Descent (Black Heart Romance presents Heaven & Hell)

contribute, the name of my most recent ex-boyfriend pops up on the screen.
Charity grabs my phone. “Ew. Why is Jackson texting you?” Eyes wide, she looks up at me. “I’m
over here trying to set you up and here you are…” She trails off as she opens the text message to read
it for herself. “Tell me you are not drunk-texting this hopeless asshole.”
“How could I drunk-text anyone? I’m not even drunk.” I snatch my phone from her. “And no, I
didn’t text him.” Frowning faintly, I open the text to see what Jackson wants.
The message reads, “I need to see you.”
“Don’t you dare text him back,” Charity says. “You dumped him. It’s over. He sucks. C’est la
fucking vie.”
My grip on the phone tightens almost protectively as I text him back to ask what’s wrong.
I can’t be like Charity when it comes to things like this. She has dumped plenty of guys over the
years, so it’s nothing to her. Like ripping off a Band-aid. Jackson is only the second guy I’ve ever
dumped in my whole life, and I let the relationship drag on for three months past the time of death
hoping to avoid it. I don’t like being dumped, either, but I would’ve preferred if he got bored and
dumped me instead of making me dump him.
It didn’t work, though. Jackson is a workaholic. I’m not even sure he noticed I pulled back until a
couple of weeks before I finally got up the nerve to end things.
Honestly, I didn’t think he would be too bummed about it by the time it happened. We hardly
even saw each other anymore. We texted a few times a week, but even that wasn’t daily anymore. We
were barely together, hanging by a thread. I didn’t think he would care when I finally snipped it.
In the moment, it didn’t seem like he did. He seemed stunned, but not sad. I think his ego took a
bigger hit than his heart. Jackson is successful and attractive. People like him, and he’s just not the
kind of guy a lot of women dump.
For me, though… there was always something missing with him. Our whole relationship felt
almost rehearsed, like a scene he’d run through with countless other women. There was nothing
special or personal about it.
We didn’t connect on any deeper level, we just spent time together. It didn’t even feel like
spending time together, really, it felt like passing time in the same vicinity as one another.
It wasn’t what I wanted. Since I knew we couldn’t meet one another’s needs, I finally called it.
I suppose because there was no big dramatic end, no final incident to pound the nail into the
coffin of our relationship, it came as a shock to Jackson. I also don’t think he’s ever really been told
no—by a woman, at least—and he responded as if I’d spoken to him in tongues.
Once the shock passed, he started texting me again. Wanting to know why—was there someone
else? There had to be someone else, right? Why wouldn’t I just admit there was someone else?
He got a little pushy about it, needing to believe this scenario he’d made up entirely in his own