Page 122 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“I’m just an outsider in your life—Jesus.”

He spots his pile of clothes on the chaise.

Walks toward it.

“You could have anybody. Rockstars. Celebrities. Guys who actually got somethin’ to their name.” He snatches up his pants. Gets into them. Hands still shaking as he zips up. “And now I’m just hopin’ a few nights in Cali ain’t long enough for you to either figure that shit out or fuck me out of your system for good.”

“Drew, what? Figure what shit out?”

He yanks his white tee on and leans in,

navy eyes pin me,

dark waters pulling fast,

no air at the bottom.

“That I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

His voice snaps in half,

hating that he said it.

“I can’t even pay for your fries at the bar, Sonny. I ain’t got shit. I just got this.”

He throws his hands up at his sides,

and his chest caves as he looks at me.

“That’s fuckin’ it.”

He pulls his crewneck on next.

I stand there, holding the towel tight,

fingers numb, bottles of water heavy.

And I’m shivering again,

gaze stuck and lost

while he slides into his shoes,

moves around me, grabs his things,

shoves them into his pockets⁠—

phone,

keys,

pieces of me.

He’ll barely look at me,

his eyes brushing past my face,

‘cause now I’m something