Chapter 3

I leaned against the doorframe, watching him coldly. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

"Just say it here."

He bit his lower lip, looking fragile. "Ethan, I'm really sorry about earlier today. I honestly didn't know you’d be so upset. There's nothing going on between Chloe and me. I swear, I just wanted to save some cash and hitch a ride."

"It makes me feel so guilty that you two are fighting because of me. Please don't blame Chloe. It’s all my fault."

His eyes were rimmed with red, playing the victim to perfection.

As I stared at him, I noticed the zipper on his crossbody bag wasn't pulled all the way shut. The glossy corner of a small square box poked out.

An ultra-thin condom box.

Julian caught my glance. He looked down at his bag, his hands flying to yank the zipper shut. A flash of panic flickered across his face before he quickly settled back into his pitiful routine.

"Ethan, it’s not what you think. That's just mine. It has nothing to do with Chloe."

"You don't need to explain," I said flatly. "It has nothing to do with me."

"You really don't blame Chloe? Can't you two just make up? She actually looked pretty heartbroken."

"Chloe and I are broken up."

"She's nothing to me now," I added. "Whatever the two of you have going on isn't my business either. Knock yourselves out. You don't need to report your sex life to me."

Julian opened his mouth to say something else, but I slammed the door right in his face.

The second the latch clicked shut, I heard a faint, smug chuckle from the hallway.

I leaned back against the heavy wooden door, closing my eyes.

Chloe and I had been together for three years—from our sophomore year of college, all the way to our first year post-graduation.

She was my first love, my first hand-hold, my first kiss.

My mom had hated her from the start, telling me Chloe seemed self-absorbed and flaky.

I hadn't listened. I fought with my mom, packed my bags, and moved straight into Chloe's rented apartment.

It was a dreary, north-facing studio—freezing cold in the winter, stifling hot in the summer.

We crammed ourselves onto a tiny full-sized mattress, so tight we had to be careful whenever we rolled over. We fought for the bathroom in the morning and took turns waiting on the hot water heater at night.

I never once complained.

Later on, when I landed a decent job that paid slightly better than hers, I took over the lion’s share of the rent.

She always promised things would get better once her career took off. I told her not to rush, that we had time.

Three years of waiting. And what did I get?

I got her bringing another guy into our hotel room.

By the time I crawled into bed, it was nearly midnight.

The curtains weren't pulled all the way shut, letting a sliver of city light slice through the dark.

I stared at that beam of light, my mind replaying scenes from the past three years on an endless loop.

She was the one who pursued me for three months back in college. She’d wait outside my dorm every morning, bringing me breakfast sandwiches and hot coffee from the campus dining hall.

Back then, I really believed she was the one.

Slowly, everything changed.

She began complaining that I was too suffocating, too insecure.

She insisted hanging out with guys from campus fraternities was just "networking," dining alone with underclassmen was just "being a good mentor," liking half-naked gym pics on Ins was just "harmless social etiquette," and checking out other guys on the street was just "normal human instinct."

"You can't expect me to only have eyes for you, Ethan," she once told me.

She said I was overthinking things.

Now I knew the truth.

I wasn't overthinking. She was just constantly pushing my boundaries while I kept backing down.

And when I had backed up against the wall with nowhere left to run, she brought another man directly between us.

I rolled over and buried my face into the pillow.

The next morning, my eyes were terribly puffy.

I had to press a cold wet towel over them for a long time just to bring down the swelling.

I planned on exploring the Historic Old Town today. I was already here; there was no way I was spending three whole days rotting in a hotel room over a woman.

I put on fresh clothes and took the elevator down. On the ninth floor, it chimed and stopped.

The doors slid open. Chloe was standing right outside.

She froze for a moment when she saw me, then stepped inside.

Just the two of us in the elevator.

The silence hung heavy between us for a few long seconds.

She was wearing a loose white tee with a wide neckline. Right on the right side of her collarbone, a glaring, fresh hickey stood out.

She realized what I was looking at. Her hand instinctively flew up to tug her collar higher.

"A mosquito bite," she mumbled, keeping her eyes fixed forward.

A quiet chuckle slipped past my lips.

"You don't need to explain."

"Chloe, we're broken up. Who you sleep with, who kisses you, or how many marks you have on your neck—none of it is any of my business."