Page 51 of When Forever Falls Apart

By the time I reach the apartment, my lungs are on fire, desperate for oxygen as I clutch the doorframe for support. As soon as I step inside, I kick off my shoes, flinging them carelessly aside, and waste no time peeling away the damp fabric clinging to my skin. Out of habit, I lean in to smell under my armpit, only to sputter, “Gross.”

I hop into the shower, letting the water cascade over me, but even the invigorating warmth fails to soothe my restless mind. I close my eyes and reach down between my legs.

Nothing.

I feel nothing.

Maybe I’m broken.

I can’t even get myself off.How pathetic am I?

With my frustration growing by the minute, I get out of the shower and straight into my pajamas even though it’s only six in the evening. I choose my Hello Kitty pair tonight since they are my comfiest, and it’s not like I need to impress anyone aside from a potential delivery driver,which is probably some teenage boy. And that thought makes me shudder.

I plop down onto the sofa, the cushions sinking under my weight, and with a few taps, I order a pizza from Pedro’s. He makes the best Hawaiian pizza, and pineapple is a worthy topping. I will argue that fact to my grave.

As I wait for the doorbell to ring with my comfort food, I aimlessly scroll my Instagram only to realize I haven’t stalked Elliot’s account. I sit up straight, this newfound curiosity is eating away at me.

“I wonder what Nicole looks like,” I mumble to myself while searching for his name via Eva’s profile.

I see Elliot’s name and a profile picture of a plate of food. On closer inspection, it appears to be some fancy dish. Theonly thing I recognize is the garnish on top. Desperate to learn more, I scroll through the rest of his photos. There are scenic pictures of Paris and Cannes, and plenty of food. I click on the image of what appears to be a group of friends at some restaurant. I zoom in for a better view, and right there beside Elliot is a beautiful woman. His arm is around her, so I can only assume it’s Nicole. She reminds me a lot of Jennifer Aniston inFriends.

My eyes read over the caption, trying to spot if she’s been tagged so I can stalk her account. I see a handle and assume it’s hers, so I click. The account is private, marking the end of my stalking.

“Just great,” I mutter, sinking back into the sofa.

At long last, my pizza arrives, and the inviting aroma wafts through the air, filling the room with a mouthwatering scent. I remind myself to resist the temptation to devour the entire thing in one go, especially since I ordered a brownie as well.

With a heavy sigh, I start channel surfing, my eyes flitting across the screen, but nothing catches my interest. The fact that I’ve binge-watched most of these shows already is a true testament to just how single I am.

My phone chimes, interrupting my woes, so I lazily reach for it on the coffee table. Glancing at the screen, I see a message from Elliot.

Elliot

This shopping date of yours, I’m going to have to rain check. Eva asked me to come into the city tomorrow, and I’ll probably need to spend a few days there to get everything done.

I roll my eyes at his pathetic excuse.

My fingers type profusely, but then I erase the message and start again.

Me

Is that the excuse you’re going with? I get it, you hate shopping. The testosterone is crystal fucking clear.

Elliot

I don’t hate it. Sometimes it’s fun. Like when you’re lingerie shopping with a sexy woman and contemplate how quickly you can get it done inside a changing room.

Me

Aren’t you the little daredevil? Since your fantasy seems far-fetched, you might as well admit you hate it.

Elliot

You assume I hate it. Just like you assumed I was on a date tonight.

This time, I sit up and read the message over. Unknowingly, I bite my knuckle, unsure how I should respond to this piece of information. Even if he was on a date, it’s none of my business.

Me