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I didn’t spend the night at Ken’s that night. Or the next night. Or the night after that. We’d spoken on the phone a few times, but our conversations had been clipped. Ken hadn’t apologized for being completely emotionally unavailable, and I hadn’t apologized for yelling at him. He’d asked if I wanted to come over, maybe meet for dinner, but I’d lied and said I needed to take care of my mom. The truth was, my mom was doing fine. She wasn’t back to one hundred percent yet, but she was getting there.
I, on the other hand, was not.
After Jason’s funeral, I’d thought Ken had made some kind of breakthrough. He’d seemed to be opening up, letting me in. He’d seemed to be trying. But, after my mom’s stroke, it felt like we were right back where we’d started.
Ken was proving that he could be there for me in every way but one. I’d thought I could fix that one flaw, but there we were, months later, and I still hadn’t even isolated the cause.
So, not only was my relationship doomed, but I was shaping up to be a pretty shitty psychologist too.
Awesome.
My days reverted to the work-study-sleep-school-study-sleep cycle they’d been on back when Ken was just Pajama Guy. My hair reverted back to the same wavy/poofy/disheveled state it had been in as well, only now it was down to my shoulders. I realized that I could pull the top half into a messy bun, so I said, Fuck it, busted out my old clippers, and shaved the bottom half completely off.
I’d promised my mom I wouldn’t shave it again if I could keep it looking sleek and straight. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep anything good for long, evidently.
On this particular night, I’d been trying to study for my Behavioral Psychology final for hours, but my brain simply wouldn’t cooperate. Over and over, my eyes would scan the symbols on the page, but they were simply admiring the shapes of the letters while my mind spiraled in a million different directions.
Is this my life now?
Should I just sell all the stuff from my old apartment and accept that I’m going to live here forever?
Should I break up with Ken?
Does he even miss me?
I’m never getting married.
I should just go ahead and freeze my eggs.
How much does it cost to freeze your eggs?
A familiar, throaty rumble reached into my head and yanked me back into the present. I realized, as my eyes darted over to my window, that night had fallen while I was busy obsessing, and my blinds were still wide open. As the distinct sound of my own personal nightmare approached, I tossed my books aside, threw the covers off my bare legs, leaped out of bed, and dived for the little plastic rod hanging from the nicotine-stained blinds.
Yanking it off completely.
I stood there, in a tank top and panties, clutching a rod that went to nothing, as Knight’s chopper pulled to a stop beneath the streetlight outside.
Shit!
I dropped the worthless pole and darted over to my nightstand, turning off my lamp and grabbing my purse off the floor. The strap got caught on the corner of Hans’s VCR, causing me to stumble into the wall next to the window. Sliding down so that Knight couldn’t see me, I dumped out the contents of my purse, looking for my phone. I wanted to shut it off so that his inevitable call would go straight to voicemail, but he was too quick. The phone lit up and vibrated against my foot.
“Ahh!” I squealed, smacking it like a cockroach.
Doodle-oodle-oodle—
I jerked my finger toward it, aiming for the End button, but it wiggled as it vibrated, causing me to hit the Talk button instead.
“Punk!” I could hear Knight’s commanding voice, both through the speaker and through the glass.
I knew if I hung up he would literally keep calling until I either gave up and answered or had the police come and escort him away.
With a shaky breath and shakier hand, I lifted the phone to my head, holding it an inch away from my face. It was like I was afraid he could bite me through the phone.
“Yeah?” I cringed.
“Come the fuck outside.”
I stared up at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on my ceiling and prayed for a sinkhole. “No, thanks.”
