My phone rings and Jared's name flashes across the screen.

He hasn't called me in many, many months, and although I have no idea what he wants—although I have nothing left to give him—something in my gut tells me I should answer.

I don't want to listen to that feeling in my gut, and I almost don't, but then I look up at the time and see it is 4:44, which feels to me like a sign. So, I pick up.

"Jared?"

"What did you say to Farah?"

His voice is urgent and pained, and I realize I haven't heard him sounding like this since before the coma.

"Well hello to you too, damn."

"Chevelle, I'm serious. What the fuck did you tell her?"

I'm silent as I rack my brain trying to figure out what on earth Jared could be referring to. I haven't spoken to Farah in weeks. Since New Year's Eve when I left my parents' house early after our strange conversation in my bedroom. I wonder if it could be something I said to her then, but the only thing I told her about Jared was that we didn't sleep together since they started dating. It may have been a lie, but surely Jared should be pleased?

"Hello? Earth to Chevelle?"

"Okay, first of all, I will hang up, so don't ever call my phone and start speaking to me like that."

I wait for Jared to respond, but he doesn't, so I continue.

"What are you even talking about?" I ask.

This time, when Jared speaks, his tone of voice is more contained. As it should be.

"I'm talking about Farah breaking up with me," he says. "What did you say to her?"

For a moment, I'm too stunned to think.

I'm as shocked to hear this news as I'm sure Jared was to receive it. I certainly didn't expect Farah to break up with him after our conversation since she hadn't seemed like she would, but I'm pleased nonetheless. Not as pleased as I fantasized I would be when this moment finally came, but still. It's nice to see things come full circle. And it's somewhat satisfying to hear this news from Jared of all people. To hear the confusion in his voice and know that it is eating away at him.

He must've been so secure in the relationship. So sure that Farah would not grow sick of him before he grew sick of playing this game. It must feel terrible to be the one blindsided for a change.

"I'm glad she's finally come to her senses," I say, a smile in my voice. "But as much as it pains me to admit, I had nothing to do with this."

"Chevelle, I don't have time for your lies."

"I'm not lying."

"Don't make me come to your house," Jared warns. "Because you know I will."

"Oh, please," I say, wishing he could see the dramatic eye-roll spilling across my face. "I'm not even home."

"Yes, you are. You never go anywhere else."

"Go to my house then. See for yourself."

"If you're not there, then you're at Sasha's, and I know where she lives too, dummy."

"Okay, and? Is that supposed to scare me?"

Jared starts to say something and then stops. I hear a labored and exasperated sigh on the other end of the line.

"Christ, Chevelle, will you please just tell me why she broke up with me?" he finally asks.

I don't understand why Jared has convinced himself that I am the mastermind behind his breakup. Does he really think so little of Farah that he can't believe she would make such a decision on her own? That she would ever have the strength to say no to him?

"Why are you asking me?" I demand. "Like, seriously, what makes you think I would know? Or even care? Go ask her, bro!"

"You're always involved in these things, Chevelle. I'm not stupid."

"You sure about that?"

"I swear to God..."

"Look, maybe you just had bad vibes, Jared. Ever think about that?"

"Can you be serious, Chevelle? We both know that Farah does whatever you tell her to," Jared says.

"So you think I told her to date you then? Or that I told her to invite you home so that I could stare at your balding head all Christmas?"

Jared sighs frustratedly, and I can't help but smile. The balding comment was a low blow, and I know it will keep him up later. Although Jared isn't actually balding yet, it is one of the things he is most self-conscious about. His father began balding at the age of 27, so he knows his own turn is right around the corner.

"You know, I wasn't as bad to you as you like to pretend I was, but whatever."

A million and one things come to mind.

A million and one ways in which he has abused, berated, hurt, and degraded me, but I can't voice any of them. I don't know how to do justice to my pain. How to express it in a way that will show him its true depth. How, even without hair, I can still feel his hands on it most nights. How he was never soft with me, and my body has still not forgotten. How many 'no's I was forced to swallow.

My grief runs deep, and I know that Jared will never understand.

I have given up trying to convince him.

"You literally tried to call ICE on my family," I say, figuring that even he couldn't argue with the cruelty of such actions.

I was wrong.

"Yeah, and you fucking stabbed me," Jared says. "I think we're even."

"Wow. Fuck off. Don't ever speak to me again."

"Don't forget, Chevelle, I can still call them anytime I want."

It was always this with Jared. Talk, talk, talk, and never any action. If Jared really wanted to call them, he would have called them by now. Of that, I was sure.

Now that he wasn't with Farah, there was nothing stopping him but himself.

"If you're going to call them, call them. But before you go making threats, Jared, don't you forget; I still know where the scissors are. And I know where you live, too. Dummy."