“Yeah,” I lie again. “I’ll see you later.”
I finish the three-block walk to my apartment, but once I’m up the elevator and on my floor, instead of going into my apartment, I stop outsidehisdoor.
The paint is still chipped on the bottom corner from where Yoko got a little too excited. There’s a faint scratch across the doorframe I remember from when his dad helped him move a couch inside. And somehow, the silence on the other side of the door is louder than noise.
I don’t knock. Ican’tknock. I…stand there.
Eventually, I turn and go into my apartment.
Yoko greets me like the wild man that he is, and once I give him some treats and pets, I cuddle with him on the couch. The TV is on, but my mind is still in the hallway, standing outside Ace’s door. My phone is in my hand before I even realize it, and I’m typing up a message inside the eerily silent chat with Ace.
I hate this.
Delete.
Are we ever going to talk?
Delete.
I miss you. I hate that we’re not okay. I don’t want it to be like this, Ace. I really don’t. Can we…talk?
Before I hit send, I open Instagram. Sadly, it’s the only place I still see him. And yes, I’m aware this is very stalker-esque behavior.
There’s a new photo that he’s tagged in. A blurry, too-dark party pic. Ace is in the center, mid-laugh, and a girl with glitter under hereyes is kissing his cheek. Her hand is wrapped possessively around the back of his neck.
He looks happy. Too happy.
I use two fingers to zoom in like a fool. Like it matters. Like if I look hard enough, I’ll find some sign he’s not as okay as he looks in the photo.
But all I see is a girl kissing Ace’s cheek and him smiling into the camera like he’s enjoying it.
And I go back to my text thread with Ace and delete the last unsent message I wrote.
Even if you were too hard on him, looks like it might be too late to take it back now…
Monday, October 13th
Ace
It’s 1:12 a.m., and I should be asleep because I have an eight a.m. class, but I’m staring at the ceiling like it’s got something to say and might suddenly form into words and explain why everything feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.
My phone is on my chest, screen still lit from the Instagram post I shouldn’t have opened again, but I did. Third time tonight. Fifth, if I’m honest. I’m not even sure what I’m hoping to find. It’s not like the photo’s changed.
I look fine in it. Better than fine, even. That same easy grin I’ve had since high school, arm slung around a girl I barely remember. She was laughing and kissing my cheek at the same time. Truthfully, I don’t even know the girl. Don’t even know her name. She just wanted to take a picture with me.
But it’s all a fucking lie.
Because I amnotfine.
And I shouldn’t feel guilty about that photo, right? I shouldn’t care. Julia’s the one who walked away. She chose someone else.
Except…Idocare. And I do feel guilty. Because if Julia saw it, then maybe she’d think I’ve moved on. Maybe she’d think that I’m perfectly happy and fine and not at all slowly dying in my misery.
Clearly, I’m not fine.
I haven’t been since the night I kissed her. Since the night I told her I was in love with her. Since she looked me in the eye and basically told me that she’s always been the girl on the sidelines inour story. That I didn’t really see her. That I never have. She told me she didn’t believe me that I’m in love with her.
God, I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t even realize what I was feeling until a few months ago. And once I knew…once IknewI was in love with her, it felt like it had always been that way. Like I’d been blind and suddenly I could see and everything made sense.
