Page 65 of The Hookup Situation

He nods and gets in his car before pulling out of the parking lot and disappearing around the corner.

When I text him that night there’s no response. Not even two hours later when I finally decide to go to bed.

There’s nothing from him the following day either, and I keep checking my phone between classes, wondering if he’s okay, because it’s not like him to not respond.

The day after that, when I still haven’t heard anything, I text him again. Nothing. Now I’m not sure if I should be more worried or upset. What the hell is going on? Is he sick? Did he get hurt? Why isn’t he talking to me?

I send another message asking him to please let me know he’s okay.

Two more days go by before I finally get an answer from him, and I’m a fucking nervous wreck. I’ve come so close to reaching out to Parker and asking if he’s seen Jackson or if he’s been over at their place, or just showing up at his apartment and pounding on the door until he answers.

Tinkerbell: I’m fine

That’s it? That’s all he gives me after a fucking week of no communication? I’m fucking losing my mind, and he’s “fine?” What the hell? I wait for more, an explanation of some kind, but it never comes. And I’m left confused and angry when I text him back, once again asking if he wants to come over, and there’s no reply, not even three days later.

I get on Grindr to try and contact him through there, but he’s disappeared from the app completely. I call him and it goes to voicemail. I call and text for three more days with no reply before I’ve finally had enough, and decide to show up on his doorstep after all. I can’t fucking think straight, not knowing what is going on and why he’s fucking ghosting me. I’m doing shitty work in class, I’m getting fuck all sleep, and I’m sick to my goddamn stomach because I was getting ready to tell him how I’m fucking in love with him, and that I want more, and he’s treating me like goddamn trash.

“Jackson!” I shout as I pound on the door. “I know you’re in there. Your car’s in the parking lot, you asshole, now answer the goddamn door!” I pound for a few more seconds, neighbors nearby poking their heads out and glaring at me. I ignore them.

“Jackson, fucking talk to me!”

The door swings open eventually and I see Colby standing there with a towel around his waist and nothing else. Well, thank god for the towel, at least.

“Where is he?” I demand.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Colby says. “I’m sorry.”

“No, he doesn’t get to end it like this. Tell him to fucking man up and tell me what’s going on.”

“He won’t say anything to either of us,” Colby says, his tone gentle. “Just goes to class and then comes home and studies or sleeps. Spends hardly any time with his friends either. It’s been that way since he got back from break.”

My anger dissipates a little. “Is he okay? God, I’m losing my mind here. He won’t answer any of my texts or calls and I don’t even know if I fucked up or something.”

Colby shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Maybe just give him a little bit more time.”

“I’ve given him two weeks,” I tell him in despair. “Please, just let me in so I can talk to him.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t man. Not if he isn’t ready.”

Shit, I must be more upset than I even realized because tears sting at the corners of my eyes now. “Please,” I beg softly.

“I’ll talk to him, okay?” he promises me. “You’re a good guy, Preston. He’s struggling, and I don’t want to push his boundaries. If you haven’t been able to get him to talk to you by the end of next week, though, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

I nod and sulk back down the stairs, tears falling freely now. My eyes are so blurry I can barely see to make my way to my car.When I reach it, I kick the fucking tire again and again, and bang my fist on the hood a couple times, before screaming.

It doesn't help as much as I hoped it would.

SEVENTEEN

JACKSON

It was two days after we got back from break that I got a call from Dad. I was already feeling shitty enough so I didn’t bother to answer it, but I only got part way through the voicemail he left before I deleted the message and set my phone aside.

“Hey, son, it’s your father. We noticed you never did show up for Thanksgiving so we assume you were with a friend. Hope you had a good time. Just wanted to let you know that your mother and I will be on a cruise over Christmas. We won it at one of those charity dinners we attended, so —” and that’s where I stopped listening, because I know how that sentence ends. Not with him inviting me to come along, but with him telling me he hopes I can find somewhere nice to spend the holiday and they’ll talk to me in the new year.

Sure they fucking will.

Between that and all the calls and messages from Preston over the past couple of weeks, I’m not doing so great. Not seeing him has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I remind myself with every text or phone call I ignore that I’m protectingmyself, and that it’s better this way. Even if it feels like someone is running my heart over a cheese grater, shredding it into a thousand different pieces.

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