Page 45 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

I was lying in bed, lights dim, staring at nothing in particular—and suddenly, there it was.

That feeling.

It didn’t knock. It didn’t build up. It just arrived.

Heavy. Familiar.

The feeling Victor brought.

I closed my eyes, like that might shut the feelings down. Like somehow, if I couldn’t see the world, I wouldn’t feel him in it.

But it didn’t work.

If anything, it got worse.

Because now it was just me and the memory of him, looping in high definition. The way he looked at me. The way he said my name like it meant something. The way I believed him.

And the worst part? I imagined the version of us that only existed in my head.

The one where we didn’t end.

The one where we worked.

The one where we were happy.

My chest tightened.

I already knew how it ended and that it ended.

Still, I knew I was going to cry. Maybe not now. Maybe in ten minutes. Maybe in the shower. But it was coming. I could feel it sitting at the edge of my throat, waiting for the right trigger.

I exhaled slowly, like I could breathe my way out of it.

But I couldn’t.

So my hand moved before I could overthink it, reaching for my phone on the bedside table.

I loaded the App Store and searched for Grindr.

I stared at the download button for a second too long because I knew it was a bad idea.

Grindr wasn’t just an app. It was a pattern.

It was where urges came alive and organic conversations went to die. Where attraction was reduced to angles, lighting, and who could reply the fastest. Grindr was where people spoke in fragments like “Host?” “Your place?” “Got pics?” “Wanna fuck?” like full sentences required too much emotional commitment.

Grindr simply was a marketplace pretending to connect people together.

I hated it before. I hated it now.

I hated how easy it was to disappear and how easy it was to replace people there.

I hated how, for a minute, it makes you feel wanted—and then as quickly, it reminded you how disposable you are.

But Andi’s voice cut through my thoughts like she was sitting right next to me.

“You don’t need closure. You need orgasms.”

I let out a small, humorless laugh.