Page 72 of Cackle

Pretty soon, any second, I’ll be blown to smithereens. It’ll hurt so bad I won’t know what to do.

“I would rather have told you about it first,” he says.

“You are telling me about it,” I say. “I didn’t see it. You’re telling me. Now I know. I’m hearing it from you. There’s a picture.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I wanted to tell you about Shannon.”

Shannon.

“Okay, well, I mean, how long has this been up? Like, I’m sure there were still some people who didn’t know we weren’t together anymore. And this is how they found out probably,” I say. “I mean, it’s a little disrespectful. You’re friends with my dad on Facebook.”

“Does your dad not know we broke up?”

“That’s not your business,” I say. The explosion is budding. A heat rises within my chest.

“So no?”

“Yes, he knows. I told him I was moving and gave him my new address,” I say. “Is that a satisfactory answer? Is that sufficient?”

I don’t think I’ve ever raised my voice to him before. I don’t like the way it feels. I’m out of control. I’m burning.

“Annie,” he says. His voice is calm, and somehow that’s worse. “There are going to be pictures.”

“We broke up five minutes ago.”

“We broke up five months ago! Six, actually.”

“After almost ten years!”

“No,” he says. “It was eight years, and the last two barely counted. We were together, but we weren’t really. You know what I’m saying. It wasn’t how it used to be between us. It wasn’t the same.”

I smell the smoke. I can taste it.

“This was your decision,” I say. “And you made me leave.”

“It was our decision,” he says. “Don’t pin this on me. It wasn’t working and you know that.”

“I thought we were going to get married! You blindsided me. You just gave up!” I’m yelling now. Crying and yelling.

“Annie. Come on. That’s not true.”

“It is true. You gave up, and I was the one who had to suffer for it. Pick up my whole life and start over. And you’re just there. Doing the same thing. In our apartment. At bars with random girls.”

“Shannon isn’t some random girl,” he says. “She’s my girlfriend. We’re together.”

I look down, expecting to see my skin blistering. Fat translucent bubbles. Visual proof of the sensation I feel, of the pain. I touch my face, and there are no lesions, no gaping wounds, no sticky recessions of skin. I’m on fire. I’m on fire, but I have nothing to show for it.

“Annie?”

“Okay,” I say.

“It happened,” he says. “Sometimes things happen sooner than you expect.”

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

“What else do you want me to say?”