Roommates (Maxley)

Chapter 22

"Was the dick fire?" Mocha asks while sipping the rosé Brad brought to her apartment, a place he had started considering his second home when she reached out after hearing about the breakup.

"Eight out of ten, passed out twice." Brad glares as she laughs, "It wasn't funny! It was so embarrassing, he kept checking on me and then I was fucking crying because he was balls-deep in my lungs!"

"Sounds pretty good." She pulls out her notepad the moment his eyes dart away, "But...?"

"But he's not Max."

Mocha had been the listening ear Brad needed for a while now, letting him rant and rave about whatever came to mind Monday through Thursday. In exchange, he brought over the best selections of wine and the occasional charcuterie board as payment and they'd share the meal while he blabbed. Today the topic was Max, something Mocha had pointed out his avoidance of and he finally caved.

"Who the hell sends that kind of text a month and four days after a breakup?!" Brad says while showing her the message, face red from rage.

"You've been keeping track? Counting? Sounds like you still care." Mocha refills his glass as he groans, "Let it out. You know I won't say a word."

"Look, it's not like I miss him or anything, okay maybe a little- okay a lot, sharing a class and not speaking sucks but I can't just talk to him!" Brad's brows are furrowed, frustration written across his face. "No matter what I do, I think about him."

"And that's a bad thing?" She snickers into her hand when he glares at her, "I'm seriously asking. What makes that negative to you?"

"It's negative because me and him are over and we're never going to get back together because all I did was cause problems for him because I'm a prissy, bratty, terrible boyfriend!" His face flushes when she gives him that look, "You think I'm being dramatic."

"No, I think you're very in touch with your emotions and just need help expressing them." She tosses him her feelings pillow, a wheel of different emotions grouped together on it. "In a healthy way. Now tell me what you're feeling right now."

"Like saying this is stupid and throwing this at your face to smudge your eyeliner."

"You wouldn't dare."

"...I wouldn't." He drops his head onto the pillow with a soft sigh, "I feel hurt. Hurt and inferior, because I'm trying to get back at him and it's still not enough. I mean, just seeing him makes my heart feel like it's tearing apart."

"What else do you feel?" Her pen scrapes against her paper in quick strokes as he speaks. "Let it out."

And here come the waterworks, how embarrassing. He's only been letting himself cry around her, keeping a smile on for everyone else because what other choice does he have? He's gone as far as to let his cuts show, wearing short-sleeved polos often now as a way to convince himself he's accepted what he rejects every time he passes a mirror. No wonder Max left him, how could he be with someone so insecure? Mocha hands him a few tissues once he finishes his pity party and they resume their conversation.

"I miss him," A quiet confession that echoes in the room. "No matter how much I drink or fuck Tank, I miss him, I hate him but I want him and I hate it."

"Why do you hate it, Brad?" She gently rubs his back as he wipes his tears.

"Because he doesn't miss me, he doesn't want me."

"You can't be sure of that until the two of you talk" Mocha fights the urge to call him dense, reminding herself she'll have to deal with people like this in the future if she wants a successful career. "Listen, whenever you're ready, you should respond to him."