I glance around before going down the steps to the train. People rush past me, almost knocking me over when I don’t move fast enough. I make it underground and scan my card just in time as a train is pulling up in that moment. With my coat and purse still tight to my chest, I step inside and sit down when I spot an empty bench.
All the way home, I feel numb. There is no reason for me to do all this. It’s just out of spite because I want Alex to know that I am finally done with him for good. I want him to be jealous and hate that he let me go for that last time.
I have so many contradictory emotions swirling in my head that the ride to my stop feels short instead of the forty long minutes I usually suffer through. I get off the train, and with my purse on my shoulder, I throw my coat over, realizing with a start that I am actually freezing. It must’ve been the adrenaline causing me not to feel the cold until now.
The purse under the coat is uncomfortable as it digs into my ribs, but there’s less of a chance to get mugged so there’s that. With my head down, I walk fast until I make it to my apartment building. The elevator ride is slow and annoying while it crawls and creeks, but I finally make it to my floor.
“Freakin’ finally,” I whisper to myself when I unlock the door and step inside. As soon as I close the door behind me, I turn the three locks and put the chain on.
My body feels tense and stressed, and I am suddenly tired. I drop on the couch in my small living area, unable to bother with my coat or the annoying purse underneath.
“Ugh, I hate this life,” I mumble to myself as I throw myself against the back of the couch.
The phone in my purse vibrates with a notification. I try to slide it out, but it’s an awkward angle with the coat over the purse, and I feel like I’m about to pull a rib.
“Oh, for the love of God!”
I stand up, then, with very abrupt moves, I yank on the coat until it’s finally off. Throwing it on the couch next to where I was sitting, I whip the purse off my shoulder and unzip it, finally getting to the phone.
“Oh my God, all that for a damn spam call!”
I throw the phone on top of the coat before marching to the smaller than small kitchenette. Since my apartment is about the size of a post stamp, I don’t have to walk far.
Opening the fridge, I stare at the inside, hoping for something better than plain water. I grin from ear to ear when I spot in the door a glass bottle of Coca-Cola. I snatch it and get the cap off fast so that I don’t have time to think about all the sugar in it
Once I gulp half of it down, I slam the bottle on the counter. I still feel the fizz going down, and I love every second of it. I would go as far as saying this is better than sex. In fact, every time I get the itch to reach out to Alex, I’ll just have a bottle of Coke. Problem solved.
I push the hair out of my face and walk back to the living area where all my things are in a heap on the old couch. I sit next to it, taking a moment to regroup as I rest my elbows on my knees and hold my head in my hands. These dates are draining the life out of me. I want to quit all the apps because I can’t deal with the stress anymore. Finding a decent human being who wants to know me better should not be this hard.
Of course, it doesn’t help that every time I close my eyes, I see Alex Connors walking toward me, ready to kiss me with all the passion that I crave.
I think I should look into seeing a therapist. That is the only way I can get him out of my head and my life. But I don’t have the money for therapy, so that’s a problem.
“Ugh!” I clench my fingers in my hair, ready to pull it all out.
I can’t live like this. I have to let it all out. I just can’t. I have too much pride to let Alex Connors think that he won. I don’t even know what he would win, satisfaction maybe. And I want that. I want to feel the satisfaction that he saw me with a man on my arm.
I sit up and grab my phone. With more determination than ever, I tap on the app store, then type in the search bar.
“Holidates,” I mumble to myself.
There are a few results that pop up, but only one is a perfect match for the name.
“Freakin’ Cal.” I hate Alex’s friends. “I can’t believe that I’m about to do this.”
My eyes go over the description of the app, which is basic and straight to the point.
Need a date for a holiday event?
I roll my eyes at the ceiling. “Do I ever!”
A family dinner with nosy relatives pestering you about settling down?
“No family. Just an asshole I need to get off my ass.”
I pause as I say that. He’s not really pestering me, which I am actually mad about. At the same time, I am relieved that he’s leaving me alone.
“Ah, shit, I blocked him!” I slap a hand against my forehead.
