“You’re an asshole.”
“I am.” Sawyer gives a slight nod. “Your brother tried to warn you, didn’t he?”
Wow.
It’s true. Eric did try.
I didn’t listen.
I flick my eyes to the ceiling, trying to make the tears recede without an obvious swipe to my face.
“I get bored and I move on.” Sawyer sighs. “So thanks. Thank you.” That comes out a little softer than the words preceding it but he might as well have punched me with the words.
Thank you? For what? Falling in love with him? The mind-blowing sex? Making him laugh? Or leaving his office quietly now that he’s dismissed me?
“Fuck you.”
Forty-Four
I don’t say anything else after that. I turn around and leave his office, grateful Sandra’s desk is still empty because the tears are falling down my face.
I walk quickly, my head down so nobody I might pass in the hallway sees my face. My feet make barely a sound on the office carpeting, a soft thump likely only audible to me. I reach the elevator bank and punch the down button, grateful I’m waiting alone, the area blessedly quiet.
An elevator arrives and I get in, hit the lobby button and slump into the corner, allowing the elevator itself to hold me up. A choked sob escapes before I sniffle it in, wiping my face off with the sleeves of my shirt. The elevator slows and I groan as it comes to a stop to allow other passengers to get on. And again two floors later. And the one after that. I cannot catch a break today.
I keep my eyes on the floor but I know everyone can hear me making that sniffle-snort noise you make when you’re sucking in tears. I wonder what they think of me, a random girl huddled in the corner of the elevator trying not to cry. Then I remember I might not be so random after all. I may have met some of these people at the party on New Year’s Eve. I’m not looking up to check. I’m humiliated enough for one day.
The elevator reaches the lobby and I put one foot in front of the other, the door out of this place my only goal at present. My shoes squeak on this floor.
Someone holds the door for me when I get there, and I say, “Thank you,” as I walk through.
Thank you. I laugh. Thank you is an appropriate response when someone holds the door. It’s not an appropriate goodbye during a breakup. What an idiot.
I use the crosswalk to cross the four lanes of traffic that circle Logan Square. It’s a circle really. A big circular pie of green space in downtown Philadelphia separated by slices of sidewalk leading to a fountain in the middle. It’s empty now, drained for winter. Patches of half-melted ice and small islands of snow dot the fountain’s surface.
I sit on the edge then swing my legs over, stepping into the fountain, because why not? How many chances do you get to walk around a dry fountain? I stuff my hands in my pockets and walk to the center, passing a stone frog the size of a small child, its mouth gaping, ready to erupt a stream of water as soon as the weather permits. I reach the fountain a few steps later, walking around it, getting an up-close view of the three statues. There’s a girl with a swan on her head. A woman with a swan on her head. And a reclining man reaching for a bow or sword behind his back. There’s a large fish on his head. I decide they make as much sense as Sawyer does and take a seat next to sword guy.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I dig in my bag for my wallet then dump all the change I can find into my hand.
I hope you get diarrhea, Sawyer, is my first wish as I hurl a dime across the empty fountain. I hope you’re plagued with a shoddy internet connection. That wish gets a quarter. I hope your next girlfriend snores. I hope you get a flat tire on the turnpike. Wait, that one is kind of dangerous. Well, fuck him. I lob a penny into the air, watching it hit the cement and roll. I hope your flight is delayed. Every flight. I hope your cell battery is low and the power goes out. I hope…
God, I suck at this.
I hope one day you realize what a huge mistake you just made and you never get over me.
I propel the remaining change in my hand across the fountain with the force of a professional pitcher. The coins fly through the air before raining down on the cement. All I hear is the white noise in my ears.
My mind spins but I feel nothing. Empty. I feel empty. I wrap my arms around my bent knees and stare at Sawyer’s building until my butt is numb and my nose is running. Then I get up and walk to the opposite side of the fountain from where I got in, walking towards 20th Street where I can grab a cab back to school.
Goodbye, Sawyer.
“So.” Chloe’s back from the showers down the hall and running a comb through her hair.
“So,” I repeat back, not looking at her. I’m busy.
“So are you going to, I don’t know, maybe take a shower today?” she prods.
“Why would I do that?”