“Are you sure?”
"Course." She's already grabbing her jacket. "Same carrier?"
"Doesn't matter. Whatever's cheapest."
She heads for the door, then stops. "Jamie. Are you okay? Really?"
I consider the question. My body hurts. My chest feels hollow.
"I will be," I say. "Once this is done."
She nods and leaves.
While she's gone, I take a shower and try not to think about the beautiful bathtub with its view of the trees and mountains.
I dry off and pull on clean clothes and pad back out to the living room. I make myself a sandwich while I wait for Akari to get back and eat it mechanically, barely tasting it, but my stomach settles.
She returns twenty minutes later with a small paper bag. "New SIM," she says, tossing it to me. "I already activated it. Your new number's on the card."
"Thanks." I sit down at the kitchen table and pull out my phone.
The process is simple. Pop out the old SIM, pop in the new one, restart. My phone comes back to life with a fresh number, a blank slate. No message history. No contact from Carter Crane.
I hold the old SIM card in my palm. Such a small thing. A tiny chip of plastic and metal that contains months of texts I shouldn't have sent and conversations I shouldn’t have had.
I could keep it. If I tuck it in a drawer somewhere, I’ll still be able to reach him in emergencies.
What emergency? An ‘I want sex’ emergency? I’m so pathetic.
I walk to the kitchen bin and drop it in.
Akari watches from the doorway. The moment it leaves my fingers, I feel something loosen in my chest. It's done. He can text my old number all he wants now, and I'll never know. The messages will disappear into the void.
Good.
I go back to my phone and start deleting apps. Twitter first—I was never much for it anyway, and it's been nothing but vitriol since the exposé dropped. Then Instagram, then the news apps that have been sending me alerts every time someone mentions my name.
"I'm going to check my book contract tomorrow," I tell Akari. "See if there's a way out of it."
"The Crane book?"
"I don't want to write about them anymore. I don't want to think about them. I want to move on to new stories, new subjects, new everything."
Akari comes to sit across from me at the table. Her expression is thoughtful. "That's a big change."
"I know."
"And you think you can do it? Just... walk away?"
I meet her eyes. "I hope so. That's why I need you to keep me honest."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—" I take a breath. "If I start making excuses. I need you to call me on it. Don't let me backslide."
Akari nods slowly. "I can do that."
"I'm serious. Especially if I try to justify it."
