Dex: I went home alone.
That makes me too happy.This isn’t the way to getting over someone.
Dex:Can I call you? Can we talk?
I don’t answerhim right away. I want to talk to him, but I’m still so messed up about everything, I know I’m just going to want to pick a fight with him. I glare down at my phone and pray it doesn’t ring. I’m sobering up and there’s no alcohol in my apartment, talking to him would be a huge ugly-cry fest that I don’t want him to know I’m capable of.
The FaceTime app rings and there’s his picture on my screen. Dark hair, topaz eyes, and an incredible smile. I hit the accept button without thinking and clear my throat. “What?” I sigh.
The room he’s in is dark. I can’t see much of it. But even if I could see the room, I wouldn’t know if it was his or not, would I? “I wanted to see if you were really okay.”
I stare at my refection in the tiny viewfinder so I don’t have to look at him. “I told you, I’m fine.”
“You came out tonight wearing clothes it looked like you borrowed from a homeless person, and yourI-had-a-bad-day-rub-my-feetslippers. Then you got drunk enough to dance across a dance floor and win a prize.”
Oh, I was hoping he didn’t see that part.
“Don’t you think we need to talk?” he asks.
“About what?” I make the mistake of looking at his face and tears sting at my eyes. “Look, there really isn’t anything left to talk about, is there?”
“CanItalk? Would you be able to listen? Can I start with telling you how sorry I am?”
Rage bubbles up in my throat. He’s sorry? I lost a baby and he’s sorry? He doesn’t get to apologize. He doesn’t get to feel okay when there’s a gaping hole in my chest that he put there. My body shudders and breaks out in sweat. “I have to go.”
“Jane, don’t—”
“I don’t want to hear you’re sorry. Fuck you for being sorry. It must be nice for you just to feel sorry, when I’m—” I look away from the screen and focus on the window and the buildings and sky that lay just outside.
“Jane,” he pleads softly.
I can’t get the words out. I don’t know what’s happening to me. One minute I’m missing him and the next minute I hate him. I shake my head, confusion muddling every thought, and tap the end call button. Dex’s face blinks off the screen.
I open the Misanthrope app and happily discover another piece of Match 1’s profile picture is clear. He was telling me the truth; his hair is very dark and the sky behind him is blue. I don’t know why I want to chat with him now. I just need to get my mind off how sad I feel.
Jane:Hey.
He responds immediately.
Match 1:Hey yourself. How’s the rest of your night going?
Jane: I’m home. Alone. And surprisingly feeling more sober than I should be.
Match 1: Did you drink a lot tonight?
Jane: I told everyone I was sangriated after I drank almost a whole pitcher of sangria by myself, then won a dance contest just trying to get across the dance floor.
Match 1: And now?
Jane: I’m in bed. Bored. And I know I won’t be able to sleep. What did you do tonight?
Match 1: Met some friends for dinner then came home. Watched a few videos on my computer.
I stare downat my phone and giggle. Did he watch porn? I type the question, and stare at the words for a moment before pressing send. I want to be forward. I want to erase everything I feel and be somebody else.
Jane:Were those videos pornographic in nature?
Match 1: They might have been.
