Chapter 5: No one knows My Name

Chloe I was already hundreds of miles away from the man who had made me wonder if I was worth loving, by evening… The distant hum of the highway had droned for seven hours and eight minutes straight beneath my car's tires. My eyes, burning from the salt of tears and sleep deprivation, were nearly bleeding, but I held onto the steering wheel with all of my might. I had to keep going. I couldn't stop. An entire pig's worth of road lay between me and the m******e of my old life. At last, I drove into the parking lot of a quiet apartment complex on the fringe of New York City. The air outside that evening was cold, clean, and totally unlike the air I had breathed my whole life. I shut off the engine and sat in the startling quiet of the driver's seat, watching the pale yellow rays of sun spread across an unfamiliar dashboard. I took off my seat belt, unlocked the door, and pushed it open into the wet street. Nobody knows Brandon Parker here. Nobody knows Sienna. Nobody even knows about the wedding that was happening in a matter of hours. No one knows I was supposed to be a Parker bride today. I trudged around to the trunk, popped it open, and hefted out my two enormous suitcases. A middle-aged man out for a walk with a golden retriever nodded politely and distantly at me on the sidewalk. "Evening," he said offhandedly and kept on his way. "Good evening," I replied, voice rough and dry. He didn't stare. He didn't watch my curves with pity. He didn't look at me like I was some tragic scandal or some thrown away paper plate. To him I wasn't the fat girl who was cheated on by the heir of a billionaire the night before her wedding. For once in four years, I was only me, Chloe. Anonymity came then, for a brief, heady moment. I pulled my bags behind me as I walked to the tiny, unimpressive apartment unit I'd booked online during my frantic drive, late in the night. I unlocked the door, opened it up, and went inside. The empty room The scent of lemon polish and new paint wafted from the hardwood floor. Through a lone bay window, the street below was silent and the evening light was welcome. I placed my suitcases against the wall, then shut the door, engaging the deadbolt until it clicked softly in the lock. The stillness of the vacant apartment pressed down on me, cold and oppressive. I slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor, bringing my knees to my chest. It lasted maybe a second, but the relief I suddenly felt was replaced just as quickly with a chilling, piercing panic. Who was I without Brandon? For four years, he'd owned my world. I was Brandon's fiancée. I was Brandon's field organizer. I was Brandon's support system, the woman whose shoulder he leaned on during panic attacks. I was Brandon's shield, the woman hiding behind him when his family doubted his abilities. I was the woman who kept his world together. Now, I have no fiancé. No wedding. No carefully planned future. No Parker family expectations to navigate. No one sister I could confess to or depend on. My hand shook as I held onto my jeans. I was entirely, frighteningly alone. "You do not understand what you are leaving behind!" The echo of Brandon's word of warning knocked off the bare walls of the room as it sounded in my mind. I watched that stark white wall in front of me, that angry voice echoing in my head…again. What was he trying to say? Does he mean about his family riches? About the way he lives now that I'm gone? About his father's position in the corporate world? Or was there some other truth hidden beneath that moment of panic- something about his life, or his life in my life, that I was never intended to find? "It doesn't matter," I whispered through the empty room and felt my voice quivering. "It doesn't matter now." I refused to return for answers. I refused to allow curiosity to drag me back towards a flame that had already burnt me to the bone. But as I sat on that cold floor, grief clawed at my throat. Strange, hypocritical grief. I hated Brandon. I hated him for calling me a fat pig. I hated him for having s*x with my own sister in the bed where we were supposed to make our life together. Still, I was mourning the boy I thought I knew back in college, who would sneak me late-night hot chocolates during finals week, who held my hand on the beach and promised to keep me safe. I wasn't crying because I wanted him back. I was crying because I realized I had been in love with a man who had never existed for four years. I drew my knees in further, my forehead pressed to the crook of my elbows, as shudders of cry overtook me. How was I supposed to make a life when no one was selecting me? For as long as I can remember I thought everything was meant for a woman's worth. And Brandon choosing me despite my size was everything I thought I needed to feel worthy. Removing the choice I had in this caused me to vanish. I lay on the floor for more than an hour, letting the grief wash over me, until my eyes were dry and my chest was hollow. Lastly, I heaved myself onto the floor and walked to the window. I laid my hands flat on the window, staring down at the street. There was a stream of people going by. Someone with a yoga mat. A dude trying to make the bus with a coffee cup. A mother with a stroller. None of them knew my story. This was not how anyone here would stare at me in a whisper about a wedding that went wrong. Nobody knew I had been cheated on. Nobody knew Brandon had called me a fat pig and told me he had to bear touching my skin. And all at once, down in my heart…I knew it. There was no one here yet who'd decided what I was. The thought didn't send a shiver up my back this time; it settled in, comfortably. I wasn't altering my shape so that I could be sure that a guy would never reject me again. I wasn't doing it so I could look pretty, or skinnier, or be the fancy-ass woman Brandon wanted me to be so he could pass me around to his father's board. This was a matter of trying to figure out who I wanted to be when I wasn't busy trying to keep a coward from leaving me. I returned to where I had placed my purse on the floor. I opened it, retrieved my phone, and pressed the power button. The display sprang to life, trembling, empty and ringing in the palm of my hand as network signals flooded me. Notifications stack up in a dizzying waterfall. Forty-seven missed calls. Thirty-two text messages. Brandon. Sienna. Caterers. Florists. People asked where the bride was in the group. I looked at Brandon's name on the screen, reappearing, one after the other, in my call log. I didn't listen to even one voicemail. I didn't read a single text message from him or Sienna. With a steady hand, I tapped through my settings, selected his contact, and hit delete. Then I selected Sienna's contact and deleted her too. I cleared the entire log, erasing their names from my screen. I took a deep breath, ready to lock the screen and finally put the past away. Suddenly, the phone vibrated once more in my hand. A single, new text message popped up on the display. I frowned, expecting another frantic blast from a wedding guest or the event venue. It wasn't a contact name. It was an unfamiliar number—a local area code I didn't recognize. I tapped the screen to open it. There was no signature. No explanation. Just five words sitting alone on the white background: "You shouldn't have come here." My blood turned completely cold. The breath caught in my throat, stuck in the silence of the empty room. I looked at the screen while my hands were so shaky I could hardly hold the phone. Nobody knew I had left... Nobody in the world knew I was standing in this apartment. How come someone knew where I was? Even though I had only just arrived… And that in a new city.