Page 97 of All Her Broken Pieces

All my fucking emotions.

I collapse onto the shower floor, crying until the water is cool on my skin and a shiver wracks my body. Peeling myself off the tile, I shut off the water. The apartment is silent as I carefully slip out, wrap a towel around myself, and walk to the sink.

The mirror taunts me with my reflection as I reach for my cleanser to finish the half-assed job I started in the shower. But my hand freezes as a pang of sadness stabs my chest. I can’t even wash my face without thinking about him.

I hurry through my routine, giving thoroughness a big fuck you, before slipping into pajamas. According to the clock on my nightstand, it’s been two hours since I got home. His parents live an hour outside the city, and I worry that he could show up soon.

Emerging from the cocoon of my bedroom, I’m no fucking butterfly. I feel like shit, and I look it too. I grab my phone from my purse, turn it on, and set it face down until the notifications stop buzzing. My thumb swipes up to clear everything, so I don’t have to see what Ethan’s texts say.

Scrolling until I find Becka, I decide it’s time to fill her in on the shitshow that is my Thanksgiving.

Turns out Ethan and I have more in common than orgasms.

Becka

Didn’t we already establish this?

Ethan is my ex’s son. The one in high school who cheated on me.

And got someone pregnant?

Wait…

Holy shit!

Ethan is Henry’s child?

Yes, Ethan is Henry’s son.

He goes by Hank now.

I guess it makes him feel like more of an adult than being called Henry.

Idgaf what he likes being called.

WTF?!?!

How are you handling this?

Where are you?

I assume you left his parents’ house?

You assumed correctly.

Come over. I have wine. And leftovers.

I can’t.

Oh no, you don’t. If you aren’t coming here, I’m coming to you.

You’re not shutting me out. I know you.

I can’t do this, Becka.

Can’t do what?

Talk to me?

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