Not Broken

CHAPTER II

I didn't even bother going back to the IT office, I took a seat in the break room and just tried not to lose my sanity. My leg was trembling, my breathing became heavy, and the voices started to come back.

Gosh Marcus, don't take it so seriously. The subtle sarcasm.

Why do I have to do everything? The blatant lies.

I don't know how you'd survive without me. Just the outright garbage that I was foolish enough to deal with for three years.

It just kept getting worse, and I was burying my head into my arms as the voices got louder with every second. All I wanted was for the world to swallow me whole, but then I heard a voice from the entrance of the break room.

"Marcus!"

Pulling myself out of my self-imposed trance, I looked up and saw Jack standing at the door. He had two bags of Pac Patties in his hand; my comfort food. I slowly sat up straight as the aroma of a medium grilled beef patty, pepper jack, and Pac Sauce filled the break room, and he took a seat next to me. Handing me my go-to item—the Triple Smokehouse Stack—Jack was just unpacking his food, and I nearly devoured my burger in less than a minute.

"So I'm guessing someone brought it up?" Jack asked.

"Really? What gave it away?" I sarcastically asked.

"Kilgore told me what happened," Jack replied, "and she wanted to tell you that it was a slip. No one colluded with her, it was just an accident."

"Yeah, an accident is congratulating you on almost proposing to the Wicked Witch of the West," I fumed, "Sounds like an accident to me."

"It was an accident," Jack said, "and you owe everything to that woman. She covered for you so hard even though she didn't want to initially."

I shrugged and started to destroy the large order of fries that came with the meal.

Jack took a second, and then asked, "Is she still on your contacts list?"

I didn't answer the question because I knew the answer. I knew how he would react, but the speculation hit me like a bullet train. I know where this is going...

-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

"Marcus, is she still in your contacts?" Jack parroted.

Taking a deep breath, I replied, "Yes, but can you blame me?"

"I think I can, yes," Jack said shaking his head in disappointment, "you need to let go, man."

"But what if she changes, Jack?" I asked. The heat was building up in my ears as I didn't even believe what I just said, but I doubled down. "If Kilgore was just as staunch in her beliefs as everyone else and was made to see that I'm not a jerk, how—"

"What kind of reasoning is that, Hoffman?" Jack asked, sounding very disgusted.

I can't even fault the man for calling me out like that. This conflict has been going on in my mind for months now, and it never seems to end. All the stupid justifications in the world I was giving her so that she stuck around, but it was all for nothing. Yet I'm hanging onto her by the thread of a longshot chance?

"I'm sorry I had to be blunt, but are you going to continue torturing yourself like this, Marcus?" Jack asked with genuine concern.

All the coping had been done. I knew what the answer was all along, I just chose to ignore it. Now I can correct that choice. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I scrolled down the list of contacts until I found her. It was tough, but I deleted her number. I then went onto my Lumeo account—which I hadn't opened in a while—unfollowed her, and blocked her.

-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

I took a deep breath and let it out. I felt like a weight was lifted off my chest. Just as I was about to celebrate, I felt my phone vibrate. It was a message reading: Looks like someone finally decided to put on their big boy pants, huh?

I shook my head and replied, New phone, who dis?

Just as the typing bubble was still up, knowing she was tying up a storm, I blocked her number and locked my phone.

"Jeez, that girl needs to see a therapist," I said. "So what now?"

"Well, judging by how you still responded to her after unfollowing her on social media, you're clearly still interested in being with someone." Jack said. Before continuing, he thought his words over, gave a slight chuckle, and added, "have you ever thought about meeting someone through Spark?"

I almost spat out the drink of water I had taken as I replied, "You mean the dating app that every down-bad loser gets?"

"Well, aren't you 'down-bad' right now?" Jack asked, "If that's what you kids say nowadays..."

"Yes, but—"

"Then it shouldn't hurt to try; not like it bothered you to keep your ex's number for three months."

He had a point, but it felt very unorthodox and unethical.

"I'll give you fifty bucks if you do it," Jack jeered.

Man, screw ethics! My mind immediately took the teenager route and accepted the childish challenge. I opened the store app on my phone, downloaded Spark, and created my account. I set my work photo as my profile picture, wrote out my bio with the first things that came to mind, and then just used pictures of me from my days in college as a way for potential dates to see what I do.

I locked my phone, looked at Jack, and asked, "Where's my fifty bucks?"