Page 30 of Lose You to Find Me

Psychology of domestic abuse.

I cringe, a little more grateful for my topic. When I turn my paper around to show her, she laughs at the irony. She knows about the breakup. Not the details, since she and I have never really been friends, but most people around here know about the split. How could they not when the proposal happened at the university’s graduation ceremony? There are photos and videos of the moment I rejected Caleb and walked away that circulated the first few weeks of summer.

Leaning back against the chair, I fold the paper back up and stuff it into my notebook.

Professor Wild returns to the front of the room and starts writing key due dates for the project on the board for us to copy down. “You will be working on these projects throughout the semester, so I highly suggest you begin brainstorming where you’d like to take your topics and whom you’d like to partner with, because I expect a polished draft by finals week.”

Charity leans toward me. “I don’t suppose you’d want to be each other’s partners? I can play the scorned lover who has major commitment issues, and you can be the docile doe-eyed girlfriend who’s on the run from her abusive boyfriend. I’m thinking his name will be Greg because that sounds like a douchebag name, right? We could easily ace this.”

I think about it for a second and remember what my grade was on my first assignment a few weeks back. It wasn’t great, which means I could use the extra credit.

Closing my notebook and stuffing it into my bag, I say, “As much as I’d love to trash-talk your ex”—I eye her knowingly. She must have forgotten I met her egotistical ex-boyfriend Greg a time or two—“I think I’m going to try finding someone outside class to get some extra points.”

She frowns but nods. “Okay. Who do you think you’ll ask?”

My options are limited. “I’m not sure. Maybe my mom will help me with it, but that subject might be sort of touchy considering the divorce and all.” I shrug. “I’ll figure it out. She still owes me for forgetting my birthday and ditching our normal summer plans. I’m hoping I can sucker her into doing it with a guilt trip.”

Charity grins. “Evil. I like it.”

I wink, even though I’m ninety percent positive that Mom is going to tell me no. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

As we’re packing up, I notice a notification lighting up my phone. Hope blossoms in my chest as I pick it up and type in my passcode, thinking I’ll see Caleb’s name, only to be met with a spam text from an unknown number.

Standing up after turning off my phone screen and sliding my cell into my pocket, I sway on my feet and have to grab the back of my chair for balance.

“Whoa.” Charity grabs ahold of my arm as I blink back the dizziness that accompanies the next wave of nausea that my ginger ale obviously hasn’t touched. “Do you need to go to the health clinic?”

Waving her off, I take a few deep breaths until I feel better. “No, I’m fine. Just…” I take a few more deep breaths, counting to five. “It’s nothing. Stress. Thank you though.”

As I straighten up and collect myself, I try ignoring all the heaviness building inside me. It’ll be a few days before I feel better if it’s anything like last time, but I know stress won’t help. The more I think about Caleb, the worse it’ll be to recover.

I never thought I’d feel sick over a boy again, but here I am. And now I get to psychoanalyze myself and all the reasons why I’m an idiot for acting this way when I have no right to.

Sometimes I worry that I’ll make a horrible counselor because I have enough problems figuring out the reasons I do what I do. Like breaking up with Caleb and then being depressed about it. Or feeling sick whenever I think about where I’ll be six months from now compared to him. Will he be happy with someone else while I’m still single thinking about him? Will we both be on the same path alone, trying to find ourselves? I don’t even know what I’ll feel like tomorrow, much less in that much time.

I’m lost too, he texted me.

That doesn’t make me happy to know. I wish I was the only one who felt that way. Then at least I’d know I did the right thing for his sake, if not for mine.

As long as he’s not likethis. Rooted deep with every kind of intrusive thought possible.

I grip my backpack strap tighter, knowing I’ll never break free from that train of thought if I keep focusing on it.

“I’ll see you Friday,” I tell Charity, evading her concerned expression by weaving through the other students exiting the classroom.

I skip my other classes because I don’t think I’ll feel well enough to go to themandwork later.

*

It’s twenty minutesfrom closing when I finally get a chance to sit down. Elena walks into the back and stops when she sees me clutching a cup of peppermint tea that Bea made for me when she commented on how green I looked. The teenager gives me a once-over before tossing the rag in her hand into the little hamper in the corner.

“Are you still upset over that mishap earlier? It wasn’t a big deal.” She shrugs. “The guy wasn’t even mad about it. His wife was a little pissed, but she always has sort of a resting bitch face whenever she—”

“Enough,” Bea cuts her off in a scolding tone, coming into the room with an empty tray that used to have croissants on it. She made them with orange chocolate filling and chocolate drizzle on top to look like spiderwebs since October is quickly approaching. “We don’t gossip about customers here. Even if it is true. That woman is a snake no matter how nice you are to her. Spilling a little coffee on her bag isn’t the end of the world.”

I can’t say I feel bad about it now. Not after she lectured me on how expensive the black leather bag was when I accidentally tipped her husband’s coffee onto it. He, on the other hand, told me it was no big deal. I refilled the coffee as I was berated by the woman at his side.

Bea turns toward me with her hands on her hips. “That woman is always harping on someone when it comes to her husband. I never understood what he saw in her. A pretty face, I suppose, when you look past the scowl.”

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