Can't seem to get over you

I checked my phone after another depressing crash-out night at the club. My fingers froze. I almost dropped it.

I drunk-texted him again.

Aaron. My ex. That damn bastard I just can't seem to get over.

Two years. Two whole years with him, and now the memories stick to me like a shadow I just can't shake off. I hate it. I hate him. But most of all, I hate myself. Why can't I just move on?

I reached for something—anything—to help ease my frustration. My eyes landed on a bottle nearby.

I grabbed it and threw it at the wall. Glass shattered.

My head throbbed. My heart slammed against my ribs.

I didn't even look at the message I sent.

I don't want to.

I can't.

God, I'm pathetic.

I called my sister. My last resort.

"Mara, I need help. I did it again."

"You're drunk at the club again?" Her voice was tight—a mixture of frustration, annoyance, and worry.

"No—that's beside the point. I texted HIM again."

"Oh, Farah..." Mara's voice calmed. No more frustration, just pity. "Where are you? I'll come pick you up."

There was silence. Then her voice softened.

"Oh, Farah…"

No more frustration. Just pity.

"Where are you?" she asked. "I'll come get you."

The pity in her voice only made it worse. I slid forward on the table and face-planted.

I was still in the bar and felt nauseous. I got up quickly, picking up my phone and purse as I ran outside. There was a dumpster. I opened it and started vomiting. It was gut-wrenching. Just then, I got a whiff of a familiar scent, making my stomach turn even more, and I vomited again.

Then, I felt two hands gently hold my head back.

I flinched and turned around immediately. That's when I saw him. My legs gave out at the sight, my face burning red in embarrassment.

"Aaron," I stuttered, his name tumbling from my mouth in utter shock and confusion.

He reached out to catch me, but I moved back quickly, hitting the floor, crawling toward the wall in disbelief.

He stared at me in silence. Calmly. The familiar look in his eyes made my heart race.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, getting defensive. This was a humiliating situation. I wanted to disappear.

He pulled out his phone and showed me the screen. The brightness burned my eyes. I looked away, covering my face. He apologized, lowered the brightness, switched to eye-care mode, and showed me again. His calm voice made me feel queasy.

I squinted, trying to see what was on the screen. Then I saw my name. It was my message to him.

I looked away. I didn't want to see it.

"Did I tell you to come?" I asked, looking away, embarrassed.

"Why don't you look at it and see for yourself?" he said.

I avoided eye contact. "There's no need. My sister is coming to pick me up."

"Fine. Then I'll wait here until she comes."

I flinched. "Why? You don't have to. You can just leave."

He stared silently. Then walked closer and leaned against the club wall, clearly not planning to leave.

"You're always getting yourself into trouble," he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

I looked down, my face burning. I didn't know if I was embarrassed or... relieved he was here.

I wasn't sure how I felt. I couldn't believe he actually came.

I scrambled on the floor, grabbed my phone, and called my sister.

I didn't want to stay here any longer. I just wanted to go home and bury myself in my sheets—my place of comfort.

I dialed Mara's number. It rang. No response.

I called again. Three more times. Nothing.

I was starting to get worried.

But I didn't want to show it in front of Aaron.

I looked up. He was still watching me. Our eyes locked. Neither of us looked away. We couldn't.

I gulped. My heart pounded. My face flushed. My ears burned. What is he thinking?

We held eye contact. He opened his mouth to speak.

Then my phone rang—loudly—shattering the silence. Aaron winced, covering his ears. I rushed to lower the volume and checked the screen. Mara.

"Hello, Mara?" I answered.

There was a pause.

"Farah?" she said.

"Yes, it's me. Are you on your way?" I asked, hopeful.

I glanced at Aaron. He looked pained. The loud sound bothered him—I forgot. He's sensitive to noise.

A memory rushed in—when we were still together. My chest tightened. I tried to push it away. Our eyes met again. My breath caught.

"…ara… Farah?"

"Oh, Mara." I stuttered, remembering I was still on the call. I put her on speaker and turned so my hair covered the side of my face facing Aaron.

"Did you hear me? The road is closed—I can't come."

My face went pale.

I turned off speaker mode. "What?"

"There's been an accident nearby. The road to our house is blocked. You'll need to find somewhere else to stay for now."

I hung up. Turned off my phone. Rubbed my face and pushed my hand through my hair.

I gripped my phone. Frustration simmered. But I didn't lash out. I didn't have the energy.

I looked down, defeated.

I don't have any close friends.

I rifled through my purse. A dollar. Great—dinner and a beachside house.

"Did something happen?" Aaron asked.

I froze. Looked up, defeated.

It's like the universe wants me to depend on you. What a cosmic joke. I always end up like this.

But it's my fault. I shouldn't have come to this city. Shouldn't have gotten a job at your company. Should've blocked your number. Shouldn't have stayed out this late. Shouldn't have let my world revolve around you.

Anger and frustration welled up. A tear slipped down my face.

He looked surprised.

"Farah—"

"I… need your help. One last time." I looked down, fighting tears.

"For the last time."