I bet she’s with him right now. I’d bet my life on it. I’m sure she called in sick to work. She never did that for me. She’d always talk about responsibility and all the things that couldn’t wait for our messing around. Now I know the truth. She didn’t want to spend the time with me. The least she could have done was say it. She owed me that. Honesty is a thing of the past. Now we’re all Instagram perfect.

        I’m the one who should have called in sick to work today. I’m useless. Nothing is getting done. I can’t focus. It’s like I’m trying to run through syrup. These numbers aren’t working. Nobody is going to look at them anyway. If they updated the system, maybe I could get some work done.

        Maybe I just need a break.

        No! Not Facebook. She’ll be the first thing that pops up there—stupid company won’t stop showing me her face. What did I ever do to Zuckerberg? And nobody puts up a sad picture on Facebook. If I have to see his hands on her one more time, I’m going to smash this computer. My water is empty anyway. The walk to get more will be good, get me out of this rut. Refocus me.

        I bet she’s wearing the black robe. She loves that thing. I loved that thing, too. I never figured out how you tie a bow like that. It always hung perfectly, like some kind of Barbie doll accessory. Except it was always warm; she was always warm. I wonder if she remembers how I liked to pull it when she least expected it. I’d laugh and she’d slap my hand. Like a spider spinning its web, she’d retie it. I always thought she liked it, but maybe…

Ice-Machine-jake-torres.jpg Photo courtesy of Jake Torres

        There’s never enough ice in the ice machine. Even in the winter. Too many assholes thinking their coffee is too hot. It’s sludge, not Starbucks. Just wait 30 seconds for it to cool down. People always want stuff right away. They can’t wait for anything, and then I have to drink my water warm. Water only gets warmer, coffee cools. Selfish pricks. I’m going to lose it if it’s all gone.

        Ok, well there’s ice. I guess I’ve got that going for me. It’s the little things, right? Focus on the positives. Just give it time, it heals all wounds. You’re better off without her. You can focus on you now. It’s all bullshit. Nobody will just tell you the truth. It sucks and it’s going to suck a long time. Honesty—even if it cuts you to your core—is always better.

        The water tastes metallic? I’ll just dump it and get some new stuff. They’re probably going to tell me that drinking out of metal is killing me. First plastic, then BPAs. I bet metal is next. It’s almost as bad as eggs. Eggs are good for you, eggs are bad for you, egg whites are good for you, egg yolks are good for—make up your mind already!

        I bet he likes his eggs runny. He looks like the kind of disgusting person that likes half-cooked goop. Slurping it up off the spoon like Jell-O. The thought makes me want to throw up. I can’t believe she’d kiss someone who likes runny eggs. She always ate her eggs cooked, through. When she cooked…did she cook eggs? She would have said something if she liked runny eggs. Plus, if she does, good riddance.

        There we go, that’s better. Icy, nonmetallic water. Just the way it should be. This will clear my head. Let me focus on this month’s numbers. This morning I’ll blow through this stuff and be out of here early. Maybe then I can get some alone time. John’s great for letting me crash, but he’s always there. Seriously, that guy has got to get out. Go for a hike or something. Get on Tinder and find some chick to hang out with for a few hours. Might help him relax about cleaning. It’s like living in a military barracks. Whatever, I’ll get my new place in a week.

        Setting it up is going to suck.

        I should have kept the apartment. It would have been fine. I would have gotten over it. A few runs of the vacuum and her smell would have been gone. I could have finally gotten a smell I like. Like one of those wood scented candles. And I could have gotten some new furniture. Something made of leather.

        I wonder if she kept the chair. She said she wanted it. I should have fought harder for it. She probably threw it away. No way he would let her keep it in her place. That was our spot. Our snuggle puddle. He’ll know that.

        I would have sold it. The ones on craigslist are going for like $50. I probably could have gotten $75 for that one. It was in great shape. I bet John will let me borrow his truck to get a new one.

        It won’t be the same.

        Why couldn’t she have just been cool about the chair? I don’t care who owned it first; it was ours together. We could have at least sold it and split the money. She did it to spite me, I’m sure of it. After all the time we spent together…. I don’t get it. She was always so rational, so reasonable. To throw it away doesn’t make sense. Maybe she still has it. I bet she doesn’t have room for it in her new place. She hated selling stuff online. She’s probably staring at it, wishing she would have left it for me. It’s been 64 days now. That’s like two months. She’s probably too sentimental to throw it out. If I texted her and asked, I bet she’d be happy to get rid of it.

        No, a text is too easy. She’ll want to know that I really want it, and not because it was ours. It’ll be perfect in my new place. Breaking in a new chair would be like breaking in a new shoe. It’d be better just to stick with the one that fits.

        I’ll just finish this next chunk of work and then I’ll give her a call.

        No, I bet she’s with him right now.

Cover photo courtesy of Bastien Rossi
Instagram: @bastienrossi