I made a face at that.
Because I’d earned it, I continued my prolonged and sustained torture and reached to my phone.
It was face down on the desk.
I turned it over.
No texts from Dair since I last checked.
I opened the phone.
The voicemails were up to seven, all unheard. I’d lost count of the texts.
I should block him, but he might know somehow, and I thought that would be insulting, and I didn’t want to insult him.
I just wanted him to stop wasting energy on me.
I thought about texting him to tell him that.
But I didn’t.
There wasn’t much more of Mum’s stuff to go through, but that was the only thing keeping me here.
I had to get it done so I could get out of there.
And far away from Dair.
Thus, I got up and walked out of the room in order to see about doing that.
The phone calls started the next day.
The first was from Alex.
“Hey,” I greeted. “You’re up super early.”
“I’m always up early. So…what’s up with you and Dair?”
God, how did she know something was up with me and Dair being all the way in Arizona and never getting on social media (that I knew)?
Not that anything had been reported about us. The last thing that made the rounds was us going at it at King’s Cross.
I should save some of those photos.
You know, more torture.
“Blake?” Alex called.
“We broke up.”
I could almost feel her shock. “Seriously?”
“We were…we had a big fight. One you can’t come back from.”
“About what?”
About me.
Me being…me.
