Page 8 of Warmer, Colder

The picture-perfect scene is disrupted by that obnoxious Nate guy who was harassing Becca at her birthday party. I’ve witnessed a few heated exchanges between them from afar overthe last few months, but the familiarity he displays as he slides into her passenger seat has my hackles raised.Did I miss a chapter along the way?

Becca jumps in surprise, pressing her back into the door behind her. Nate shakes his head. Unfortunately, I never picked up the skill of lip reading, so I’m forced to remain ignorant, but I can infer the expectation as he smirks at her and gestures to his lap.

The joy fresh from my victory is completely crushed when he tears the letter from between her hands and throws it into the back seat. “Push him away,” I hiss under my breath, but Becca only casts a look left and right. She doesn’t fight him.

My stomach is in my throat as several beats pass without movement. But without further objection, she gathers her long hair in her fist, leans across the car, and disappears from view behind the dashboard.

My Mary Janes catch on the uneven pavement, but I don’t spare another glance to see if they saw me. I can’t risk fortifying that gut-churning image of him inside her. Clambering into my car, I slam the door behind me. My keys fumble between my fingers as I attempt to start the engine.

When the ignition finally roars to life, I speed off, nearly hitting the guy who walks into the street without a second look.

“Watch where the hell you’re going, asshole.” My words are slurred by the sobs bursting out of me in choppy spurts.

“No, no, no, no,” I growl through my teeth like I can will away what I just saw.

She wouldn’t do that.She can’t want him.

Going against every lick of sense I have, I chance a look in my rearview mirror, and sure enough, I catch a glimpse of them. She’s still blowing him. Recklessly. In public. For everyone to see. After she acted like kissing me at that party was the most humiliating thing in the world?

That’s not right. That’s not how this was supposed to go.

52 Days till Death

Despite how hard I try to convince myself that I imagined that scene in the parking lot, my memory remains crystal clear. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Becca bent over in that car while he slips his undeserving cock inside her throat.

My stomach tightens with nausea, the memory so visceral that I can’t do anything but sleep. For the first time since I transferred to her school, I don’t wake up in the morning and follow Becca around campus. I don’t leave bed at all except when absolutely necessary.

How can I when my girl has given herself to someone else? What’s even the point?

51 Days till Death

Another paper crumples in my cramped hand as I scribble across the page.

She needs another letter, that’s all. That’ll fix things. That’ll make sure I’m the only thing that crosses her mind. A reminder of my love will make her forget the taste of his cock.

Easy.

We’ll be back on the right track soon.

I just need to show her.

But instead of poetry, terms of endearment, or flowery confessions of my long-fought love from afar, what I’ve created is crude, possessive, and demanding. It’s no work of art, the page filled with rudimentary hearts that are over-lined with harsh,corrective strokes that failed at perfection, and three rows of three words written nine times.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

At the very bottom, ‘You Are Mine.’ Is circled and underlined at least a dozen times.

There’s a stark difference in the writing of the repeated phrase and the claim, the latter in the much more juvenile block lettering of my adolescence, while my proclamations follow the soft, flowing penmanship I’ve developed as an adult. I drop the pen and startle to my feet.

My therapist told me this would happen if I stopped going. But she was wrong. She was wrong for so long. Working with Lady Aphrodite has healed me. She’s shown me a new path. She’s taken my hand and given me the tools I need to pursue my destiny in a way that’s safe for me and Becca.

Attachment issues. Obsessive love disorder. Fixations.

Labels I’d rejected attempt to reaffix themselves to me. I shrug them off.

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