I haven’t been to Dora’s since it happened. Called in sick three times, until finally Dora said to just take the week and come back when I’m ready. But how do you get ready to exist again when someone you love confirms your worst fear about yourself?
You’re worse than Paige.
At least Paige was chosen. At least she was wanted, even if she betrayed that want. I’m just the girl who waits in shadows, who keeps secrets because she knows the truth would make people leave faster.
Riya sits with me and talks about her day even though I don’t respond. She hasn’t pushed me yet, but she is close to. I’ve explained the situation to her five times now and we keep going in circles. But I know she knows it’s bad. Worse than after Miles. Because with Miles, some part of me always knew I was holding onto something that wasn’t real.
But Ethan? Ethan was real. Ethan saw me—really saw me—and chose me anyway. Until he realized what he was looking at.
You’re so broken you’ll sabotage anything good.
The worst part is he’s right. I had something beautiful and I destroyed it with my cowardice. My inability to trust. My fundamental wrongness that makes me hold secrets like armor even from people who deserve truth.
I open my laptop in the lounge for the first time in days, stare at the OptiMatch code. All these algorithms to predict compatibility, but what’s the point when the problem isn’t compatibility? The problem is me. No algorithm can fix someone who’s fundamentally broken.
“Oh my god, stop.” Riya’s voice cuts through from my doorway. “I can literally hear you thinking self-destructive shit from the kitchen.”
She pads in, mug in hand, and perches on my desk. “We’ve been through this, babe. You’re not broken. Ethan’s not some oracle who speaks universal truths. He’s just a hot guy with abandonment issues who freaked out.”
“He said I was worse than Paige.”
“I’m not saying that’s ok. It’s not. But sometimes people lash out when they’re hurt. Maybe give him chance to explain. My ex once said I looked like a gremlin when I cry. Doesn’t make it true.” She sips her tea. “Well, maybe a little true, but beside the point.”
“Ry—”
“No, listen. You wrote a game review. Agame review. Youdidn’t sell his nudes or key his car or whatever that Paige girl did.” She sets down her mug with force. “He took his trauma and projectile vomited it all over you. That’s on him, not you.”
Maybe that’s what I should code next. An app that warns people away from people like me. “Swipe left. This person will disappoint you.”
“Ugh, you’re doing the thing again.” Riya grabs my face between her hands. “Look at me. You listening? Good. You are not responsible for other people’s emotional regulation. Say it back.”
“Riya—”
“Say. It. Back.”
“I’m not responsible for other people’s emotional regulation,” I mumble.
“Louder for the self-hatred in the back!”
“This isn’t helping.”
“You know what would help? Going outside. Vitamin D. Human interaction that isn’t me forcing you to eat.” She releases my face and grins at my glare. “Look, I get it. He hit you right in your deepest insecurity. That was fucked up. But you’re sitting here like he carved it in stone when really he just had a mantrum.”
“A mantrum?”
“Man-tantrum. It’s a thing. Ask any woman who’s dated a man who’s been hurt before.” She studies me. “The question is, do you want try with him and wait for him to get his shit together, or move on?”
I just looked at her, completely lost.
“That’s it.” Riya snaps my laptop closed, gentler this time. “Shower. Real clothes. We’re getting coffee.”
“I don’t want coffee.”
“Too bad. You smell fusty.” She wrinkles her nose. “When’s the last time you ate actual food?”
I try to remember. “I had... crackers?”
“When?”
