“No. It’s alright,” I say, already climbing off the bed. “I’ve got to set up my phone anyway.”
I grab my clothes and leave the room. I’m barely dressed as I walk to the kitchen, but I don’t care. My skin still feels too tight, my mind too loud. I just need something to focus on, anything.
I reach for my new phone, hoping that maybe powering it on will feel like turning a page, like starting over. But when I hold the button, nothing happens. “Fuck.” I slam my hand against the counter. The rage floods my chest, hot and sharp. It’s not just frustration. It’s heartbreak. It’s humiliation. It’s the bitter sting of knowing the man I loved fucked me up from the inside out.
He did this.
Calvin ruined me.
He made sure no one else would ever compare. No one else could ever make me feel what he made me feel. And now I’m stuck, pretending this ache inside me can be filled with someone who doesn’t even come close.
I march back into the bedroom, where Dylan is still lyingnaked on the bed, relaxed, content, the used condom tossed carelessly to the side.
“Can I borrow your phone?” I ask tightly. “My new one won’t turn on. I need to call Apple.”
He looks up with that crooked smirk of his, still playful. “Sure. And if you give me five minutes, maybe we can go for round two?”
I force a smile. “Sure. I’d like that.”
He hands over his phone and I head back to the kitchen. I dial Apple. The automated voice starts talking, but I’m not listening. I scroll through his recent calls to distract myself. It’s mostly me. His mom. I smile at that. Sweet, dependable Dylan.
And then I see it.
Abigail.
My stomach sinks.
He called her. The same night I told him about Calvin. No. No, he wouldn’t have. I open his texts. And there it is.
Abigail
Thanks for telling me about them. I’m sending her back to Paris. Her flight leaves in a few hours. Please take care of her.
I’ll be there to pick her up. Do me a favor and don’t mention that I told you. She’ll hate me forever.
The phone slips in my hand. I press a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound that rips out of me. I feel sick.
The voice on the other end of the line keeps talking.
“Hallo? Hallo?”
“Wrong number,” I whisper and end the call.
I walk back to the bedroom in a daze and throw the phone at him. It lands beside his leg.
“What the fuck is this?”
He frowns, still naked, still too relaxed. “What were you doing going through my texts?”
“Don’t you dare flip this on me.” My voice is breaking. “Did you tell Abigail about Calvin and me?”
He doesn’t answer.
The silence confirms everything.
“Wow,” I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Really?”
“I was trying to protect you,” he says, sitting up now. “You were spiraling, Blair. I didn’t know what else to do. I was scared for you.”
