Page 131 of The True Garza

Yet these days, I only want one.Hers. “If you like her as much as you claim, you wouldn’t be telling me to ‘go get her back.’”

“True,youhave chosen to condemn yourself based on the past.Youhave decided that that’s who you are and who you’ll always be. It’s self-flagellation. Complete bullshit,” she says, getting heated. “And, okay, so maybe it was heavily on account of your disorder. But maybe you were also just a normal new adult unable to resist all the women throwing themselves at you. I’d like to imagine you’re a little more mature now and wouldn’t deliberately hurt someone you care about.”

“Mature? Have you met me?”

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and throws another pillow at me. “Like I said, get her back or get back out there. Because this fucked-up version of you is bumming everyone out.”

My phone vibrates with an incoming text.

Trent:How’s she doing? Is she still mad?

Me:More like driving me mad. Come get her.

Trent:Not yet. Timing is everything with her. It’s killing me but I just have to hold out a bit and give her the right amount of time to forgive me.

Me:You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

Trent:Probably.

I’m navigating back to Instagram when another text comes in.

Lorenzo:You’re welcome.

Me:??

Lorenzo:*thumbs up emoji*

Me:Stop being a lunatic and tell me what you’re on about.

Lorenzo:*peach emoji* *ring emoji* *baby emoji* *fireworks emoji* *handcuff emoji* *heart emoji*

For fuck’s sake. I put my phone on “Do Not Disturb,” then go back to Brook’s profile and zoom in on London’s face again.

I miss you.

I need you.

You’re the one.

~

I’m half listeningto the blonde across from me, half watching the ball game on the flat-screen behind the bar. She’s saying words. Lots of words. But I’m good at tuning out useless chatter, only responding on cue to specific keywords and inflections.

She apparently has some work or family drama going on and is too absorbed with painting herself as the victim to notice I’ve checked out. We’d hooked up several times before London’s return. I can’t remember what it was like with her or where she rated on the scale, but when I was scrolling my unread messages and saw one from a number saved as “TalksALot,” I promptly agreed to her request for drinks.

This is my first attempt to “get back out there” so everyone can stop fucking nagging me. When dating is the last thing you want to do, there’s no better person to do it with than someone who’s chatty and self-absorbed. Women like this have zero social awareness and are blind to any and all hints, which means minimal effort is required on my end to pretend I’m on a date and enjoying it.

All while thinking about the woman I really want to be with. The woman who fills the crevices of my mind like liquid shadows, drowning out everything and everyone else and staking claim.Ownership.

To be honest, I can’t remember any of my encounters before London. It’s as if no one else existed and there’s only ever been her—

Nope, I’m lying.

There washer. The reason I can’t be with London. The guilt ofherremains, sitting on my brain like a benign tumor—harmless, but unsettling. A threat nonetheless. There as a constant nudge to remind me of who I am and what I can’t have.

“…and then I just told them to go screw themselves. Anyway, you wanna get out of here?”

Keywords: ‘Get out of here - question mark.’