One call is from my mom and her voicemail is asking where I am. The next two are from Trix. Her voicemail is telling me she told my mom where I am: Staying at Meg's for the night.

The texts are a different story. Six are from Trix, one from Travis, three from Meg, two from Zoë, two from my mom, one from Alex. And there it is. At the very end. I didn't realize I was waiting for it until I see it there –the banner frozen across my screen. His name.

I don't want to open it. If I don't open it, then it could be anything. It could be I love you or I'm sorry or FUCK YOU.

Then I'm looking at myself from above –as if I'm hovering above Alex's bed, attached to the ceiling of his apartment, having an outer body experience. Nothing Brooks says will affect me. Nothing he says will matter.

I'm free.

Smiling to myself and slightly proud of myself, I swipe up on my last unread test.

Please

I stare at the singular word. I hear it on his lips.

Then all of the sudden I see his face under the shadow of a bonfire. Not from last night, but the way he looked last August –the first time I saw him after nine years apart –the way his head hung back and his laugh was louder than the ocean.

I feel the way he danced with me at the carnival. My tongue tastes like him in my mouth. He told me he loved me and I let him leave. Meanwhile I'm lying naked in his best friend's bed.

Please. My eyes can't stop looking at the word.

The shower shuts off. The squeaking knob jerks me up and out of the bed. Alex's footsteps suddenly feel like thunder against my ears. I'm grabbing up my shorts and stumbling into my flip-flop –yanking my hoodie over my head. I can only think about leaving –about getting out of here unseen.

About going away.

I step onto the second-story porch outside of Alex's bedroom. It's also his front door. The morning breeze hits my lungs, cooling down my prickling skin. I stop dead when I look over the railing.

Brooks is leaning against the side of his truck, legs crossed in front of him. His fingers run through his hair.

It's like he's waiting for something –for me. But he doesn't actually expect to find me. He knows I wouldn't do it. Then he looks up.

A pang of guilt.

A single word. Please.

The way he looks at me –it's almost like he's seeing me for the first time. But it goes both ways. It's like I'm seeing him for the first time.

All I can think of are his words I met someone.

All I can see is Lexi. Lexi touching him. Lexi kissing him.

Fury rips through me.

He has zero right to care.

Zero claim on me.

I skip down the stairs –taking them two at a time.

"You're fucking KIDDING me!" He almost screams at me, stepping into my path.

I shove past him, avoiding his glare. His arm latches around my elbow, pulling me to him.

"Actually, I'm not." I want to spit into his face. GOD. He makes me insane.

Fuck him.

Fuck me.

Shit.

The full scene comes into focus: Me standing in front of Brooks, hair a mess and clothes disheveled, tears beginning to sting the corners of my eyes. I realize I have no car –no car to drive away in. Nowhere to walk to. So I beeline for the pavement that leads to the strip of town.

For a second I think he won't follow me. He can't follow me.

I'll die if he follows me.

I hear his feet on the pavement behind me, quickening to catch up to my running,

When did I start running?

"What the fuck Emmy Lou," he screams, making a grab for my arm again. Full name, ouch. "Did you do this to HURT me? To get back at me?"

"To hurt you? YOU? Fuck off," I yell sideways. I'm determined to get to town. He won't follow me around in town.

"Emmy," he says again. He won't stop. I round on him, nostrils flaring.

"Oh my god. WHAT THE FUCK! What? What is it?" I shout at him. I want to punch him.

"What?" He stops in his tracks, confused.

"What possible reason could you have right now to speak to me?" I ask. "We have nothing to say to each other."

"I have some things to say," he begins.

I scoff theatrically. His eyes are nervous. So this is nervous Brooks right now. The least exhibited of all his perfect personas.

"I don't have time to listen. Tell them to your girlfriend," I shout as I turn away again, resuming my haul-ass into town.

"Come on!"

The way he says it makes me jerk around. For a second I think he's half-smiling, but I know he can't be that fucking stupid. This isn't a time for half-smiling.

I cannot be on this roller-coaster anymore.

Please, throw me from it. The top even, I DON'T CARE!

"Come on? COME ON?" I repeat like I can't believe my own ears. "All this is a fucking joke! Highs and lows. Higher highs and lower lows!"

I'm almost hysterical now. Don't cry.

"Ems," he begins. FUCK NO.

"DON'T. This is EXACTLY like last time, Brooks. It's my own fucking fault for believing you. For fucking falling for your shit AGAIN!" I can't help the screaming. I'm a woman, through and through.

"It wouldn't be like last time if you weren't such a bitch," he says, almost defensively.

"Oh, I'm a bitch now? ME? A bitch because I won't just do what you want! A bitch because I'm not one of your brainless idiots–"

"Oh you're really mature," he cuts across me.

"Like you can talk. You NEVER grow up!" Full fledge yelling now. "I can do WHATEVER I WANT. You make shit decisions 24/7!"

"Yea, clearly." He barks, rolling his eyes. "Guess I didn't learn from them last time."

"Fuck. YOU."

He's looking at me with pity again or sadness or like he thinks I'm sad. He's standing in front of me thinking I'm SAD when the truth is I'm already forgetting his name.

"Em–"

"You have a fucking girlfriend. Why are you even here? You have NO RIGHT!" I yell at him. I don't even care how badly I'm crying. "NO RIGHT to be here. To come after me. To CARE what I do."

"But I DO CARE," he yells.

"FUCK YOU!"

I storm away. He doesn't follow me this time.

It's happening again: The thing where my brain just decides a song to play as the soundtrack to how I'm feeling. And there it is blaring through my mind. I Wanna Get Better by the Bleachers. Lyrics painfully accurate.

Suddenly I wish we didn't remember song lyrics so well. You know, like we never forget them. I could go a decade without hearing a song and then the first cords strum. The words, the emotions, they come flooding back to me. And floods drown. Fuck do they drown.

The remainder of the trip home is spent in my parents' house. I ignore everyone. I don't text Meg or Travis back. Don't answer the door when my mom says that Trix is here. Barely acknowledge my mom and dad at all. I feel like the zombie I was on Halloween. Emotions replaced by a welcomed emptiness.

Fuck Brooks.

Fuck this place.

Fuck it all.

I'm never coming home again.

Nine years was too soon. One hundred more will still be too soon.

Tragic comes to mind. Just that. We all want to be a little bit tragic. Always the villain in our own stories. That's how it goes, right? That's how the best of us get by.

Master saboteurs.