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Shock was replaced by rage that boiled up from my knotted guts. Rage at Sofia for abandoning me. Rage at Dane for not caring about me the way I wanted him to. Rage at the job I was going to for making me feel pointless. It all transmuted into rage at the nameless strangers in front of me who decided they had the right to intrude on the empty space Sofia and Dane had left behind.
I grabbed the man’s camera and smashed it on the ground, bits of plastic zinging away down the sidewalk.
“You can’t just take people’s pictures, you fucking asshole! What the hell are you doing? I’m nobody!”
“You little shit, you’re gonna pay for that!” yelled the guy whose camera I smashed.
“Fuck you!” I choked out.
I took off at a dead run, heart pounding so hard in my ears it sounded like the rushing waves of the ocean. The sound reminded me of that perfect Saturday of Dane’s birthday, sitting on the beach with him and staring out at the water.
I was so shaken and distracted that I got on the wrong train and didn’t notice for four stops. One second I felt hot and sweaty, the next freezing. When I finally realized what had happened and changed trains, I was trembling with adrenaline and felt like I was gonna puke.
“Whoa, late night?” my coworker said when I got to work. “You look like shit.”
“?’M fine,” I mumbled.
All day, every loud noise made me jump. Each new customer felt like a potential threat. A group of tourists with fancy cameras trundled in and my heart started to race, thinking it was the guys from outside my apartment. A young couple took a selfie with me in the background and I put my hand up to block my face, heart racing. I felt trapped behind the counter, exposed, on display.
Was this what it was going to be like now? Would the cost of Sofia’s fame be my privacy and peace of mind? And if I felt this bad from one encounter, what would it be like for Sofia actually being the target of the attention?
On break, I sat on the floor in the corner of the storeroom where no one would find me. At lunch I couldn’t force anything into my stomach but water, and even that just made me feel ill.
By the end of the day, I was sweaty and shaky and covered in more coffee than usual due to my unsteady hands and hypervigilant startle reflex. I felt disgusting and scared and furious.
All I wanted was for Dane to hold me and tell me everything would be okay, like he had in the alley outside Quizzo. I wanted his strength and his gentle hands.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about his comments on the phone. If I asked for comfort, would he give it to me because I needed it, or because he wanted to give it to me?
More disturbingly, how would I know the difference?
But my need for comfort was stronger than my fear. After all, I knew that Dane wasn’t a phone person. I knew we worked better when we could touch each other. I knew that he had a hard time expressing his feelings in words, even when I could tell he was full of them.
Given our fail of a phone conversation the night before, I didn’t bother calling him, I just headed to his place. I went in through the bar in case he was down there, and Johi waved.
“Hey, Felix,” she said. “You look…a little rough.” But because Johi was nice as hell, it just sounded concerned and not mean.
“Yeah, bad day for latte containment, I guess. He home?”
“No, he was in for a bit earlier, then ran out again a couple hours ago.”
My stomach sank.
“Oh. Okay, thanks.”
“You want a drink?”
“Fuck, yes. Can I have a gin and tonic?”
She mixed my drink and waved away my money. I snuck a dollar from my tips onto the bar for her when she turned around and went upstairs, hoping Dane would be home soon. I downed the drink and took a shower, desperate to scrub the sweat and coffee off. The whole time my ears were pricked for Dane’s return, but he wasn’t back when I got out of the shower. Realizing I didn’t have anything clean to change into, I borrowed a T-shirt of Dane’s. I buried my face in it, hoping it might smell like him, but it just smelled like clean laundry.
I went into the living room and sat in front of my diorama. But without Dane’s podcasts playing in the background to guide my curiosity, I felt directionless. It was just bits of paper and cardboard and markers and glue. I flipped through a magazine, halfheartedly cut out a few things, doodled in my notebook, and slumped in my chair.
