Chapter 17

As soon as I closed the door behind Dave, I wasted no time checking the clock before getting ready. Thankfully, I was able to shower, put on makeup, dry my hair, and get dressed.

I hurry over to my mattress and make the bed, fluffing the pillows and trying to make it appear less… pathetic. When I stand, I whirl around, looking for something to tidy. I stride into the kitchen area and straighten one of the chairs slightly. There. That’s a little better. I didn’t care what Dave thought of it, but Callahan? I want it to be as warm and welcoming as possible.

I check the time on my phone and frown. He should be here by now. I type out a text message.

Are we still on for today?

Callahan

No.

Oh.

No?

Callahan

Things have run their course with us.

My depleted energy, compounded with the events of this morning, forms a hot ball in my chest. I’ve been hanging on by a thread, and his text message severed the last frayed strand. My face burns, eyes brimming with tears.

Rejection. My first true experience with it, mixed with exhaustion and a hefty dose of humiliation. I pocket my phone and inspect the space I spent extra time sprucing up. This isn’t how I pictured the day going. I pull my phone out again and reread his message.

Getting attached too quickly was my fault, but after years of numbness, he came into my life and made me feel anything but.

I didn’t have a chance in hell to keep a boundary.

Still, everyone told me this is what he does. For whatever reason, I was charmed enough to, what, hold out hope? What an idiot. I fell into the same trap as every woman who came before me. How easy it is to be replaced when relationships aren’t forced upon you.

To punish myself, I scroll to our earlier messages. The ones that gave me butterflies and excitement. Even when I know it’s unhealthy, I still want to feel the memory of his affection anyway. I want to read just one of those texts from him and feel the warmth I felt the first time I read it.

I scroll higher; the words aren’t real . Any meaning I found in them were a product of my imagination. Yet I read them again because feeling pain is still better than feeling numb. This time, they are bitter with betrayal.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I swat it away angrily. No way am I crying.

“You’re being foolish. If you want to live in the real world, this is part of it.”

I don’t have feelings for him , I convince myself. This is simply a cocktail of mental exhaustion, rejection, and a silly crush on a boy who had no intention of taking anything further. I’ve weathered shit harder than this. I started a new life; I’m not getting tripped up by asinine feelings based on a few nights of sexual freedom and fun .

He had me in the palm of his hand and decided I wasn’t worth holding onto.

Okay.