Page 10 of All The Ways to Miss You

I smirk at the visual.

Cait

Aggie would be thrilled to know her St. Pat’s costume made an impression. But no, ATM, I’m *trying* to sleep on her uncomfortable couch because she has running water.

Evan

It’s hard to forget a leprechaun vomiting outside my window. And you should’ve taken me up on my offer. My shower is your shower. Then you could have slept⁠—

The text cuts off, but my mind has already filled in the blanks. The bouncing circles return, and he finishes his thought.

Evan

On my super comfortable couch. :)

What a smartass.

I type a response but don’t press Send. My heart races as I stare at my words hovering there. I would prefer your bed. My words are brazen. Too brazen. I swipe my tongue over my dry lips.

For a reason I can’t explain, tonight I’m fearless. Aggie’s ceiling stars make me believe I can be confident without consequence. They trick me into believing I’m carefree like Aggie. They rationalize that I can flirt with a guy, have fun with a guy. And right now, I’m wanting Evan to be that magical guy.

I know what he’s seeing on the other side—the bouncing gray circles. I could continue to flirt, but my neurotic apprehension whispers that no one could ever want me. It nitpicks at any uplifting thought, especially the sneaky ones that slip through its barrier.

Immediately, the wide net of hope I cast reels back, abandoning any positive encouragement. There’s not much struggle. It happens as easily as blinking or breathing. Before I can fight, I delete my text.

The cell feels too hot in my hands. I need to get rid of it. My blanket falls away when I sit up and toss the cell across the room. It slices through the air, landing in the serape-covered chair beside a glittery mermaid pillow.

Now responding would take real effort, like defying the unyielding darkness of my mind or forgoing the comfort of my lumpy sofa. I snuggle under the covers, tugging them tighter around my neck, and squeeze my eyes shut.

As soon as I settle and find a comfortable position, the cell buzzes. From across the room it’s muffled, but my ears tune in to the vibrating case hopping across the cushion. I tighten into a ball.

When it buzzes a reminder two minutes later, I inhale deeply and open one eye. The cell’s face lights, illuminating the ceiling. Evan’s texted again.

Mentally, I curse him, wanting to know what he said, but if I read his message, I’ll text back. So I stay where I am. I won’t engage.

Becoming involved with anyone isn’t an option. Becoming involved with someone who lives in my building would be catastrophic. I’m terrible with awkward confrontations, and imagining facing Evan in the wake of imminent disaster causes me to shiver with anxiety. I tighten my grip on my quilt and tug it over my face until my breath warms my dark cocoon.

My anxiety often blurs any chance of logical thinking. Or maybe it’s overthinking? In this case, it discourages me from relationships or possible one-night stands. I nervously tap my foot on the arm of the sofa and come to a conclusion.

I still have too much to resolve before I can invite anyone into my unsettled life.

With the decision made, I want to sleep, but I lie awake for hours. I peek out from beneath my covers and count the stars on the ceiling again. There are 233 this time. I count them until I’m certain of the number—definitely 236.

In the morning, I buy Aggie breakfast to thank her for allowing me to crash at her place. With a backpack of overnight clothes, I head home. Today, my apartment door’s locked. Thank goodness. I allow myself inside and slip on the chain lock. As soon as it clanks into place, I lean my back on the door.

Finally. I’m alone.

I head for the shower, eager to wash away the stench of Cheetos and feet. Mercifully, it works. Beneath the pelting heat of the water, I find myself crouched on the tub’s floor, inhaling steam.

I’m two sides of a coin. On one side, I’m a shiny mask of professionalism, searching for perfection and success in the after. This is what the outside world sees.

The other side of the coin is dull and corroded. Behind closed doors, I’m searching for my past memories, unsure about every move I make. And worse? I’m insecure and lonely beyond reason.

What if I can never get myself together? What if I never remember before? What if I’m not good enough at my job? What if no one ever loves me? What if I’m this lonely forever?

That last question breaks me.

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