Page 33 of Missed Exit

She wanted me to believe she was so hard and no-nonsense when we met, but despite all her heartbreak, she’s still drawn to sparkle and shine.

The pen rests on top of a blue notebook, and I know that whatever she’s working on is in those pages.

She turns on the shower. She’s going to be in there longer than I thought.

I shouldn’t look inside. She’ll tell me what she’s working on when she’s ready. It’s none of my business.

The notebook is in my hand before I can talk myself out of reaching for it. Propped up on my elbow, I open the cover and flip a few pages. That’s all I intend to do, just thumb through, scan a few lines here and there for a quick glimpse into this part of her life.

But some of the pages only have a few lines, some a single paragraph . . . a stanza? Are they poems? She’s a poet?

Why wouldn’t she tell me that? Did she think I’d make fun of it? Is she ashamed for some reason?

This page is full. Several paragraphs.

And a refrain?

The light from the bathroom spills onto the bed, and my fingers fly off her notebook as if it’s burst into flames.

“What are you doing?”

“Are these . . . are you writing songs?”

“Why would you open that?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? Can I keep reading?”

“No, you can’t! You need to leave.”

“Greta, come on—”

“Get out, Law.”

Fuuuuuuuck!

18

Greta

But Why?

IthoughtIwas done crying myself to sleep, swallowing sobs so Law wouldn’t hear me through the wall, but I did it again after he left my bed last night. I hate that I did it at all, but it’s so much worse knowing he was the cause of my tears. I should still be cursing his name, so full of anger I can’t see straight, but the anger didn’t last long at all.

The feeling that remains isn’t great, though.

Daylight’s blasting in through my blinds, and I know it’s not early, but I don’t want to look at the time or check my messages or even be awake, for that matter.

I want to go back to sleep and pretend last night ended some other way. Or to just be able to magically let it go so we can get back to what I think we were becoming. I don’t really want to let it go, but it would be easier than what I’m feeling right now.

He shouldn’t have read my notebook without asking, but it’s not like it was a journal filled with all my personal thoughts and feelings. It still feels like such a betrayal, like he did something so much worse than just reading some half-assed lyrics.

Am I rationalizing or being logical? I don’t even know.

But I’m not backsliding into days like this, lying in bed, feeling stupid. I didn’t come here looking for a relationship. If there was something building between us and it imploded this early, then it wouldn’t have lasted, anyway. It’s too soon for me to jump into something new to begin with.

I came here to find my strength, to recover my independence.

I’d start with feeding myself if I thought I could eat. My car needs an oil change. Law told me not to pay anyone to do it, said he’d do it this weekend.

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