My late-night fantasies are far different, with Ali splayed before me, begging me to relieve her tension, which I do with a smile.
Maybe it’s for the best that it ended this way. She can move on without looking over her shoulder, not that she would for me anyway.
My phone pings with a message from Irene.
Irene:Ali has an Instagram story up.
I’m a simple man and choose not to go on social media platforms. It’s not like there’s anything on them for me, but the call of Ali Kat has me inserting my email into the Sign Up page, and after figuring out a password, I look for Ali’s account.
I click on her picture, and a video begins on her family’s farm. She’s walking with Alistair Whent, the lucky bastard, and she’s going over her morning routine.
They make an attractive couple, and I can’t be mad that she moved on so fast after our…entanglement.
Apparently, Ali hid seed in his shoes, and the chickens are pecking at him. At some point, they’re milking cows, and he tries to squirt Ali but only succeeds in getting sprayed in the eye. I have to laugh out loud when Jake comes into the frame, a repugnant look on his face.
It comes to an end too quickly, after ten short minutes, and I’m left with a hollowness I’m sure at this point can never be filled.
Did you really expect her to date a failed mechanic?
I decide to busy myself, so I don’t have to deal with my failures. I have almost everything packed, though where I’m going to put it all is a mystery. I’m pretty sure I’ll be sleeping a stretch in my car until I have everything straightened out.
My mind inevitably returns to my golden-haired goddess. The woman that was never mine in anything more than body.
The call of seeing her beautiful smile is stronger than my desire to shove the last of my worldly possessions into boxes, so I pull up Google, typing her name into the search engine.
It breaks my heart that so many of the search results slander her, bringing up the worst moments in her life, which haven’t been recorded accurately.
A headline catches my eye.
Why I Had to Exit the Train
I click into it and see a tearful picture of Eva Crosby holding up a picture of her and Ali smiling together.
The article details how her friendship evolved with Ali, and when she first realized Ali had a problem, eventually forcing Eva to distance herself from her best friend. From the outside in, it looks like a well-thought-out, heartfelt piece from a woman desperate to get help for her friend, but knowing what I know about Eva and that night, I’m well aware this is a steaming pile of horse shit.
“We need to talk,” a sharp voice snaps, and I look over to see Jake.
I’m already a broken man, but seeing my one-time best friend staring at me with pure hatred teaches me a new lesson in pain.
I put my hands up in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“Sorry—sorry! You’re selling my sister out, you asshole!”
He charges, shoulders low, aiming for my chest.
I step out of the way with relative ease. Jake is something of a charging bull, he gets so mad that he sacrifices form and accuracy.
Crash!
Jake smashes into the wall, his eyes darting over to me.
“I thought you said we had to talk,” I say.
“I can’t believe you went running to Chatter!”
“No, you have to listen!”
“I don’t hafta do shit!” He prepares for another charge.
