Page 69 of So Thirsty

“At the same time what?”

“I’ve been with him since I was twenty-four years old. How do you even know if you still love someone for who they are, or if you love them out of habit?”

I don’t have an answer for her.

“We’ve always been touch and go; you know that. Sometimes I’ll look at him and think he’s my soul mate, and other times I wonder if he’s the worst thing to ever happen to me. If I’d be better off if I never met him. He takes so much energy, so much air. Things get bad and we fight, and I get resentful. Then, when things are good, it’s almost like we’re regressing or something. Like we keep each other from changing because we fell in love with the versions of who we used to be, who we were when we were younger, in our twenties. It’s this weird codependent arrested development. I know it isn’t healthy. I’ve tried to change the dynamic, but…Eh, whatever. Doesn’t matter anymore, right?”

“Why haven’t you talked to me about any of this?”

“I wanted to figure it out on my own before I dragged you into it,” she says, breaking eye contact and fluffing her pillow. Lying.

“The real reason.”

“I’ve tried. But…”

“But…?”

“I worried you’d encourage me to stay.”

“Why would you think that?” I ask, realizing it’s a stupid question as soon as it crosses my lips.

“Have you spoken to him?” she asks, pausing to yawn. “To Joel?”

“Um, yeah. I did. It’s done.”

“What do you mean? What did he say? What did you say?”

“I told him I wasn’t coming home.”

“Did you give a reason?”

“He gave me one.” I exhale, shake my head. “We have a doorbell camera. He had someone over Thursday night.”

“He did what? That motherfucker. That piece of—”

I cut her off. “It’s fine. It’s over now. He’s not expecting me. Good timing, I guess.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Numb,” I say, debating whether it’s grosser to lie on top of the bedspread or underneath it. I kick my shoes off and get under. “I feel completely numb. About him. About everything. Like you said, how are we supposed to process any of this?”

She doesn’t respond. When I look over at her, I see that her eyes are closed. She’s out.

Naomi has a long battery life, but when she goes down, she goes down hard and fast. She’ll wake up in eight hours fully charged.

She was right. I should have powered through my exhaustion last night, because now I’m bored cooped up in a motel room, with only my thoughts to keep me company, and my thoughts suck.

I get my phone out. It’s dead, and I let it stay dead. Better that I don’t check my messages—generic Happy birthdays from friends and coworkers, from my family—whom I’m not particularly close to. I wonder how long it will take them to notice I’m gone. When I don’t log in to work on Monday, will anyone clock my absence? Will it make any difference at all?

It’s too soon to miss anyone, to miss any of it. I wonder if anyone will miss me. The vanilla version I’d been living as for so long, anyway—mild mannered, true neutral. I filed down all my rough edges to fit in wherever, appease whoever, and maybe I made myself entirely forgettable in the process.

I look around this seedy motel room, and I wonder if the life I have to leave behind is that much better than the one I’m stuck with now.

Then I remember that I’m a killer.

—

I doze off eventually. When I wake up, I’m thirsty.