But where was the damn detergent?
It wasn’t in the bathroom, where I normally kept it.
I checked the kitchen and my closet, and all the while the muscles in my neck and back grew tenser until they were as hard and unforgiving as stone.
I searched my bedroom, but instead of finding detergent, I found Max’s sheer black tights.
I stared at them while my control unraveled. I wanted to throw them in the trash. I wanted to return them. I wanted to keep them. I was a mess of wants, none of which mattered, because she didn’t want me.
I picked up the lamp beside my bed and threw it against the wall. I watched it shatter, and wished I had the satisfaction of seeing myself break that way. It was worse, when you couldn’t see or touch the part of you that was in pieces.
The anger only made me feel worse. It gave way to guilt too easily, and after a few days, I was left feeling even emptier than before.
Over the next week, I didn’t spend much time at home. I couldn’t. Every time I touched my door, laid something on my table, or slept in my bed, I saw her. I could still smell her on my pillow even after washing my sheets. Or maybe the memory was so ingrained that I thought I could. I saw her behind my closed eyes while I tried to sleep at night. So I avoided home as much as I could. One night with her had tainted it.
I put in more hours at the library, stayed longer after class, and volunteered to help with random stuff around the theatre department. You need someone to organize that storage room that no one has opened in years? Sure!
You need someone to build that prop? Gladly!
I made it my goal to be the best in every assignment, in every class. To be perfect. And as such I demolished my midterms. I just had to fill my mind with enough things that there wasn’t room for her. That was the plan at least, but Max was larger than life and tended to beat out the other stuff no matter how hard I tried. And when classes ended for the holiday, there was nothing left to keep my mind busy.
Near the end of the week, I came home to find Milo sitting on my couch, eating a bag of my potato chips. I hadn’t told Milo what happened because I didn’t want to relive it more than I already had.
I said, “You know . . . I gave you that spare key for emergencies, not so that you could come in here and mooch my food.”
He swallowed the graveyard of chips in his mouth and said, “Where the hell have you been all week, Winston?”
I threw my bag in a chair and shrugged off my coat. If he was going to try to get me to some bar or club or anything, I wasn’t up for it. I headed to the kitchen and said noncommittally, “Around.”
He stood but didn’t follow me into the kitchen.
“You all right?”
I opened the cabinet to get a glass, and said, “Yeah, why do you ask?”
“I saw her, Cade.”
My whole body tensed, and I nearly dropped the glass I’d gotten from the cabinet. I took a deep breath and opened the fridge to grab the pitcher of filtered water.
I let the fridge block my face as I asked, “Her?”
“Quit bullshitting me, hermano. Be real with me.”
My hand shook as I poured the water.
“What? We had sex. She left. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a deal? I will call bullshit on that so many times that the word bullshit will lose all meaning.”
I sighed. “What do you want me to say?”
I took a drink and set my glass on the counter.
He shrugged. “Well, you could start by telling me how it was.”
I saw red, and was halfway across the room before he cried, “Whoa, man! Kidding!” My ears were roaring, and Milo was standing on the futon with an arm stretched out between us. “I think I’ve proved my point about this being a big deal.”
I exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand across my face.
“You want me to say I’m miserable? Fine. I’m miserable. Are you going to make me take some more dumbass shots? Because that’s not going to cut it. Just drop it.”
Milo whistled. “It’s about time you got angry.”
“And getting angrier by the second.”
He asked, “Did you go after her?”
I took a deep inhale and exhale, but that only made me think of Max.
“No, I didn’t go after her. What’s the point?”
“The point is to call her on her bullshit like I’m doing for you.”
I shook my head. “I think her leaving was a pretty clear indication of how she feels.”
She knew I wouldn’t go after her. She knew I didn’t chase people. And she’d left anyway. That was a pretty glaring indication that it was over as far as I was concerned.
I was done with this conversation. I returned to the kitchen and took a long drink of my water.
“She was crying, Cade.”
Time stuttered.