2LOIS
BAM!
The fall knocks the breath out of me. My head is spinning. I’m lying face down against wooden floorboards in a pitch-black room, and I don’t have the slightest idea where I am.
“What the…” My mouth is dry and sticky.
I prop myself up on my elbows, but I’m so weak I fall back to the ground almost immediately. I take off my shades with one frail hand and wipe the damp strands of hair stuck to my cheeks and lips.
I take a few minutes to get my head straight, and before long, I’m back to reality. My first instinct is to roll onto my back and fish my phone out of my pocket. I wrestle it free from my tangled headphones and try calling my boyfriend.
“Pick up, Kirk. Please.”
Voicemail.
I try calling again. Once, twice, maybe ten times. Voicemail every time.
This is not happening. This is some horrible nightmare, and soon I’ll wake up.Breathe, Lois. It’s all okay. You’re going to wake up in your bed next to Kirk and you’ll kiss, just the way you’ve been doing every morning since you moved in together. You’ll kiss the way you’ve kissed for the past four years.
“I don’t want this anymore, Lois.”
I can still hear his voice. The same voice that whispered sweet nothings just the day before. Those five words ring hollow. They don’t mean anything, right?I don’t want this anymore.He was probably talking about basketball. Yeah, that must be it: He doesn’t want to play anymore; he mostly plays to keep his parents happy, anyway. Or maybe he meant smoking. He’s been swearing he’ll quit for the past two years now. He didn’t mean us. No way. We’ve been together since we were fourteen. There’s no way we’re over.
You only get dumped if you did something wrong, right? I’ve racked my brain, and I can’t find a single misstep. The opposite, in fact: If anything, I’ve built my entire life around keeping Kirk happy. I did sense he was acting weird this summer, but I blamed it on the stress of us starting college. Turns out, I wasn’t entirely wrong—he was probably already thinking about how much he’d miss out on if he showed up to campus with a girlfriend. The things he said to me… Things I would never have imagined I’d hear come out of his mouth.
Once my breathing settles, I heave myself onto the couch I just fell off and survey the living room where I slept, an open kitchen on the other end of the room. The oven clock shows 3:47 a.m. Shit, I’ve lost track of time. I can’t believe my neighbor let me stay at his place this long.
What do I do now? The one thing I’m certain of is that I shouldn’t be in a stranger’s apartment. This fifth-floor neighbor must have just moved in because I’ve been living here since June and I’ve never seen his face before. Sure, my eyelids are super puffy from all the crying, and my cheap-ass mascara is caked in the corners of my eyes, but still—I’d remember him.
Either way, the facts are: I was in a dirty gross stairwell, and now I’m on a couch that smells like hairy man chest. I’m sitting in a stranger’s living room. A stranger who could easily chop me up and stuff me in his freezer. Just thriving, really. I need to get out of this place. But where would I even go?
I can’t imagine setting foot outside this apartment building. If I do that, it means Kirk and I are definitely done, and I can’t accept that. I consider heading back to my parents’ and swiftly discard the idea. They’re the greatest, and we’re super close, but I don’t want to discuss this with them. They wouldn’t understand, and that would only make me sadder.
The throbbing in my chest is beating at my temples, too. I shut my eyes and press down with my hands, but the pain is too intense. I lie back down. If I close my eyes tight enough, maybe I can chase away the images of loneliness that are taking shape in my mind. I hope so, anyway. I try it out, but it doesn’t work.
“God dammit,” I groan, jerking upright.
I start pacing around and I take in a few deep breaths. On my third try, the sobbing makes a comeback, and my eyes well up all over again. Any remaining strength I had is swept away, and I fall to my knees, holding back the whimpers that strain at the back of my throat. My bitten fingernails dig into the worn wooden table. I need more sleep. It’s the only tried-and-true form of escapism I know. I set an alarm, slip my shades back on to hide my sorry state, pull my hood over my tangled hair, and head back to the couch. Right in the middle of some stranger’s apartment. Whatever. As things stand, I have nothing anchoring me anymore. I might as well rest here a little while longer.
Turns out, I don’t get much sleep at all. My eyes open before my alarm goes off, and I slide off my sunglasses before glancing at the oven: 7:19 a.m. I sit up. My eyelids feel swollen, and there are about eleven ice picks burrowing into my brain. There’s a twelfth twisted in my gut, and a thirteenth right in the heart, this one thicker and sharper than the rest. I hug my knees to my chest. I pinch at my skin, taking in big gulps of air. It hurts to breathe. I dig through the front pocket of my hoodie for my phone. No calls, no messages. Just a stream of Instagram notifications. I tap at the icon and swipe my way over to Kirk’s profile. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I need tosee him. I miss him so hard, as if it’s been years since I last saw him. The little voice at the back of my mind is telling me to take a day to think things through, but I can’t stop myself. I scroll through his photos. Photos of him alone.Don’t tell me he’s already…
I clamp a hand over my mouth and continue down the path of self-destruction. I scroll. And scroll. And scroll. I’m not there anymore. He has deleted it all. It’s like I’ve been erased. All traces of us, gone.Everythinggone.
It’s over, Lois.
I stuff my cursed phone back into my hoodie and stare blankly at the kitchen across the room. The silence I’ve been swaddled in since I woke up is suddenly shattered by the distant sound of running water, and I remember where I am.Jesus, I need to get out of here!As kind as he was, I can’t deal with the guy living here again.
I jump to my feet, wincing as the headache beats harder against my temples, and make a dash for the front door. I should thank him really—it’s the least I could do. But by the time the thought occurs to me, I’m already on the first-floor landing.
I freeze when I reach my front door. Kirk’s front door, I mean. His grandmother had died the spring before, and on the day I announced that I planned on moving into her apartment with Kirk, my dad warned me. He told me I should get a dorm, be independent, blah-blah-blah. But I just chalked it up to normal dad worries and didn’t give it a second thought. I couldn’t wait for us to live together. I moved into Kirk’s place without even considering what a breakup would mean for me.
“I’ll leave your stuff with Ms. Curtis,” he’d said, and shrugged. “I’m sure you can stay with Rebecca until you find something.”
Yeah, right, I’m sure Becca and her roommate wouldlovehaving me crammed into their shoebox of a dorm, sharing a twin bed.
I step toward the door and raise a fist. I want to knock. I want to beg him to let me in, but at the same time, I don’t think I’m ready for round two. He had sounded so detached.
I hear footsteps on the stairs and slip away, like a thief fleeing the scene of a crime. I don’t want to risk public humiliation.
