CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - BREAKING ALL THE RULES

I am spinning out, dear Nurse, and it’s all I can do to keep my shit together.

Dearest Nurse,

I made a massive fucking mistake. Massive.

You can probably guess what I did. In spite of all my resolve, my mission, my stupidly over romantic goals, I broke the biggest promise I made to you and to myself. I fucking reached out to Romeo.

I know, I know, okay!? But what kind of shitty, stupid, bad romantic comedy would my life be right now without a proper all is lost moment?

It started with a dream. A dream where Romeo and I were together, and it was bliss. But something mysterious kept pulling us apart. Some invisible force, literally dragging our bodies away from one another, his visage vanishing into the haze. I kept trying to find my way back to him, clawing the thick air, running through quicksand, and finally, spreading my arms wide and flying through the mist, hoping against hope he would appear. I woke feeling both enamored and terrified.

A lot has happened since the beginning of this project. I’ve been through a bunch, and confessed even more. I’ve laid it all out on the line, in a fairly public arena, and it has gotten me thinking: I didn’t want to have to go over all of this again after the 24th. And I certainly didn’t want to blindside Romeo with, “Hey! Great that you showed up. Guess what? I’ve been blogging about all of this since day one, and a couple hundred strangers know all about your perfect cock.”

Say he did want to pursue a relationship, but after reading all of this - which I have zero intention of hiding from him - he changed his mind? I couldn’t bear it. And more than that, I wanted Romeo to have the opportunity to come into next Friday knowing everything. No surprises, no games. Complete and utter transparency.

And so, like the ripe asshole I am, I fucking unblocked him from my phone and texted him.

Hi.

If you’re still playing, I want to make sure you’re doing so with a full deck.

Within a couple minutes, he texted back.

Not sure what that means.

I briefly explained my strange, but urgent need to write about everything that had and was happening, and sent him a link to chapter one. Immediately, the questions started rolling in.

Is this something that’s available publicly? Um, yes. It’s called the internets.

Is it on your social media? I don’t know, Romeo. Am I the dumbest person alive?

Why are you so concerned? I texted.

Because I’m still so confused. About everything.

I feel bad about everything that’s happened and I want to make sure it doesn’t get worse. Can we talk later?

Thankfully I was sitting on the grass at The Huntington, or my legs might have given out. He felt badly? Why? Get worse? The hell was going on here? And why was he so worried about the blog? This didn’t feel like the Romeo I knew… and suddenly, it dawned on me.

Oh my god. I texted. You’re still with her.

A pause. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t feel my feet, which was crazy because my new combat boots were actively giving me blisters.

It’s complicated. I’d rather speak to you about it when I have some time.

My mouth went dry. My head spun. I knew there was a possibility this could happen. I knew it, but I didn’t want to believe it. He had told me he didn’t want to be with this woman. That there was no going back after the way she reacted to seeing my name on his phone. Promised me I’d feel him again. He fucking promised.

We’re still trying to figure things out. Been together 3 years.

Wait… before it was two. Now it’s three years? How many years has it been, Romeo?

Good luck with that. I texted back. I have nothing to say.

Still want to talk.

Most people only get to reject me once. I fired off, pacing around the lily pond, trying to get feeling back in my legs.

I don’t have time right now. Please. Just let me call you later.

No, no, no. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t hear him say the words. To fucking peace out on me again after everything he had said. I was the one that got away. The one he always regretted walking out on. Leaving me the biggest mistake of his life. I had eaten it up with a fucking ice cream scoop, and it was all bullshit. I should have known. Goddamn it, Juliet. You are too old for this.

I’m not interested in an apology. I did the work we promised each other we’d do. You didn’t.

That’s not true actually. I did. I just happen to be busy with work atm. I need to talk to you. Just later. Please.

What was happening? Why was he being so mysterious and cryptic? Was he still with Rosaline or not? And what was this fucking game he was playing with my emotions? I had no idea what was going on. The only thing I did know was that I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of calling this whole thing off over the phone. If he was going to dick me over AGAIN, he would have to do it while looking me dead in the fucking eye.

Then you can meet me. I texted back. No phones.

He agreed to my terms, but couldn’t give me a time. Not that day, not the next day, and not the day after. He begged me to “play it by ear”, like we were still in our twenties and I didn’t have a fucking life. All of a sudden, I felt very small, very insignificant, and very, very hurt.

Tears welled in my eyes as I made my way through the gardens to the 1919 Cafe. I felt weak, trembling. Life coming at me 1000 miles per hour in a blinding flash, and I worried I might pass out if I didn’t eat something.

I sat on the patio, eating a Korean veggie bowl without tasting any of it, and called Lady Capulet.

“[Juliet], just see what he wants. You can do that.”

“I don’t want to!” I belted like a petulant child, raising the eyebrows of a few fellow cafe patrons. “I don’t care what he wants!”

But as the conversation continued, it became clear to both of us that all I was doing was protecting myself. That I was terrified, heartbroken, and reeling. And the truth of the matter was, I didn’t know what was going on. Was it possible he wasn’t back with Rosaline? But if he wasn’t, why wouldn’t he just say that?

So, I sucked it up, like the big girl I’m trying to be here, and texted him to say we could play it the fuck by ear. He thanked me, and said he would most likely be free the following evening.

That was yesterday.

At 2:30 this afternoon, I received a text:

I’ll call you in like 20 minutes or so.

I rolled my eyes. Again, Romeo. Everything on your fucking schedule.

As it happened, I was on my way down to the courthouse for my final divorce filing. The last thing I was going to do was answer my fucking phone if it rang.

But it didn’t ring.

I walked outside, standing on the steps of 111 Hall Street in Downtown Los Angeles, staring at the sky. It was over. I had done it. A few months from now, and I would no longer be someone’s wife. I wouldn’t be someone’s other half. ever. fucking. again. I had removed myself from pain, frustration, heartache, and being treated like a second class citizen… Hadn’t I?

Still, the phone did not ring.

I pulled into my parking spot at home, enraged. He had wanted to talk to me. I told him I didn’t want to do this shit over the phone, but he had insisted. Had told me he was going to call, and then ghosted me. What the actual fuck?

So, I called him.

Straight to voicemail.

Called again.

Straight to voicemail.

I texted.

Nothing. Not even the little “delivered” notation under the text.

Oh my fucking god. Motherfucker fucking blocked me!

I stormed into my apartment where Paris’s mother was playing with the girls. I breathed through the furious pounding of my heart, and did my best to slap a smile on my face.

“Hey, guys! Just have some work to take care of, and I’ll be right out!”

This was true. I did have work I needed to finish, but whether or not I could get it done was another story. My mind was racing. Had Rosaline seen my name come up on Romeo’s phone again? Had she made him block me? Was he now in the midst of another fiery feud with a woman he told me he didn’t see a future with? And if so, why didn’t he tell her to fuck off like a grown ass man, step outside, and call me!

I was vibrating with nerves, adrenaline blinding me and making my hands tremble across the keyboard as I attempted to finish my work for the day. I hated this. Every fucking second of it. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. All I had wanted was to send Romeo a link to the blog and have that be it. Give him the information I felt he deserved, and then disappear back into obscurity until the 24th. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to meet up. He had begged me for a conversation, and then fucking blocked me!? No, no way. It had to be Rosaline making him do this. Romeo would never treat me this way. I had to find a way to make contact.

So I hopped on Google voice and got myself a Beverly Hills phone number. It took a couple calls and a few texts, but then he answered.

“Hello?”

“Jesus, fuck. [Romeo].”

A long fucking pause.

“Who is this?”

For real, dude?

“Who do you think?”

“Oh… this isn’t the usual number I have for you…” He said, like a kid caught with his foot in his fucking throat.

“Yeah, I know.” I said, heart slamming into my ribs. “Because you fucking blocked me.”

“Did you get my e-mail?” He asked.

I hadn’t. Obviously.

I pulled up my email on the computer. Literally one minute before I called, he had sent me this:

I told you I wanted to talk. In person. I just so happen to be juggling like three jobs at the moment. And when you reached out, you did at the most busy time for me. On top of the fact I don’t have a car. Please understand I’m not putting you off.

I’m begging you. Just Let me get my shit together.

We’ll talk. Soon.

Wait a minute. So, Rosaline had nothing to do with this!? I tried to call him, attempting to make contact that he requested, and rather than texting to say he was busy, he fucking blocked me?!

“Whatever you think is going on, you’re wrong. I can promise you that.” He said, as if that was somehow going to comfort me in that moment. But my head was swimming. Fuck getting back together with Rosaline. He had so little respect for me, that rather than picking up the phone to say, “Oh, hey, [Juliet], I know I said I would call, but something just came up.” Like a normal human being, he took the time to go to my contact, hit info, scroll down and mercilessly press BLOCK.

“It’s still a week before you said we were going to meet.” He said, almost pleading.

I wanted to scream. I know! I didn’t want to see you! I didn’t even want to talk to you! I just wanted you to know about the blog so you could have all the information before making a decision. That’s all I had wanted, and now I was being treated like a criminal. Like a grade-A jerk. And even worse… like a fucking bother.

“Well, maybe we should keep it that way.” I said. “And if you want to know what I’m thinking or how I’m feeling, you can read about it.”

“Where would I do that?” He asked.

Oh my fucking god. Seriously, dude?

And with that, I hung up the phone.

Dearest Nurse, I am so sorry. I made promises to myself about this month. I made promises to you. Promises that really meant something to me. And you responded. You’ve followed my journey. Some of you have even reached out to me. Told me your own stories, encouraged me, and let me know I wasn’t alone. And I repaid that loyalty by breaking the biggest rule of them all. I fucking contacted Romeo, and it looks like everything might have just blown up in my face.

Yesterday at The Huntington, when all of this first happened, I was already lamenting my decision. Wishing I could go back just a few hours, to a time when I was still in love with the idea of Romeo. Imagining him getting his life ready for me. Fantasizing about me with excitement and anticipation, as I was about him. It felt like I had ruined everything. Like this entire journey was shot, and I only had myself to blame.

“What am I going to do, mom?” I asked, tears tricking down my cheeks. “The whole project is over.”

“No, it’s not.” She said, very matter of fact. And when Lady Capulet is matter of fact, you listen. “You’re going to finish it.”

“I am?”

“You have to!” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re following you now. We’re counting on you.”

I laughed, smiling through the tears, and my red, tired eyes.

Fuck, I thought. She’s right. This isn’t over. It can’t be over. And it’s not.

I made a deal with you, dear Nurse. And sure, that deal included not contacting Romeo. I fucked that up. But this isn’t the fucking Romeo Anonymous Project. That’s someone else’s story. This is Juliet, here. Your Juliet, and my story isn’t over. There’s still one week to go until the bitter end of this crazy journey of mine, and I’m going to see it through.

And that is very, very important. Because a couple very interesting new characters have just entered the scene, one from stage right, and the other from a wing in stage left I didn’t even know existed.

Sincerely yours,

Juliet