Page 61 of To Her

I pulled my knees to my chest and watched the horizon, trying to make sense of the chaos in my head. Why was I likethis? Why did I sabotage every good thing that came into my life? Why couldn't I just be normal, just once?

The questions had no answers, or at least none that I was willing to face. So instead, I sat and watched the sun sink into the ocean, feeling smaller and more alone with each passing minute.

My phone buzzed in my pocket—probably James checking on me again. I ignored it. I couldn't handle his concern right now, his well-meaning but pointed questions. I couldn't handle anyone caring about me when I was so determined to prove I wasn't worth caring about.

As darkness fell, I finally stood and brushed the sand from my jeans. The drive back to Riverside was long and quiet, the roads emptier now, the night pressing in around my car like a physical presence.

Derek was home when I returned, watching something on his laptop in the living room. He glanced up when I came in, offering a brief nod before returning to his screen. I appreciated his lack of interest in my comings and goings. It was exactly the kind of roommate relationship I needed right now—distant, undemanding, uncomplicated.

"There's pizza in the kitchen if you want some," he said without looking up.

"Thanks," I replied, though food was the last thing on my mind.

I retreated to my room, closing the door firmly behind me. The space felt even emptier now, even less like home. I hadn't bothered to decorate, to put up pictures or posters or anything that might make it feel like mine. What was the point? It was just a place to sleep, a place to hide.

I finally checked my phone, expecting a message from James. Instead, I found a text from an unknown number:

Hey, it's Alex. Got a new phone. Just checking in. How's life treating you?

The timing was so perfect it was almost laughable. Of course Alex would reach out now, when I was at my lowest, when I was most vulnerable to making bad decisions just to feel something other than this emptiness.

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. It would be so easy to fall back into old patterns, to use Alex as a distraction, a bandage over the wound Con had left. So easy, and so predictable.

Life's shit right now, actually, I typed, then deleted it. I'm fine, I wrote instead, then deleted that too.

In the end, I put the phone down without responding. It was a small victory, but it felt important somehow. A tiny step toward not being the person who always took the easy way out.

I lay on my bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep seemed impossible, but I didn't have the energy to do anything else. So I just existed, suspended in the limbo between wakefulness and rest, my mind cycling through the day's events like a broken record.

Con's face when he'd said goodbye. Not angry, not hurt, just... resigned. Like he'd finally accepted what I'd known all along—that I wasn't worth the effort. That I was too damaged, too difficult, too much and not enough all at once.

The worst part was, I couldn't even blame him. If our positions were reversed, I would have given up on me long ago.

I must have driftedoff eventually, because I woke to sunlight streaming through the window I'd forgotten to close. My clothes were twisted uncomfortably around me, and my mouth tasted like something had died in it.

For a blissful moment, I didn't remember. And then it all came crashing back—the café, Con's words, the beach, Alex's text. The reality of my life, the consequences of my choices.

I reached for my phone, squinting at the screen. It was just past nine. I had a shift at the restaurant at noon. Three hours to pull myself together enough to function in public.

There were two new messages—one from James asking if I was okay, and another from Alex asking if I'd gotten his text. I ignored both, dropping the phone onto the bed beside me.

I forced myself to get up, to shower, to brush my teeth. Basic human functions that suddenly seemed like monumental tasks. The hot water helped a little, washing away the grit of the beach and the stiffness from sleeping in my clothes. But it couldn't touch the heaviness in my chest, the sense of loss that seemed to have taken up permanent residence there.

As I dressed for work, I caught sight of myself in the mirror—pale, hollow-eyed, the ghost of the person I'd been just a few weeks ago. When had I gotten so thin? When had these shadows appeared under my eyes? When had I started looking so... defeated?

The drive to work was a blur, my body on autopilot while my mind continued its endless loop of self-recrimination. I arrived at the restaurant with ten minutes to spare, plastering on a fake smile as I pushed through the door.

"You look like shit," James said by way of greeting, his eyes scanning my face with concern.

"Thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear."

He ignored my sarcasm. "I take it the talk with Con is affecting you more then you thought?”

I busied myself with tying my apron, avoiding his gaze. “I already told you. He's done with me. Can't say I blame him."

James sighed, leaning against the counter. "What happened, exactly?"

"He told me to get my shit together. Said he was tired of watching me self-destruct." I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and not even within cooee. "Standard breakup stuff."

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