Page 58 of Look Again

18

DEXTER

Well, that went well.

Okay, so it went terribly.

So much for channeling all the positive affirmations.

On this single Saturday morning in Joey Harker’s company, I have moved through practically every human emotion. I have experienced excitement of at least seven documentable varieties, along with joy, devastation, humiliation, confidence, anticipation, relief, horror, self-doubt, regret, and a very ugly bout of victorious one-upmanship.

It didn’t have to be like this. I made all the wrong moves. I said aloud something I should have kept in my head, and then I couldn’t seem to stop. I kept going. And going. I need to win, so she has to lose. I can’t believe it compounded like that. I did that.

And it’s not even noon.

I need a nap.

It’s like I’m trying to play two (or three or four) different roles at the same time, on the same stage. I’m mixing up my lines, not to mention my motivations.

Which Dexter Kaplan will come out to play today?

Was it that scary to tell Joey that I worry about being forgotten? So frightening that I had to go a full one-eighty and make sure she will never forget the worst parts of me?

I have to apologize. I know I do.

I almost worked my way up to it walking out of the Arboretum, but Joey practically sprinted away from me, and I already experienced enough humiliation today, thank you very much, that I couldn’t make myself run after her across the quad in view of everyone on campus.

Sitting in my living room, I pull out my phone and start an apology text.

I delete it four words in. Because how will I am so sorry really change anything?

I try again. Type words. Delete. Delete. Delete.

I get up. I pace. I type more words.

I delete them all.

There’s something you have to understand about me.Nope. Delete.

No matter what I’ve done, it’s never. . . Nope. Delete.

Have you ever felt like. . . Definitely not. She can’t understand what it feels like to be forgettable. She’s the most indelible human being to ever walk the earth.

I’m an idiot. I’m a tool. I’m the worst.Delete.

You make me act like a crazy person.Nice, Dex. Blame the victim. Delete.

I like you so much and that’s no kind of excuse, but I behaved like a jerk, and I didn’t mean it, and I want to make things right. I want you and me to work. I want you and me. I want you. Help?

This is stupid. Delete, delete, delete, delete, delete.

My finger slips.

Send.

No.

NO. I look at the horrible blue-backed message staring at me in my screen. I managed to delete Help? And that’s it.