Her

            The sting of the morning sun was insufferable, so I rolled over to the opposite side of mattress, which proved to be the wrong choice. 

            A chunky, wet puddle of an undetermined substance pooled into the middle of my bed. 

            “What the hell?” I jumped, disgusted and irritated. I didn’t know if this was my doing, or someone else’s.

            “Did I have a party last night?” I mutter to myself, but my inner-monologue and I both know the answer. 

            I trudged into the bathroom down the hall of my tiny studio apartment, about a block away from campus, and I looked in the mirror. 

            I couldn’t even recognize myself anymore.

            My eyes were sunken in, and dark bags had formed. My brown hair was tussled, and messy. I was so skinny, skinnier than I remembered. I hated looking at myself. 

            I pulled off my soiled shirt and threw it into the overflowing laundry basket, along with my pants and underwear. I then stepped into the shower.

            Cold water rained onto my skin, and I closed my eyes. The shower after a long night like that was therapeutic in the only way that I think helped me. 

            Carefully, I scrubbed myself clean with body-wash. Sometimes I would just keep scrubbing and scrubbing until my skin was raw, but I never noticed I was doing it. 

            After a few minutes, I turned the knob, and wrapped myself in the first towel I saw. 

            My body dripped with water, and I left wet footprints throughout the house as I threw away red solo-cups and used napkins, beer cans and empty cardboard cases for alcohol, and random articles of clothing. 

            When I had successfully filled some garbage bags, I went back to my room to put on actual clothes.

            I scanned my bare closet for something presentable, and decided on black jeans and a maroon t-shirt. That seems like something I’d wear. While I put on my shirt, my phone began to buzz.

            Oh shit. 

            I scrambled to find my phone and of course, it was Melanie calling. 

            “Hey Mel,” I tried to smile. I could hear hers from the other end of the phone

            “Hi! I missed you so much last night, I know you must’ve been studying really hard. I just wanted to call you quickly and let you know that I’m on my way! I should probably be there around three-ish. How are you?” She inquired. Pangs of guilt rippled throughout my body. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, honestly. All she wanted from me was for me to get my shit together, and I couldn’t even manage it for a week. I didn’t even remember her coming up this weekend. 

            “Nick?” Melanie’s soft voice floated through the phone. What do I do here?

            “Yeah, sorry, I’m here. I was studying with Luke last night, and I think I’m really ready for my exam in philosophy. That sounds good to me, Mel. I’m excited to see you.” I lied. I lied and I lied and I lied. 

            What is wrong with me?

            “Okay! I’ll see you soon. Love you!” I could picture her nose crinkling in that cute way it does when she’s really, truly excited. I could see the creases of her eyes when she smiles, and her pearly teeth sparkle, and she is just Melanie, a happy girl, who is excited by Nick, a boy that is me. 

            Click. I hung the phone up and stood in my room for a long, long time.  

            In a desperate attempt to lie to the girl who gives up the world for me, I cleaned my sheets, pillows, and blankets.

            The washing machine was the music to my montage where I cleaned my apartment, making sure there was no evidence of the party I threw. It appeared spotless, and although it’s gross, I was proud of the job I did. 

             I hid all of the remaining alcohol in a cabinet in the bathroom, and lit candles to help with the smell. I wasn’t a rookie; I knew what I was doing. 

            Three approached faster than I anticipated, and sure enough, a knock promptly came at three fifteen. 

            I took a deep breath, and opened the door.

            Melanie was of short stature, and had a small button nose, and round face. She peered up at me and smiled widely.

            I embraced her tightly, and ran my hands along her back, trying to memorize every curve and fold. She was warm, and smelled like marzipan and Christmas. Mel hugged me tightly. 

            “I missed you,” she said, her words muffled by my shirt. I hugged even tighter. 

            After a minute or two passed, she let go a little bit, and kissed me. Endorphins were released and I laughed, picking her up and pressing my face against hers. 

            Together, we fell onto my couch, and she sighed, her eyes closed and mouth smirking. 

            Mel ran her hands up my chest, and began to pull my shirt off, which I didn’t oppose. I continued to melt into her, and I hadn’t even noticed how stiff she was. I opened my eyes and pulled away.      

            A patch of bruises were spread out on my chest, apparently from the night before. My heart fell into my stomach. 

            “What?” Mel croaked, tears welling up in her eyes. She looked up at me, her eyes wide, and her eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth hung open. 

            I had no words. I don’t even remember it, and I didn’t even notice when I showered this morning. I can’t picture anything from last night. 

            She stood up, her hands covering her face. I didn’t know what to do. 

            “I don’t even remember it,” I trailed off. What do I say to her right now?

            Anger morphed her face. “You don’t even remember it?”

            She shoved me backwards, and I cowered into the wall. Wet, salty tears fell from her face. I decided I couldn’t lie to her any longer. 

            “Ive been drinking again,” I looked at my feet, but I could feel her deadly stare burning through me. 

            It was silent for a while. She tried to stifle her sobs, and with every exhale, I could feel her pain, like rapid fire on my being. 

            “Goodbye Nick.” 

            These words repeated over and over in my head. They circled around my brain, a cloudy blanket hovering over me. 

            I don’t remember how long I stood there, but I do know that I failed my philosophy class that semester, and Luke stopped calling me to hang out on the weekends. 

            I remember every single night where I laid in bed, a wine cooler in one hand and my phone in the other. I remember how bad it felt when Melanie blocked my number, and I no way to contact her anymore.

            I remember the monuments I built from paragraphs, explaining where and when I went wrong, and how I could make it up to her. I could never make it up to her. 

            When I went home from Christmas break, I had experienced my breaking point.

            On an errand for my mother, I found myself in town, walking through the snowy streets where my childhood-self roamed, and I saw her there. 

            Melanie sat in Sparkomatic Café with another man at her table. He was tall, and he looked interested in whatever she was saying. It was probably something about coding that he didn’t understand, or how her crappy ex-boyfriend showed her this place when they met in high school. 

            Snowflakes melted on my rosy cheeks, and I looked at her enchanting smile. This was the same girl I had broke months before. 

            I could never make it up to her.