won’t have to be brave enough to start over new.

  I realize that my feet have taken me down to the underground parking lot, and I am standing beside my sad-looking car. My heart swells with love and nostalgia.

  “It’s just me and you, old friend,” I say to the metal beast, reaching out to stroke her hood. “What do you say we go for a drive, and shake off all this drama? I’m down in the doldrums, like that kid in that one book—and I could use an automobile ride!” I can’t remember the name of the story, but it was a children’s book I used to love. I often think that I patterned my life and my identity off the kid in that book, promising myself that I would never be as boring and gloomy as he was. I promised myself I would enjoy life and be good to everyone around me, and appreciate all the little things.

  A lot of good that’s done me.

  Climbing into my car, I sigh in satisfaction as the old leather seats gently embrace my bottom. I sink gratefully into the perfect butt-shaped indent I’ve created with thousands of hours of driving. Who needs an old girlfriend who knows your body when you have an old car that knows it just as well? This thought makes me nod cheerfully as I plug my key into the ignition.

  And who needs any woman at all, when you can turn your car on with the flick of your wrist and ride in it all night long? Women simply aren’t built for doing that kind of mileage. Not even in porn. Contrary to what everyone might think, I am well aware that even porn stars need coffee breaks. If you think about it, they should really chug something like Gatorade instead; they could sure use a substance that’s a little more hydrating.

  These fun thoughts make me smile as I turn on my car—or at least, I try to. When I twist my key in the ignition, my car makes a struggling and sputtering sound that fades out to nothing.

  My heart skips a beat. No. Not now.

  I always knew I was going to lose her someday, but this is literally the worst day imaginable. I turn the key again, and my car coughs and shakes like an old man with emphysema gasping for his final breath.

  Please, I beg the gods and goddesses of any religion that might be paying attention. Don’t let this happen to me now. I can’t deal with this. I know my car won’t live forever, but why now? Please, just let her live for one more day. She can die tomorrow. Or the next day. Any day but today.

  I feel like I can hear all those aforementioned gods and goddesses laughing in my face as my car makes her final moan of life. Hanging my head forward, I rest my eyebrows on the steering wheel.

  “Why,” I whisper to my car, tightly gripping either side of the steering wheel. “Why?” I shout a little louder, staring at my dashboard mournfully. “Stella! Stella!” I scream at the top of my lungs, banging my hands against the dashboard and steering wheel. Honestly, my car’s name isn’t even Stella, but it always feels like such a good name to scream when you really need to scream something. “Stella!”

  A little beam of light hits one of my eyes, and causes me to squint. I narrow my eyelids and realize that a security guard is standing a few feet away. I clear my throat and try to stop throwing a temper tantrum. Grasping my car key, I step out of my vehicle with heavy feet, and drag myself to a standing position.

  “Hi Steven,” I say quietly. “Sorry for all that screaming—my car just went and died on me.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Owen,” says the security guard with an understanding nod. “I know a great mechanic who can revive even the…”

  “No,” I tell him firmly, turning to my car in annoyance. “It’s too late! It’s over. We had a good run, and a great few years together, but there’s no way to get back to the happy days. She was my first, and she’ll always be special to me, but I have to accept that it’s over. Besides, look at this old piece of trash! How was I even driving it around all this time? I’m a doctor, for god’s sake! I should be driving a BMW like my buddy Liam, or a Porsche like nearly all the other doctors at the hospital.”

  The security guard nods his head thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I have noticed that there are always a lot of Porsches outside hospitals.”

  “Right?” I say sharply. “So what am I doing with this old bag? She’s a worthless bundle of aluminum pop cans, if you ask me.” Turning to look at the heap of scrap metal, I try to focus on my anger to fight away my tears. It wouldn’t be very manly to break down and cry like a baby over the loss of an inanimate object. Kicking the side of my car in frustration, I make another dent in a dent that I had previously made.

  My car. My first car. My favorite car.

  She’s covered in all the beautiful scratches and rust that time and my rough love have bestowed upon her. Each imperfection tells a story. Our scars. Our past.

  It’s unbearable.

  “Look, man,” says Steven the security guard softly. “I can tell you’ve had a rough day at work. Why don’t you just go upstairs and spend some time with your girlfriend, and run a warm bath? Heck, you could even combine the girlfriend thing with the warm bath thing for maximum effect.”

  Nodding slowly, I drag the back of my fist across my eyes. I don’t need to tell this stranger that Caroline and I broke up. That’s none of his business. Besides, I’m sure he’ll jump for joy at the opportunity to go up to my apartment to run a warm bath for my ex if he knows that she’s single.

  I still feel massively protective of her, and I definitely don’t want that to happen.


  “Sure,” I say with a shrug and a sniffle. “I guess I should look on the bright side. At least I have Caroline.”

  “Cars are replaceable, man,” the security guard says with a nod. “People aren’t. You’ve got a great girl, and I’m sure you’ll have a great car again in no time.”

  “Sure,” I mumble, waving at him as I walk away. I head for the elevators with my hands in my pockets, realizing that I don’t really have anywhere left to go. I don’t have the energy to take another cab all the way across town to Carmen’s house. My own apartment is just upstairs, and I know that I need to face Caroline sooner rather than later.

  Muttering curse words under my breath, I stumble into the elevators and punch in my floor. I lean against the side of the elevator car, letting my frustration get the better of me. This has been a bad day. I seem to be having quite a lot of car trouble, actually.

  First I lost Caroline, then I lost Carmen, then I lost my goddamned car!

  Someone important up there in the sky is not a big fan of Owen Phillips. What’s next? Cardiac arrest? Stranger things have happened.

  When the elevator doors finally open with a familiar little ding, I move out into the corridor briskly. I have never dreaded going home quite as much as I do in this moment. When I stand in front of the door for a moment, clenching my fists, I realize that I actually have been here before. To a lesser degree, of course, but I’ve been here every single day. I haven’t been happy to return home in as long as I can remember.

  Lifting my wrist, I knock cautiously on my front door. This is new. I’ve never knocked on my own front door before. I wait for a few minutes, and there is no answer.

  “Caroline?” I call out softly. My heart leaps at the thought that she might not be home. I might actually be lucky enough to get away with avoiding her completely! This idea makes me excited, and I stuff my hand into my leather jacket to retrieve my key. Turning the key in the lock, I push the door open and poke my head inside. There’s no one here.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I step inside and close the door behind me. “Caroline?” I call out again, softly. Still no response. Again, a wave of relief hits me. Now, I can finally collect some of my favorite clothes and shoes. And underwear. Especially underwear. I only have one pair remaining, and they are the Superman boxers I’ve been wearing since yesterday. It’s starting to feel a little sticky and sweaty below the belt in Owenland.

  Moving toward the bedroom, I swing open the door and head confidently toward my underwear drawer. I am already gripping the handle when I notice that Caroline is lying on the bed with her face turned toward the window.

  “Jesus!” I say in shock, jumping a little. “You scared the shit out of me, Carol. Luckily for you, I was already anticipating cardiac arrest.”

  When she doesn’t move, or even laugh at my joke, I realize just how much I’ve fucked up. “Come on, Caroline,” I say softly. “Don’t be mad at me. We can still be friends. Are you going to give me the silent treatment?”

  She responds with the silent treatment.

  Sighing deeply, I shift from one foot to the other. “Caroline,” I say quietly. “Can we talk about this? Please. I’m sorry about what happened out there in the woods, but…”

  I suddenly notice that Caroline is way too still, and way too silent. The blankets are arranged loosely around her bare skin, and she doesn’t even seem to be breathing.

  Frowning, I quickly step over a basket of laundry as I move around the bed to look at her face. My heart sinks. She is deathly pale, and clutched in her hand is a bottle of sleeping pills.

  “Caroline!” I whisper, grasping her shoulders in horror. “Carol! No, no. What did you do? Wake up! Dear god, please wake up!”

  Chapter Six

  Caroline Hoffman

  Earlier that day…

  I have been standing and staring into space for several minutes before I realize that I’m in my own apartment. My eyes drift around the room in bewilderment. How did I get here? All I remember is Owen’s rejection. Nah. It’s just a piece of paper, isn’t it? A waste of time. His words dance through my mind, along with the indifferent expression on his face. I set my keys down on a table next to the door and slip my jacket off my shoulders. There is a small clanging of metal against wood that draws my attention.

  On the ground is the ring I used to propose.

  Tears gather in my eyes at the sight of the metal band. I try to wipe them away before they fall, but there is no stopping their downpour. I take a deep, steadying breath, trying to fight the sobs that threaten to rack my chest. I must have driven around in Owen’s old car for hours before gathering the courage to come home. Each sputtering and clanging noise made by the vehicle filled me with both fear and nostalgia. I have been begging him to get rid of that thing for years—I just don’t feel safe in it.

  But driving around in that worn seat all night made me feel closer to him. Gripping the steering wheel tightly made me feel like I was holding on to Owen, and not just a relic of the past. I refuse to let go. It’s not real, is it? How can he be moving on with someone else? I am here, driving his car, living in his apartment. Isn’t this real? Doesn’t this mean something?

  I kick the ring out of sight and walk toward the closet to hang my coat.

  I slide the door open and my eyes are bombarded with the kaleidoscopic colors of the crazy scarves I wear. Normally these always bring a smile to my face as I imagine Owen in them. He is always stealing them for one reason or another. A bright pink one hangs down and my hand gently reaches out to finger the fabric.

  I recall him wearing this one when Liam’s girlfriend had crashed her car. Something seems out of place but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I contemplate this as I hang my coat back on the rack, and then it hits me. One of my scarves is missing. “The yellow duckies,” I say sadly.

  The scarf he gave to that woman.

  I know I shouldn’t hate her but I can’t help it. The anger and hurt rake across my heart, leaving it a bloody, sad mess. Owen was right. I was taking him for granted. It’s no wonder that he went and found someone who didn’t. There is no one to blame but myself, but it is just so much easier to direct all my anger toward Carmen. If it wasn’t for her, Owen would be here now, cracking one of his stupid porn jokes.

  I desperately need one of those jokes right now.

  A headache is beginning to form in the top of my forehead and it causes me to wince in pain as I turn around. I should probably cry but I refuse to shed any more tears over this. They did me no good when I threw myself at Owen’s feet and begged him to marry me.

  There is a ringing assaulting my ears, and at first, I think it’s my headache. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s the landline. Who would call us on the landline? Who even knows that number? My heart flutters with excitement as I briskly move through the apartment to grab the receiver. I can’t help hoping against hope that Owen is calling to say he changed his mind.

  “This is Caroline speaking,” I say into the phone timidly.

  “Hello, my dear,” a deep masculine voice replies. “How are you, princess?”

  “Papa,” I say as evenly as I can, unable to bear telling him the truth. “I’m fine.”

  “That’s good to hear!” he exclaims. “Hopefully you’ll be better after hearing my wonderful news. My company has offered me four tickets for a Caribbean cruise, my dear. Your mother and I thought it would be a good idea for you and that young man of yours to join us.”

  “Owen?” I ask hoarsely. Well, this is great timing. “I think we might both be too busy at the moment, Papa.”

  “Nonsense,” he tells me. “You must come. The scheduling dates are flexible. It’s been ages since we’ve seen our little girl.”

  I don’t know how to tell him what’s happened. How do you explain that the relationship you’ve dedicated your adult life to has suddenly ended? “Owen is… at work,” I lie brokenly. “I’ll talk to him about it when he gets home.”

  “That boy works
too hard and doesn’t spend enough time with you,” my father replies. “Especially considering that he stole you away from us! He’s a fine young man, but he needs to spend more time pampering my princess.”

  “Please, Papa,” I say brokenly. “I can’t have this discussion with you again. I’ve told you a thousand times that I love Owen, and that he treats me very well.”

  “I know, princess,” he says softly. “I just want the best for you.”

  “Don’t worry, Papa,” I say in a shaking voice, putting the palm of my hand against my head. “Owen is better than the best.”

  My father sighs. “Try to find time for the trip, my dear. We can redeem it whenever you like and your mother misses you terribly.”

  “I miss both of you, too,” I whisper. I feel awful for lying to my father, but I can’t bear to describe what’s happened out loud. With words. That would make it all too real. “Thank you for calling, Papa.”

  “Are you alright, my dear?” he asks in concern. “You seem down.”

  “Everything is fine,” I lie again. “I’ve just been up all night and I’m exhausted.”

  He seems to be thinking about my reply, and trying to find something wrong with what I’ve said. But my father has never really been a sensitive man. “You shouldn’t do that to yourself, my dear. Go get some rest and call me when you’ve spoken to your handsome American doctor.”

  “Good night, Papa,” I say through a forced smile. “Give Mama my love.”