Page 14 of Exes That Puck
She can post all the happy pictures she wants, but she can’t fake the way her pulse jumped when I touched her face. Can’t pretend she didn’t kiss me back like she’d been waiting for it.
She’s lying to herself, not to me.
The drive home feels endless. Every song sounds like shit, every red light lasts forever, and my phone sits in the passenger seat like a taunt. Silent. Dark. Mocking me.
Back at the house, I try to game for a while. Load up some mindless shooter where I can blow things up and not think about anything. But even that doesn’t work. My character keeps getting picked off because I’m distracted, checking my phone between matches.
Still nothing.
I order food I don’t want, eat half of it, then give up. Try to watch TV, but everything on feels stupid. A rom-com where the guy gets the girl. A cop show where everyone’s problems get solved in an hour. Reality TV where people scream at each other over nothing.
Nothing holds my attention.
By the time Dylan gets back from his evening workout, I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling like it might have answers. My phone’s next to me, face up, waiting for her name to light up the screen.
“Still nothing?” Dylan asks from the doorway.
“Nope.”
He leans against the frame, studying me. “You gonna be okay?”
I want to say yes. Want to tell him I’m fine, that I don’t need her, that I can move on just like he suggested this morning. But the words stick in my throat.
“I don’t get it,” I say instead. “We had a moment. A real moment. And now she’s acting like it never happened.”
“Maybe that’s what she needs to do.”
“What?”
Dylan comes into the living room, sits on the edge of the couch. “Look, I know you think you guys are meant to be or whatever, but from the outside? It looks exhausting. All the breaking up and getting back together. The drama. The fights.”
“We don’t always fight,” I say.
“When’s the last time you hung out without it ending in either a fight or makeup sex?”
I open my mouth to answer, then close it. Because I can’t remember.
“Maybe she’s trying to break the cycle,” Dylan says. “Maybe ignoring you is her way of trying to move on for real this time.”
The thought sits in my chest like a weight. “She kissed me back on Saturday.”
“Doesn’t mean she wanted to.”
“Trust me, she wanted to.”
Dylan sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick. I just think maybe you should consider that she might be serious about being done this time. It’s been two weeks.”
After he leaves, I’m alone with his words and my phone and the silence that feels like it’s swallowing me whole. I pick up my phone, scroll to our conversation, and stare at that stupid meme I sent.
Read. No reply.
Like it never mattered.
Like I never mattered.
Anger flares in my chest, hot and sudden. She can play these games all she wants, but I know what I felt Saturday night. I know how she looked at me, how she responded when I touched her. She can ignore my messages and post pictures with her friends and pretend she’s moved on, but she can’t erase what happened between us.
Before I can stop myself, I’m typing.
