Page 100 of Inflame

Blake: Wow. Harsh, much?

Claire: Sorry

Blake: Should I get the vodka ready? I smell a breakup and it sure stinks. I just hope you didn’t go as far as bleaching your asshole for that asshole.

As much as Blake and I like to joke around, it is me going through the motions. I am pissed off. Angry. Devastated. Sad. Disappointed. I am all the things rolled up into an impulsive ball of fire. Ethan better watch himself—I am that furious.

Claire: Doing a modified cleanse so don’t worry about me. And yeah, Ethan is turning out to be a stranger.

Blake: Sorry, Claire Bear.

Claire: It’s ok. It will be ok. :(

Blake: I know I am biased, but no one will be good enough for you.

Blake’s loft is in the Pearl District, just a few blocks from the water. It is in a church that got converted and renovated into several loft apartments. For someone as eclectic as Blake is, this suits him. The artsy graffiti on the brick wall outside the building adds color, along with the trays of exotic plants outside of all the street-facing windows.

I jog up the three flights of stairs and am greeted by his newly dyed rainbow mohawk. Blake is leaning against the frame of his opened front door, waiting for me.

“I saw you pull up,” he says, opening his arms for me to walk into them. “Come tell the Beefcake all about it.”

I huff out a laugh. It is usually me who refers to him by that nickname, not the other way around. “Thanks for letting me crash. I will need to do laundry, since I don’t feel like driving to the other side of town to pick up the rest of my things from some storage unit.”

“Here,” he says, ushering me inside his place. “I made you a delicious glass of ice water since you are being all froufrou about some cleanse thingie.”

I giggle through the tears that are freely falling down my cheeks. I am tired of crying. I am also equally tired of trying not to cry. I often wonder why I resist it so much. I usually feel better after a big ugly meltdown. However, I have my doubts that a flood of tears will make me less regretful of wasting my time with Ethan Maxwell.

I just want to get everything back to my equilibrium state, and the one thing I can control easily in my life is what goes in my mouth. So, ice water it is. I take a big gulp from the glass that Blake forces into my hands.

“Cheers,” he says, clinking his with mine. He, too, is drinking a clear fluid, but I would bet it is not water.

“Where’s the roomie?”

“Probably swiping for potential fuck buddies. I swear if I see one more pink taco on accident,”—he shudders, adding air quotes around the wordaccident—“I’m going to counterattack with a full-blown sausage party. I am petty like that. And I will take pictures of his reaction and make it look like he is the host.”

I burst out laughing and flop down on the couch that is about as comfortable as a futon. The pressure of my body weight makes the springs boing with a tinny sound. The cushions are infused with the faint smell of nacho cheese-flavored Doritos, and just the thought of Henry bringing his conquests home to sit on them makes me want to vomit.

“How in the world did you even get paired with someone like that on the Roommate Finder app?”

Blake sinks farther back into the cushion and sighs. “I’ve been a victim of roommate fraud.”

“Say what? Is that a thing?”

“It most certainly is athing.”

“Please explain.”

Blake turns toward me and makes an exaggerated gesture with his hands to his heart. “Never in a million years did I ever think I would be duped this badly.”

“I’m losing you here.”

“His name is Henry.”

I look over at Blake with confusion. “Umm, is that supposed to mean something? I know what his name is. You shared that already.”

“What is the first thing you think of when you think of all the guys in the world named Henry?” he asks, rambling on with his hands flying through the air passionately over a subject so menial.

This is exactly what I need though—a distraction. I must not answer fast enough because fingers snap three times in my face, and a glare from Blake is directed at me.

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