She was folded into him, laughing against his shoulder, like she belonged there, and his hand—his goddamn hand—was onher waist, gripping her the way you touch only someone who's been in your bed.
I hated her instantly. And him, so much more.
Everything clicked—the pieces I'd ignored all year because I was a fool. How he would get close and then recoil like touching me burned, the canceled plans, the ones he forgot altogether, the subtle flirting with chicks right in front of me while I told myself it's nothing, that he wasn't taking them home. And I swallowed every little rejection. Because that's what you do when you love someone who doesn't love you back. You hope for a damn miracle that never comes.
I cried into my pillow until my throat was raw, blew my nose on his favorite Fight Club T-shirt as my petty revenge, and eventually sent him the only text he deserved.
Me:We... whatever we never were... are over
The calls started instantly, his name lighting up my screen on repeat.
I muted them, one after the other.
Then the messages came with apologies like compulsions,sorry sorry sorry.
But sorry gets exhausting when you hear it on loop, so I told my heart to change the locks.
And still, I must have left the door a little cracked because when he knocked hard enough, I broke, weak for him.
Ben:Emma, I'm sorry. Dad's sick. He didn't want to tell me but Mara texted me. I had to come
Ben:Emma? Pick up please. I'm back in four days. I'll make it up. Promise
Me:I guess you forgot, while you were busy making your plans, I'm going to Seattle for my book signing. Won't be back for two weeks. And I don't want to ever see you again
That's when hell broke loose.
Ben:What the fuck do you mean you don't want to see me? You serious?
My phone went hot in my hand, burning from his fury I knew so well anytime he was hurt. That sharp, defensive kind that made you feel like you were the one who'd thrown the first punch.
Was I serious about not wanting to see him? No. I ran twenty potential scenarios in my head and all of them forced him in.
Still, when you cross that threshold and things start falling apart with pride becoming the only thing keeping you upright, you double down. Say the things you've been choking on for months.
Me:I can't keep doing this. You disappear, then think you can smile your way back
Me:And you were right, you're not my friend. Friends don't leave me crying on New Year's Eve while they're posting photos with someone else
He tried for another call, but I muted it, too busy sniffling.
Ben:Damn it, Emma. Pick up the damn phone
Another call.
Anotherclick.
Me:No, go back to your company
Ben:She's a family friend who came over. Dad's friendswith her dad. I'm sorry. It wasn't meant to hurt you. You're blowing this out of proportion, it's nothing
Me:It's always nothing. Always not meant to hurt me. Shame on you for putting the blame on me
Ben:Emma. Stop. I said I'm sorry
Me:This is why I never let myself fall for you because I always knew I'd be your collateral damage
There was a pause—one of those long, awful ones where the three dots keep showing up and disappearing. Five whole minutes of watching him type, delete, type again.
