The One You Love
MY FOOT MOVES first.
Just a shift to the side, almost nothing. But it’s momentum.
My forehead slips off my forearms, thumps against the desk before I find my spine again. Finally, I manage to sit up. Not straight, but not broken down. Yay, I guess.
I search for my phone. Did I throw it? Did it fall? Feels like it’s been a month. What time is it?
Find the phone. Check the time.
8:41 PM.
Almost half an hour since hanging up. Should go to dinner.
It’s 8:53 when I stand.
Button by button, I take off my shirt, let it drop to the floor. I trudge to the closet, pull out a sweater. Fuck, now I have to slip it on. I drop it too, take a zipped hoodie instead. Easier. With pockets. For my phone, yes.
Shoelaces are a no-go. Slippers? Outside?
Fuck it. Let’s go.
It’s dark out. Cold too. Windy. Enough to make my arms wake up and pull the hoodie over my head. The door clicks shut behind me. I look to the side, to the corner room.
Eli’s room .
I could knock, right? Then he’d open his door, and I could just…drop. Onto him. Hope he’d hug me.
Would he hug me? He would, right?
We’re still… something . Right?
I bite my lip. Don’t knock.
Down the deck. Through grass and gravel. Out the courtyard. Cool air cuts through my nostrils. The phone in my pocket is warm, though. Feels like the only solid thing in the world, right now.
Wait, where…? Fuck, I passed the cafeteria. My eyes press shut. One sigh. I head back. Cafeteria. Dinner. It’s not that hard.
With my shoulder, I push against the door. Dinner rush has ended long ago, only a handful of staff still finishing up their meals. They don’t look at me.
There’s no wind in here, but it’s still cold. Even the lights—did they change them? No, that doesn’t make sense. Slowly, my hands crawl from my pockets to rub my eyes. It helps with nothing. I keep moving.
Grab a tray. Curry—delicious, easy. Water. An apple for after? No, can’t bother. I find a table far from everyone. Two spoonfuls straight to the mouth before my stomach decides it’s sick. Cheeks full, I munch on it.
And I sigh, eyes dropping close. It’s the most relief I felt all day.
I realize why I love this curry so much. Reminds me of Momma, some herb or spice in this thing that brings me back to her home, to that evening. To her warmth and her smile.
To when everything was still perfect.
I stop chewing, try to swallow. Why is it so hard just to swallow?
One more spoonful. My stomach is lead already, but I force it in. Because water and food are half the battle won against anxiety. It’s what Eli always says, what he’d tell me right now if he was here.
If he was anywhere.
Before I realize it, my phone’s already out of my pocket. I know there’s a million things I want to say or ask, or maybe apologize for or demand from him, whatever they may be, but… The words float. I have no sentences.
My thumbs move on their own, write the message for me. I read it with my eyes but not my brain. Send it.
Hey. You coming to dinner?
Yeah, good message. Simple. Present-focused. No hints of the neon sign flashing NEEDY over my head. It’s fine. As fine as today allows, anyway.
I watch the screen, waiting. It takes two seconds for those three dots to appear.
Then disappear. Then appear again.
The lead in my stomach spreads to my chest. He’s crafting his response, isn’t he? Carefully choosing his words, calculating the right phrasing to create distance without being cruel. Going PR on me. I’d laugh if my lungs weren’t stone.
The message finally arrives.
At Momma’s tonight. Might crash here.
Yeah.
Yeah, that seems… Seems adequate.
Gone all day. Night too.
No emotion. No warmth.
Adequate.
My chin trembles. I bite my lip. It doesn’t stop.
My eyes fill up. I nod. Yeah, I saw it coming, right?
Ok
Tell her I said ji
*gi
Fuck.
*hi
Screen off, phone in pocket. I stand up, chair screeching behind me. People stare. I bolt. Out the door, back in the cold, in the wind, in the dark. I don’t stop. Not until the dark is complete, no lights, no soul in sight. Off-path into a stand of trees. My back to one of them, ass on the ground.
And I inhale. No exhales, just in and in. Been too many years since I cried over a guy’s text, so no. Won’t allow it.
My phone pings. Then twice more. I yank it out, swipe the notifications away—three new texts from Eli. Don’t read them.
Wanna stay at his mother’s? By all means. Super appreciative for telling me not to wait up, not to come knocking at his door, begging for a kiss or some needy shit like that. I won’t. Fuck him.
Fuck him. I hate him.
I wish I hated him.
No, I don’t. It’s not his fault. None of this.
Don’t think I ever could. Hate him.
Don’t think I could ever go back to not loving him.
I tap the social media icon. Don’t even know why. At this point, probably muscle memory. Been on it at least hourly since things went to shit. No, can’t stand that photo anymore.
I scroll down. Pretend I’m normal. Just checking what’s up in the world.
Then a chuckle bursts out of me.
“Fuckface? What kind of name…?”
It’s Kellan’s latest post. With his new miniature donkey, Miss Fuckface. One that seems to wish his hug around her neck led to the sweet release of death—I see it in her eyes.
Oh my God, he’s so ridiculous.
I double-tap it. A red heart pops over Fuckface.
Nope. I tap the heart icon, remove the like from the photo. Can’t have him exploding my DMs, accusing me of missing him. Like I would.
No, I keep scrolling. Lena posted too, a mirror selfie from inside an airplane’s bathroom. Wearing a neon-green mesh top with no bra underneath, just skin-colored pasties with hand-drawn smiley faces. And jean panties—I refuse to call them shorts. This girl, my God…
They’re just…moving on with their lives. Like they should, of course. Like they need to. Like I need to. In eight weeks.
Their incredible, free-spirited lives, posting whatever the hell they want, not worrying about stupid shit like how blotchy their faces are next to their new donkey’s, or how many horrified grandmas pray for their pasties to hold.
They are their own brands, so what’s there to worry about? Their PR manual has one page: be genuine.
Like it’s simple.
At least I notice it now. They weren’t even blips in my radar before Riverlight, too far down the ranks, or too sideways in disciplines that didn’t concern me.
Regardless of how pathetic I must look right now, in the night’s darkness, hiding in the trees, phone shining too bright on my face, I should be thankful.
For having come here, for having been forced to stop and recalculate. For having met Eli, as cheesy as that sounds. Even if it goes nowhere from here.
A frown breaks on my face. Wait, is that what he’s doing? Being the bigger man, actively ghosting me so it’s easier when the time comes? Because first, fuck that, and second, fuck him for thinking I’d choose the easy way.
That’s not what I want. I want a photo finish, until the last millisecond to call us done and dead. I want to punch him awake and kiss him stupid, and not stop until my driver is hitting the gas, eight weeks from now .
I leave social media, get into the messages app. How dare he make this decision for us? I tap his name.
Then read his last texts.
I will.
Cafeteria has curry tonight. The one you love.
Try to eat, ok?
And my heart stops. Leaves my chest and goes to him.
And when it comes back, it’s so full.
I did. It was amazing
Sleep well
I will now.