The Strings Attached

Chapter 7 - Loni

Loni

Running gives me a rush of adrenaline. One that takes over my entire body and I can't control myself. Reasons why I love going alone. Jace was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shit, I couldn't even enjoy the rest of my run because the guilt of going off on him like a crazy psycho is all I can think about.

With a brisk walk, I make it back to my apartment. Bethany is not in the living room. She probably finished her episode and is now curled up in her bed. Allowing the peaceful sleep to consume her.

I envy that. I'm so jealous of her right now. I am so wired that I don't think I can sit down. A part of me is tempted to run back outside and track down Jace to apologize for my outburst. Another part of me wants to stalk Eric a little bit.

Pain pulsates around my hip and the sensation clears my mind. Looking down, my once light pink tank top is stained bright crimson and ripped apart.

The best thing to do right now is to get myself cleaned up. A shower is the next best thing to clear my head.

The water burns my broken skin. But once the residual blood is rinsed off, it's honestly not that bad. I put a couple of bandaids over my cut and get dressed in an oversized t-shirt.

Laying in bed, I try and force my eyes to close. But they don't. I can barely blink. Staring up at the black ceiling, my eyes refuse to close. There is a pull on them from my phone that's laying face down on my bedside table.

On impulse, I grab it. The bright light of the lock screen nearly burns my eyes. Once adjusted, I stare at the picture. It's yellow with a white outline of a sunflower in the middle. It was the first thing Hadley found on her Pinterest when she searched for 'happy phone wallpapers'. I guess it's better than the photo I had of Eric and me.

I shouldn't be doing this. But I can't take it. Not knowing what he's doing. Is he miserable?

I open my phone.

Is he hating himself for ending things with me?

I click on Instagram and type in his name.

Is he beyond himself with guilt?

I open his profile.

Or has he completely moved on?

That last question is answered as soon as his profile opens up on my screen and the first photo I see is him with his arm around another girl's shoulders. His other arm is across her waist. And his lips... Oh, his fucking lips... They are planting a nice big kiss on her perfectly tanned cheek.

I could vomit.

It takes everything in me not to throw my phone against the wall. But I remain calm. Activating detective mode.

Who is this girl? How long have they been together? Where did they meet?

I scroll through his entire profile. Calculating the days, the hours, from our breakup to when he started posting this girl. From what I can tell, he started posting photos with her only five days after our breakup.

I should follow her, but I'm a pretty sane person and not a crazy, jealous ex-girlfriend. Okay, that's all a lie. Her account is private and I don't have the energy to create a fake account to follow her. Plus I can hear my friends voices ringing in my ears telling me not to.

Instead, I spend the next couple of hours on Eric's profile. Allowing my anger to fester. Looking at every caption, every damn comment under each picture telling them how cute they are. At this point, I'm not even mad over the fact that he broke up with me. That he crushed my heart while he was practically still balls deep inside of me. What I'm really pissed off about now is the fact that he's posted at least two photos with her a day on his Instagram since they started going out.

I used to have to beg him to post photos of us.

And don't even get me started on his Instagram story. His parents are pretty wealthy people and he basks in all the benefits. I can't even count on both of my hands how many fancy romantic dates the two of them have gone on in the span of a week and a half.

At the three-hour stalking mark, I finally feel all of this taking a toll on my body. My chest hurts. I can barely catch my breath. I don't even realize I'm crying until I roll over on my pillow and the soaked fabric touches my cheek.

I need to move on.

For my sanity, I can't do this to myself. I can't keep doing this to myself. I'm fucking done. I'm done with men. Manipulators. Users. I'm done getting my heart broken. I'm done with men who think they can screw over women and still get the benefit of having sex with them. It's my turn to bask in the benefits.