Aftermath

Chapter 16

When I grab my phone and bag to leave, I see a missed a call from Ashely.

Are you joking?

Damnit!

Without thinking, my finger is pressing redial.

Please answer.

As I stare out the window with my phone to my ear, Ashley's phone rings out. So I do the only thing I can and leave a message, asking if I can call him back at a better time that suits him.

From there, I listen to his voice message.

"Erin, I'm fine. I'm getting on with life. And after this call, I'm changing my number... I can't do this with you again... I'm sorry. Take care of yourself."

The call cuts out and goes dead.

Whoa.

He's changing his number.

He doesn't want me calling.

As difficult as that is to hear, it also means he won't be calling me back. But at least he is still breathing. Everything else will have to wait until I go to New York. Which seems like a long wait, but if we can wait a year, a few days is nothing in comparison.

Anything else I need to say can wait to I do it in person.

Ten minutes later, I'm in my car and heading to Zach's place. Not that he's aware I'm coming. And I have no intention of notifying him either. Why should I after what he did?

And ever since his social media post, I've had over twenty nasty messages from unknown callers.

With Lana del Raye blasting from my speakers, I cruise along the road, traffic thick as I take the exit off the highway, heading for the leafy residential area.

Within five minutes, I pull up at the front of Zach's block of flats and see that his blinds are down.

Either he's in bed or he's out.

Knowing him, though, he's still in bed. That's his lifestyle—up all night working or partying and sleeping all day.

And I'm more than happy to wake him.

When I see his neighbour Betty about to enter the main door of the flats, I rush from my car.

"Beaty," I wave, "can you hold the door for me, please?" I make a dash for the flats as she waits. "Thanks." I smile as I rush up the four steps towards her. "Lovely day."

She nods. "Yes, it's special."

We have a brief chat before she heads to her flat on the first level, and I take to the stairs, on my way to the second story. No sooner do I reach his door; I knock and step away.

Time to face the bastard.

There is no way this is going to end well. In fact, this feels like the end of our friendship. And I honestly do not give a fuck at this point. If he would treat me this way, what other possessive drama is he capable off.

There is no kind of movement to be heard on the other side of his door, which makes me question if he's home.

Seconds pass and I knock again. He still doesn't answer. Which seems ridiculous. Because if he was incensed enough to go online and slander me, he should have the balls to face me right now. So, I bang my open palm against the door louder. It's so loud everyone in the block of flats could hear.

Unless he's turned guttles and is now avoiding me.

With a reluctant sigh, it's time to concede that he's not about to answer. And that I will have to leave it to another time to front him.