Imaginary Boyfriend

Chapter 38

Sam’s POV

I remembered unlocking the door to our apartment and packing away the first belongings of mine that I could see, without a thought about where I was going to stay—just that I couldn’t stay here. I remembered thinking about the look on her face as I left her, the tears in those big brown eyes, and how it broke my heart. I remembered how angry I was at her too.

            It had been two weeks and not one of those days had gone by that I haven’t thought about her.

            After leaving with my stuff, I had gone to the first place that I could think of—Sarah’s apartment. I had knocked, and she had answered. I remembered thinking she looked different, but that I couldn’t pinpoint how.

            I remembered the way Katrina’s voice trembled as she stopped by the apartment, unaware that I was there, until I opened my big mouth.

            I had cried for an hour straight after that, and then Sarah made me a cup of hot chocolate to soothe me. I had slept on her hard couch for thirteen days, and every day I would wake up and momentarily forget the events that had passed. It would come back and I would feel the heaving weight on my chest again.

            I remembered dragging myself to work each day, teaching my class in a monotone voice, like a robot, and then dragging myself back to Sarah’s apartment again. It was a routine that I had slipped into, but that I hated.

            At night, my mind would wander to her, thinking about what she would be doing, how she was coping, how much I missed her.

            Today was the fourteenth day.

            I woke up to an aching back. Groaning, I tried to roll over and ended up tumbling to the ground.

            “Ow,” I whined.

            “I see you’re up then.”

            I looked up to see Sarah sitting on her kitchen counter with an apple in her left hand and a pen in her right. There was a notepad balanced on her knee and she scribbled something down then took a bite.

            “Yeah,” I responded, rubbing my throbbing head.

            “Has she texted you?”

            I checked my phone and nodded. She texted me every day but I could never find it in me to reply. I was too proud and still too pissed.

            She sighed. “You should really reply.”

            “No,” I said bluntly. I pushed myself up onto her couch. “This is all her fault anyway. If she wants to say something, she can say it to my face—not by text.”

            She chewed on the bottom lip. “I saw her the other day.”

            “What?”

            I sat bolt upright and stared at her in shock.

            “I was meaning to tell you…”

            “How is she?”

            “She’s… okay, I guess.” There was something off about the way she said that.

            I narrowed my eyes. “You are not telling me something.”

            “Sam…”