Page 2 of Boyfriend From Hell

I always liked to think I was the girl that had everything figured out—that I was lucky.

The perfect best friend, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect life.

Okay, maybe that last part was a lie, also maybe not necessarily the perfect boyfriend.

I recently got dumped. Four years down the drain because he just ‘couldn’t see a future with me’. Rough, I know.

Anyway, all of that changed on my twenty-fifth birthday.

Let’s just say falling for my hot-as-sin neighbor after a quick one-night stint wasn’t exactly what I wished for when I blew out my metaphorical birthday candles.

Okay, let’s start from the beginning—

I hummed ‘happy birthday’ quietly to myself as I opened the lid of the to-go container, beyond eager to dig into the long-awaited treat.

I peeled back the wrapper of the cupcake, not caring about the crumbs that fell onto the comforter, that would be tomorrow's problem.

The moment my lips hit the sweet buttercream icing; it was pure bliss.

I swear, a sweet treat could fix almost any problem.

I glanced behind me at the digital clock on my nightstand, seven forty-three pm.

Wow, time really flew when you were wallowing in self-pity.

I stretched an arm behind me, reaching for the curtain of the window that sat just above my dark, polyester tufted headboard.

My shoulder screamed at the angle I was forcing my arm into, but no part of me wanted to adjust my position.

I was comfy and God forbid I get myself uncomfy.

There was supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, which sounded cool in theory, but living in a bigger city—I highly doubted I’d get to see much more than a few streaks in the sky.

After the break up, I couldn’t bear the thought of running into Felix on the street or at the coffee shop we used to frequent together.

There were only so many times I could Instacart and DoorDash my weekly needs before I had to face the fact that I needed to move.

Portland seemed like my best bet––far enough from Felix, and close enough to my best friend.

Honestly, anywhere would have been good enough so long as it distanced me from any possibility of running into my ex.

Part of me wanted to hold on. Hold onto that ache, the pain, the hope that maybe if I did run into him, all of our problems would wash away and he’d take me back.

I knew deep down those thoughts and feelings weren’t healthy and were only tearing new holes through my already wounded heart.

Plus, he made it very clear how he felt about me, when he said he ‘couldn’t see a future with me’.

Yea, distance was beyond necessary.

Distance from the ghost of him, from the places we’d been, the memories that clung to every streetlight and hung on every breeze.

My move was hasty and sloppy (which was putting it lightly).

I snagged the first studio apartment I could find that was within my budget, and well—let’s just say, you really do get what you pay for.

After a moment of struggle, I finally managed to clutch the thin fabric I’d been reaching for—damn near dislocating my shoulder in the process—between my fingertips and flick it aside.

The metal rings whispered along the rod, revealing the clear night sky behind it.

At least I had a decent view—no buildings blocked my line of sight.

I crammed a chunk of the small cake in my mouth, balled up the wrapper and tossed it onto the floor beside me, then licked a glob of icing off my fingertip––when suddenly, I was assaulted by an all-too-high-pitched trill that screamed from down the hall.

That was my best friend Gracie’s ringtone, the sudden noise caused me to jump, and even worse, to drop the cupcake onto my comforter.

"Gah! Dammit!” I clenched my jaw in frustration and let out a sigh instead of screeching over the fallen treat.

This space was too small for a washer and dryer, which meant I’d have to haul it to the closest laundromat––or try to hand-wash the icing out in my tub.

(Spoiler, I’d be hand-washing it in the tub).

A groan of annoyance and frustration rushed from me as my phone continued to scream.

Can I seriously not have anything nice? The sound was like a wailing siren—Gracie had chosen her own ringtone, a perfectly irritating, unignorable tone, because heavens forbid, I missed her calls.

Who am I kidding, she’s my best friend, it’s not like I would ever actually ignore her, (but she could have chosen a less irritating ringtone).

My heartbeat rose to my ears as the ring continued to slice through the peace and quiet previously surrounding me.

The pounding muffled the screeching sound that permeated through the room a tiny bit, my anxiety spiking as if it couldn’t decide if I was being hunted for sport or just listening to a phone ring.

I unwound my legs and the moment my feet hit the floor a sudden irrational fear that something was waiting to drag me beneath the bed fired through my brain. Getting used to living solo was going to be a whole chore.

Thanks, anxiety.

The melancholy, unending ring on the other end of the line felt as though it lasted a lifetime. He didn’t even have his voicemail set up, which made it all the more mortifying because that meant my attempted call could theoretically go on for as long as I felt desperate enough to allow.

I chewed the inside of my lip, nibbling at the small bit of fatty tissue as the soundwaves engraved themselves into the folds of my brain.

Worry used to lace my veins when he didn’t answer my calls, but now a sobering, weighted blanket of sadness just wound itself around my heart. He’d never answer my calls again.

I pressed the button on the side of my phone, ending the call and not bothering to look at the log of minutes showing on the screen shortly before it went dark—an unnecessary reminder of how long I sat there waiting for him to pick up—and placed my phone face down on the table in front of me.

I stole a glance at my friend who sat across from me, her face a mix of amusement and pity – but mostly amusement, that made me self-conscious. Like I was a spectacle.

My stomach twisted and I averted my gaze from hers.

I honestly didn’t know why I even bothered to call, especially in front of Gracie.

Part of me hoped he would actually answer but another, much more rational part of me, knew it was foolish of me to even hope.

If it wasn’t for her encouragement for me to see if he’d be willing to drive up the last few boxes of my things, I probably wouldn’t have even bothered.

“No answer?” A soft voice cut through the wall of sadness that had begun to close in around me.

I lifted my eyes and met Gracie’s gaze again—this time, the blatant amusement was gone, replaced by a quiet understanding I hadn’t seen before.

There was no way she could ever understand what this felt like.

To my knowledge she’d been with the same guy since high school, I doubted she’d ever even experienced heartbreak.

And if she had, she sure as hell never said anything to me about it.

Men always seemed to pine after her – perfect, Gracie. Whereas I always felt like I had to sell myself like a prize pony, hoping to land a semi-decent man.

I silently wondered if I should send him a follow up text, but quickly decided against it. I already called him five times in the last forty-eight hours leading up to my birthday (but we don’t need to talk about that).

If Gracie and her boyfriend ever broke up, I bet he would have brought her things to her if she moved out. No. Her boyfriend—fiancé rather—damn near worshiped the ground she walked on. Hell would freeze over before either of them even considered breaking up.

I shrugged it off. “Probably busy—a meeting or something,” I mumbled and grabbed the lukewarm chai that sat in front of me beside my phone.

Gracie sighed and reached her hand out toward mine; her perfect porcelain fingers grazed my skin before she delicately laced them around my wrist. I couldn’t help but avert my eyes as the gargantuan emerald-cut rock weighing down her ring finger flashed in the soft café light.

“I don’t know why you ever put up with him to begin with. He’s an asshole—he’s always been an asshole. This break up aside, this isn’t even the first birthday of yours he’s missed. What boyfriend—what man—can’t even be bothered to pick up his phone for his woman on her birthday?”

“I’m not his woman anymore." Saying the words out loud made me feel small, tears burning at the corners of my eyes just from voicing them. Gracie scoffed. “Regardless, Deer. I don’t care if you guys just broke up—the least he could do, if he’s going to be that big of a dick and not even wish you a happy birthday, is offer to help you move.

I mean, it's not like you have a car. Work or not, what if it was an emergency, you know?” She huffed again, saying everything as if he still cared about me.

There was a break in her words, giving me a moment to blink the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes back.

She wasn’t wrong, if the tables had been turned, I would have likely still wished Felix a happy birthday or at the very least, if he had called several times, reached out to see what was up.

“Do you still have a lot of things at his place?”

I shook my head – a lie. I definitely had a lot of things still there. When I moved out, I mainly brought my essentials—things I couldn’t survive without, which ended up only being a handful of boxes. Kind of sad, really.

Everything I had left behind, I already mentally said goodbye to and assumed I’d never see again.