Blackout ✓

04 | sad girl hours

I WOKE UP IN PAIN.

Impressively, it was not alcohol-related pain. I gave myself a mental pat on the shoulder; the last time I had actually nursed a hangover was last Tuesday—Halston's weekly student night, when bars and clubs slashed their prices to entice broke twenty-somethings into their premises.

That Tuesday had also been during spring break, so our usual group of five, consisting of myself, Kris, Riley and the Jays, had hit the town with all the force of Asahi Azumane's spike.

Another cramp hit my stomach and I curled into the foetal position, releasing a shaky exhale as my ears picked up my ringtone. Was it the uterine wrestling match or my phone that had woken me?

My roommate grumbled, "Can you answer that?" Her eyes weren't open. Her lashes were crusted.

"On it," I muttered back, equally pissed at being rudely woken up. She flipped around to face away from me and dragged the covers over her head.

Trying my best to keep my body still, I fumbled for my phone and slid my finger across the screen without checking the caller ID. "What?" I all but groaned into the microphone.

A husky, male voice answered me, a voice I had never expected to hear again. "Hey, Viv."

My mouth dropped open. "Darn it."

"I know. I'm sorry," Eric stammered, "but I couldn't wait anymore."

I had the urge to scream. Instead, out of courtesy to my roommate, I picked myself out of bed and stepped into the hallway.

"What the fuck do you want?" If my mind had been all there—not groggy with sleep and splintered by pain—I might have pieced together a reason for receiving this unexpected call, but right now I had no clue why Eric was reaching out.

Eric was my shitty ex, a.k.a. one of the reasons I didn't date.

I'd met him through a mutual course in the second semester of sophomore year. He was philosophical and smooth-talking. He fell for me because I found a flaw in this logical dilemma he attempted to construct. I fell for him because he tried a lot, and he was moderately charming. We started dating in April and we were over the week junior year started, when everyone returned to campus.

Over the course of our five-month mistaken-ship, he'd fought to hang out with me so often that I almost didn't understand where he had the time to cheat on me. She was the one who'd let me know, we'd met up to shoot Fireball and cry together, and I still heart-eyed her Instagram pictures to this day.

"It's our anniversary."

Though laughing made my uterus cramp viciously, I choked one out at the sheer dumbassery that just befell my ears.

"Son of a bitch."

Zeroing in on the upper corner of my screen told me he was right. Last day of March. One year since one of the worst decisions I ever made. I put my phone back to my ear.

"You realise we're not dating anymore? You cheated on me. You're not going to celebrate anything with me, so why did you call?"

"Can we have this conversation on campus?" His voice was quiet, subdued. Classic guilt-trip tactic.

"No."

"Can't I just ask how you've been? We were friends before the relationship. We can be friends after, right?"

"We were friends because we shared a class. Now we don't. There's no reason I need or want you in my life," I spat, hating that he'd goaded me into explaining myself again. Tripped me into a fight. I sighed and readjusted my energy. "Just stop. Move on."