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Brooke
THEN — TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE LAST DAY OF COLLEGE.
I had never really understoodthe termsilence is deafeninguntil Alex and I started packing up the apartment.Ourapartment. The one we were going to live in as we finished school, started our new careers, and officially began our lives together.
“We’re so lucky,” I had said when we started looking for places off-campus at the University of Southern California. “How many people meet their soulmate in college?”
We’d met at the start of sophomore year, and I had known from the moment I saw him that Alex was the one for me.
Since I grew up in LA, attending USC wasn’t a huge change for me. Freshman year was all work and no play, and I had vowed to myself that in year two, I would get out of my shell, stop being so shy, and have some real fun.
So, after spending the summer with my parents, I returned to campus ready to put my new resolve into action.
I had been back on campus for an hour when two frat brothers from Psi Theta Epsilon invited my best friend and dorm mate, Sabrina, and me to a party. I hadn’t met any of our other dorm mates before, and we all thought it would be a great way to get to know each other and check out the guy situation on campus.
So we went, and at around 10 o’clock that night, I saw Alex for the very first time. With his dark brown hair, green eyes, and athletic build, he had the makings of a Disney prince. The attraction, at least on my end, had been instantaneous, and from the moment we’d said hello, I’d known he was special.
But that was then, and this was now.
As I untangled the giant web of cords from all of our electronics, I peered up at him, wondering if he could feel my angry stare. Then wondering if the heat of said stare would make him break and talk first.
We’d been packing up the living room for over an hour and hadn’t said a single word to each other. Come to think of it, we hadn’t said a word to each other all day, and I would be damned if I broke the silence. After what he’d done to me—after the things he’d said—heneeded to be the one to speak first, so I could decide if I even wanted to listen.
He glanced up—maybe hecouldfeel my stare—and I darted my eyes back to the useless pile of cords, internally groaning at my cowardly reaction. I was twenty-two, not sixteen, and yet, I couldn’t let my boyfriend—myex-boyfriend—catch me looking at him.Fuck.
As I pretended to refocus on my task, he opened his mouth like he was going to say something.
Yes. Victory is mine,I silently chanted. But after a beat, he closed his mouth again and returned his focus to the books he was packing up. His refusal to speak only fueled my resolve… and my hurt.
Another thirty minutes went by, and I moved into the kitchen, the silence proving too much while in such close proximity. I had just finished wrapping up the cheap dishes we’d bought at IKEA when the silence broke with the ring of Alex’s cellphone. I jumped at the unexpected trill, and Alex did, too.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he checked the screen, looked up at me, and then turned his back, answering the call.
He spoke low, but—news flash,Alex—there’s no privacy in a studio apartment, so I could still hear him.
“Hey, M.”
Of course,I silently muttered, shaking my head. Of course,shewas calling.
“I’m fine,” he went on. “We’re almost done here.”
Of fucking course Mariah was checking on him.
She had been Alex’s best friend since seventh grade. They’d both grown up in Maryland, and when Alex got into USC, Mariah decided to follow him, despite other acceptances from two Ivy League colleges.
“USC just felt right,” she’d said when I met her at that same party and the two of them told me their backstory. At the time, I’d thought it was sweet—best friends deciding to go to the same school and carry on their friendship. Mariah had seemed really nice, and boy, had she sung Alex’s praises to me after that first party, so I figured that no matter what happened between Alex and me, the three of us could all be friends.
How wrong I had been.
“I’ll call you later,” he said, snapping my attention back to the present.
He hung up the phone. When he turned back around, his eyes met mine again, and for a second—a split second—I thought I saw a flicker of remorse. Or maybe it was guilt for taking that call while I was still here.
This time, I didn’t look away. I looked right back at him and waited, holding my breath despite my brain telling me not to get my hopes up.
One, two, three...Each second felt like an eternity, but I refused to be the one to blink first.Four, five, six—
He blinked, shifting his gaze onto the shelf with all our photos—the chronicle of our love on display for all to see. He picked up the first photo—a strip of four from a booth at a carnival-themed party we’d gone to on our second date.
