“What is it?”
I look at the video again, not fully comprehending what I’m watching.
“My boyfriend just broke into my apartment.”
42
Remy
Four Years Ago
This migraine blows.
I shouldn’t have taken that vodka shot with Andrea in the parking lot. The blue and purple strobe lights aren’t helping either. They cross and blend and flash over the cluster of dancing bodies dressed to impress in the center of Kingsbury’s gym. Every pulse of the beat is a nail hammered through my eye socket.
I’m severely second-guessing my idiotic decision to be Andrea’s date. I have better things to do than drink spiked fruit punch and watch my classmates gyrate all over each other. I could be gaming with my faceless internet friends or fishing at one of my favorite hidden beach spots right now. But no, Andrea insisted I escort her since, “We only have one senior prom, Rem.”
Scowling, I adjust the black rose she pinned to my suit lapel and slide lower in my chair. Not even two feet from me, my best friend twirls and laughs with one of her cheer buddies while her next-door neighbor watches from across the gym. I don't know what their deal is. Apparently, he asked her to be his date, but forsome unknown reason, she claimed I'd asked her first, which was a total fucking lie. I wasn’t planning to attend but went along with it regardless because, at the end of the day, she's my best friend.
My hopeless romantic self used to imagine the entire experience with Win— picking him up, slow dancing and kissing until we left to spend the rest of the night fooling around. Even after everything, my eyes betray me by constantly darting to the doors like he’ll saunter in at any moment.
Fucking pathetic, I’m aware.
It doesn’t matter how much time passes, I can’t rid myself of him. My love for Win Rhodes is a chronic illness that I’m doomed to battle for eternity.
It’s not like I haven’t attempted to move on. Ihave; I just happen to fail spectacularly at it. Comparison always destroys anything before it has a chance to begin. After kissing someone else for the first time since him, I had to up the dosage of my medication for two months. Losing my virginity was even worse. Lyla— patient and sweet as ever— didn’t ask why I started crying and fled the party after drunkenly fucking in an upstairs bedroom. I’d sobbed in my car until the alcohol wore off, then drove home to puke and cry until I passed out. Pretty sure both of us want to forget it ever happened.
I've declared a pause on my love life.
“Remy, come on! Join us!” Andrea’s stupid cheer friend gushes. She’s been checking me out every three seconds since we showed up.
Andrea shoots me a concerned glance.
I blink.
Can we fucking go now?
She frowns as if she heard my silent question. Instead of harassing me, she leans in to whisper in the other girl's ear. As the bimbo rushes off, Andrea plops into the chair beside me.
“What mission did you send her on?”I ask.
A snort. “She’s distracting the lurker.”
“Ah.”
Taking my hand, she rests her head on my shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to dance?”
“I’d rather cut off my testicles with a rusty knife.”
She laughs and it lifts the glacier of misery sitting on my chest by a fraction. We sit in comfortable silence watching our idiotic classmates act like fools. But then the upbeat rhythm peters out, segueing into something slower. Softer. Tinkling piano keys and delicate strings…
My heart lodges in my throat.
Nonononono.
Couples pair up on the dance floor and begin swaying to the all-too-familiar melody.
Not this song. Any song but this one.
