Toxic Breakup

         Jessica laughed before throwing back another whiskey shot. The bitterness sent a shiver through her body. Strobe lights lit the club in flashes of blue and red. The combination of the alcohol, the pounding music, and the lights made her dizzy. There were so many bodies packed into the small space, grinding, dancing, drinking, pressing up against each other. She saw him from across the crowd, and they locked eyes through the flashing lights. She never missed him walking into a room.

           “Are you okay?” her friend Rachel yelled, inches from her face, through the electric music. Jessica refocused her attention to her friend. She saw that one of her false eyelashes had come off half-way.

           “Fine! Going out for a cig! I’ll be right back,” Jessica shouted back. When she looked up again, she didn’t see him. She made her way toward the back door of the club. She passed the bathrooms, and then nearly stumbled down the back steps.

           The crisp, cool air was almost sobering. When the door shut behind her, the loud music muffled. She looked down both sides of the alley. He wasn’t there. She thought for sure he had come outside. She swallowed her disappointment, and pulled out a cigarette. She fumbled with her lighter. She should’ve just brought a vape.

           Another burst of music hit her as the door opened again. Even after she heard it close, she didn’t turn around.

           “What a coincidence, meeting you here,” she said, smiling despite herself.

           “I didn’t even notice you there,” he lied. She turned then, and took him in while he lit a joint. He offered it to her, but she shook her head.

He looked exactly like she’d seen him last—trimmed beard, backwards baseball cap, with his curly hair sticking out in the back. He was wearing the XL tall shirt she’d bought him for his last birthday, perfect for his hulking, ex-collegiate basketball player stature. A slight purple colored the skin under his eyes, but it somehow highlighted blue irises. He was clearly stoned.

“I miss you,” she said, almost involuntarily. It hadn’t ended well. He didn’t respond. “Did you miss me?” she pressed. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, but I can’t tell anybody,” he said. Of course he couldn’t. If he’d just been honest and open, who knows how long their relationship would’ve lasted. Despite herself, she calmed at his presence. They couldn’t stay away from each other, pulled together like magnets. And they followed the pull, even though she knew they were incompatible. He was like a drug—extreme highs with passion that struck like lightning, followed by chaotic emotional turmoil—an unbreakable cycle.

“You’re the one who ended it,” she said. In his silence, she observed the deep sadness—in the crinkle at the sides of his eyes. She knew she shouldn’t be talking to him. She fought the urge to stay there longer. She knew it was wrong. She dropped her cigarette, and she twisted the toe of her stiletto over it before walking back inside.

Her encounter with him haunted her, following her drunkenly into the taxi, to her apartment’s couch, where she stared drunkenly at the burned-out light on the ceiling before falling into an uneasy sleep. Overnight, her feelings concentrated. In the early morning, his name came to her lips, and then her drunk memory of him—the way he hunched a bit—the sadness at their parting. Then she heard her alarm, beeping incessantly.

She was already going to be late. She leapt off the couch and changed quickly into jeans, throwing her lipstick and eyeliner into her purse before running out the door. She waited tables on the weekends, but she didn’t know how long she could keep it up if she kept arriving late. She wasn’t normally a late person, but so many late nights drinking and crying had messed up her morning routine. Her phone pinged. Rachel.

Still recovering from last night. I will love you forever if you cover my shift. x

Jessica didn’t want to work a twelve-hour shift, but she also didn’t want to return to her empty apartment with her own thoughts. She typed a single “x” back, and ignored Rachel’s follow-up text of gratitude.

“You look like shit,” her boss told her, handing her a company shirt when she arrived. Jessica hadn’t noticed the smudge of makeup on her blouse, which was definitely supposed to have been put into hamper. In the restaurant bathroom, she swapped her shirt and slapped on some makeup. The deep red lipstick made her look more put-together. It used to be his favorite…

“Much better,” her boss replied, glancing up at her return, and assigning her table sections. When Jessica had to be on she lived up to the part. She smiled, made the same corny jokes on repeat to different tables of customers, kept her step brisk, and took meticulous notes when the customers ordered. Hours passed. Each tray of food caused a small wave of nausea, but she smiled throughout the day, until the breakfast, lunch, and dinner crowds all dispersed.

“You’re fine locking up?” the dishwasher asked, after everyone else had left.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she said. She hadn’t eaten all day. Her body felt like an empty shell, but she forced a smile. She wanted to wear herself into numbness, so she’d stop thinking about his face. She remembered their first breakup, and how he decided she wanted more than he could offer her. She asked him if under any circumstances it might be possible. Not in this universe.

She pulled a broom out of the kitchen to do a quick sweep, and despite trying to escape the thought of him all day, she saw him in the front of the shop, his huge silhouette looming in the restaurant’s open-window façade. He was so tall. It couldn’t be anyone else. In several strides she came to the front of the restaurant, walking much more briskly than anytime during her long shift. She unlocked the door, and ushered him in. She pulled the door back closed and locked it. Then, she turned off the lights, to prevent any nighttime strollers on the street from seeing them.

“Are you haunting me for a reason?” she asked.

“I think I’m in trouble,” he said. “I don’t know who to tell.” Siren bells went off through her head.

“What kind of trouble?”

“I just need somewhere to stay tonight,” he said, evading the question. She considered him. His tired face, calm, patient eyes bored into her.

“Of course,” she said. “I do have a lightbulb that needs changing in the living room.” She playfully added, trying to lighten the mood. She knocked his shoulder. It was so sturdy. She tried not to think about his arms enveloping her.

He didn’t bring a car, so they took hers. They stopped for burgers at a drive-thru on their way, and the atmosphere brightened.

“You look great, by the way,” he said.

“Thanks…you too,” she said, smiling. He reached for her hand and held it as she drove with her left. When she parked, they sat there for a minute. “I know I shouldn’t be seeing you, and that it’s always bad news, but I can’t help wanting it. I can never get you out of my head.”

“C’mere,” he said, leaning toward her. She hesitated for several seconds before giving in. Lightening. It was the first night in many she slept without drugging herself with melatonin, or pot, or alcohol. He pulled her against him. Every moment with him made her feel so shockingly alive.

“Please don’t leave me again,” she whispered into the darkness before they drifted to sleep. He didn’t reply with words, he just hugged her closer.

In the morning he was gone. She hadn’t expected him to stay. She started making coffee, and she frowned again at the burned-out lightbulb in her living room.

She knew where he was…where she could always find him. While sipping coffee, reliving the night in her mind, she decided to confront him. She didn’t work today because of her double-shift the day before, so she took a bit longer getting ready. She blow-dried her hair, and dusted bronzer and blush on her cheeks. She kept thinking about the way their breath stacked on each other’s before they kissed.

She drove carefully, and parked behind the only other car in the field of green. She walked to his spot, careful to stay on the path. Tears started streaming down her face before she spoke. She stopped when she reached him.

“I need you to stop. I can’t take this anymore. I never stop wanting you, but you always leave me. I can’t find anything or anyone else in this world with you haunting me. I feel like I’m living a half-life, waiting for you.”

In the silence, her mind flashed back to their last breakup, and his car accident. She remembered helping his mom choose his burial clothes. She remembered reading the autopsy, knowing that she would’ve been in his car too if they hadn’t just fought. She remembered the coffin being lowered into the ground. The familiar pit of despair ached inside of her, unbearable.

As she fell to her knees and brushed the grass lightly with her fingers, a shadow rose up behind hers on the headstone.

“Hey,” he said.