The line went dead, but I kept the phone pressed to my ear for a few seconds anyway.
The plastic was warm from my face. My thumb hovered over the red end-call button even though he was already gone.
James. The human equivalent of a golden retriever who accidentally ate your homework but looked so sorry about it you couldn't even yell.
I sat on the edge of my bed, the same bed where I'd spent the better part of my nineteenth year staring at the ceiling, and felt that familiar, heavy weight settling in. You know that feeling when you're waiting for a storm to break, but the sky just stays that ugly, bruised purple color forever? That's my life. That's James.
He apologized. Of course he did. He's "perfect," remember? He apologized so fast it felt like he was just trying to shut me up. Like my anger was a messy spill he was rushing to mop up with a paper towel.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.
I hated him for it. I hated him for being the bigger person when I wanted to be small. I wanted him to tell me to go to hell. I wanted him to say, Yeah, Elara, I met a girl who actually laughs at my jokes and doesn't treat me like a chore. If he would just say something real, something mean, I could breathe. I could leave.
But no. I was stuck with the puppy.
I looked around my room. It felt like a museum dedicated to a girl I didn't recognize anymore. There were books on the nightstand I hadn't opened in months, a dried rose from our six-month anniversary that was shedding petals like dandruff, and my laptop, glowing in the dark.
I opened it.
I shouldn't have, but I did. I went straight back to her profile. You know how it is. You find a scab and you just have to pick at it until it bleeds.
Her name was Maya. She looked... bright. In her profile picture, she was squinting at the sun, her hair a bit messy, looking like the kind of person who actually enjoys being outside. The kind of person who doesn't find the "comfort of sadness" appealing.
I scrolled through her posts. James had liked every single one. Not just a couple, all of them. Every sunset, every latte, every blurry photo of a cat.
He hadn't mentioned her once in five months.
I felt a weird spark in my chest. It wasn't exactly jealousy. It was something sharper, something more dangerous. It was hope.
Give me a reason, James, I whispered to the empty room. Just give me one real, unforgivable reason to walk away so I don't have to be the 'sensitive bitch' again.
I closed the laptop and laid back, watching the shadows of the tree outside dance on my ceiling. I felt alone, and for the first time since we started dating, it felt like the air was finally returning to my lungs.
Sadness is a funny thing. People treat it like a disease, but for me, it's the only thing that doesn't demand I be "pretty" or "interesting." It just lets me be.
And James? James was the light. And God, the light was starting to hurt my eyes.