Page 151 of Black Light: Cured

Lying on the floor, I let the cold tiles force my nausea back, long enough that I can crawl back into

the bedroom and look for my phone. The screen is a blur as I stare down at it, unable to read anything

with my hands shaking so badly.

Taking a deep breath, I place the phone on the bed and scroll through until I find his name—

Master Aiden. Another moan tears through me as I realize I’ll have to change it. He’s no longer my

anything. How, though? Didn’t last night mean anything to him? Wasn’t it enough for him to stay?

Putting it on speakerphone, I hit call and wait for him to pick up so I can scream at him and tell

him what an asshole he is, but instead it goes straight to voicemail. Completely beside myself, I yell

into the phone, letting him hear all my emotions in harsh, guttural detail.

All I want is an answer, something to explain why he did this. Was it me? Was I just too much

trouble for him? Hurling the phone over to the other side of the bed, I wrap myself in my blankets and

rock back and forth.

Even though I feel like I’ve cried everything out, more tears come forth until my head throbs and

my throat aches. I tip to my side, forcing myself to go back to sleep. Maybe this is just a bad dream,

something I can wake up from. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I squeeze as tightly as I can in a

pathetic attempt to glue my shattered heart back together.

MY HEAD THROBS AND MY EYES FEEL LIKE I’VE RUN SANDPAPER OVER THEM, BUT MORE THAN THAT, THE

aching agony of his loss still surges through me, robbing me of my breath. Despite going back to

sleep, the nightmare is all too real. The tattered bits of paper lay in a shredded heap on the sheets,

reminding me of everything from this morning.

Pulling my phone back in front of me, I look at the screen, but there’s nothing. No missed calls, no

texts, no form of acknowledgement from Aiden that I even exist.

You can’t just leave someone and pretend you were never a big part of their life.

I drop the phone back down and explore my apartment. We hadn’t reached the part where we

were officially moving in with each other, but he still had at least one drawer where he could keep

his clothes and a section in my closet where he hung up his suits.

Both spaces are bare, empty, abandoned—just like my heart. The lack of clothes creates a gaping

shadow, a nothingness that cannot be filled or replaced. Making my way into the bathroom, I look for

his little section of my medicine cabinet, but that’s empty too.

Somehow, the emptiness makes it even more real for me. The letter was bad enough, but this is an