Reflections

It’s almost poetic when the lights of my dorm flicker and finally dim, casting my room into the inevitable hungriness of the March night. 

I can’t react. Maybe Alina, my roommate, would curse at the power outage (the third this week, what with all the spring thunderstorms). My mom would grab me a flashlight and some blankets. Ben’s ghost arms wrap around me in a comforting hug, and the light from my laptop glows faintly in the empty room. Ben isn’t here. No one is. It’s just me and my thoughts. 

I glance back at my laptop, the full-sized screenshot of a text conversation glaring me in the face. I wonder faintly what this scene would look like in a movie. I’d probably be portrayed by a girl with clear skin, someone that still had fingernails that weren’t chewed to stubs. Rather than wearing sweatpants with a hole in the seat and ‘Kate’ written on the side, she’d probably have those shorts that are just short enough to be questionable (yet attractive), with a matching top. She wouldn’t have her hair falling in her face without a care, she’d be strategically winding her fingers around those curls, lips parted ever so slightly to seem kissable, desirable, even in her state. 

But I’m not that girl. 

I whisper a curse quietly and sit on my bed staring at that screen without really looking. I already know what the words say; I’ve read them a thousand times, my ears ringing louder each time I finish the final sentence: tell Kate i say sorry. 

A loud horn makes me jump, and I turn to the window that looks out over the college campus. Another student driver who probably shouldn’t be driving, I think. I wonder what they’re thinking right now. 

It is, in my mind, a brilliant question. A million possibilities could fly into my mind- assumptions or hypotheses, and I’ll never have the full story. 

No one ever has the full story, Kate. Ben’s words echo in my head. Yeah, I’m sure you’re stressed about this, but it’s probably best to let this shit go. ‘This shit’ meaning the bone-chilling fear of being followed, of being watched, of seeing signs that only girls seem to pay attention to and not seeing them soon enough. Shadows on the street, reflections on cars, messages to friends. Nothing explicitly bad, but a subdued and muted sort of terror nonetheless. I shouldn’t kid myself; he won’t know what it’s like, and probably never will. Don’t worry about Connor. 

“Shut up,” I tell the Ben in my head. “Just, shut up.” 

I text Alina, wishing she’d check her phone. She’s been working to get this internship for years, though, so I doubt she’ll let a text get in between her and her end goal. Connor is still trying to text me. I type. Seriously considering a restraining order, this has been going on for years and I’m sick of it. I already know what she’ll say. 

A restraining order? Seriously? She’ll scratch the back of her hand, where her eczema always bothers her the worst. Kate, girl, he was your friend. I get that things have changed, but that’s a little harsh. Then she’ll probably grab her phone and complain about how she forgot to charge her computer before the power outage, and now she only has 3% battery, and how can she possibly complete her Physics lab before tomorrow morning, yaddah yaddah. She’ll move on. 

I glance at my desk, and even with the shadows of my bed coating everything in the darkest shades of blue-gray, I still see the ring. Maybe I’ve just looked at it so many times, the image has burned into my eyes. Either way, I sit staring at that ring for quite some time, allowing the soft ticking of the analog clock on my desk to be the gentle companion to the subtle ringing of the far-off city. 

I didnt mean it, tell Kate i say sorry. 

I don’t call my mom. She’s already disappointed I let the whole Ben-likes-Kate thing drag on for as long as it did, and she practically forbid me to think about him ever again. (Not that I wouldn’t like to click a few buttons and delete his entire character and all of the memories attached to him from my consciousness. It feels like every day I’m realizing that one more comment, one more hug, one more something from the past that I thought was friendly was, instead, a huge red flag.) If I called her now, she’d probably scold me for even checking the screenshot. But how could I not look? After making so many mistakes, ignoring all the signs, I’d be damned if I didn’t at least keep tags on the boy who was watching my back every moment he could. 

The lights flicker, and I jump at the shape of another person. It’s me, reflected in the mirror at the end of my bed. I’m hugging a pillow to my chest, the top of it stained with fresh tears. How could I have been so naive? When did I let my life spiral to this point, right when I was thriving in college and finding friends and living my life as I’d always hoped I could? Why didn’t I take those freedoms- the walking on the street without mace, the double-checking my followers list on Instagram, the listening to music without crying to the lyrics- and hold them tight to my chest? Why hadn’t I refused to let them slip through my fingers? Why had I felt the need to reach up and catch everything Connor threw at me, thinking I could handle it? 

“Because it wasn’t you.” The words stumble over my lips, and I blink back a tear. “He shouldn’t have been throwing shit in the first place.” I’m right, of course. I just hadn’t thought about it that way. 

See, if I stop now… Stop responding, stop talking, try to truly cut him out. It seems impossible- the lengths at which my life has been intertwined with his, the countless events that made my stomach drop like a stone in a lake, all those nights I cried because I didn’t know how I could possibly escape it. But maybe, if I try to leave him behind, focus on the little things in life, it’ll get better?

The thoughts sound redundant, but then the lights flicker and stay on. 

“Well,” I say to no one in particular, smiling at the poetic irony of it all. “It seems the texting spirits have decided my fate.” 

I close out the window on my computer, get out of bed, and grab the ring from my desk. Dump it in the trash. And without a second thought, I go to wash my face. 

This Kate won’t miss out on starring in her life from now on.