Page 78 of Deeply Examined

I perk up at the mention of my name and press the phone closer to my ear, praying no one comes downstairs right now.

“I—I should be excited, ready to go,” Jessica says, her voice breaking, “but you know what my first thought was? When they told me?”

“What?” Monica asks.

“I thought abouthim. How would I see him if I’m in New York? How would we work things out if I’m so far away?”

A flicker of warmth sparks in my chest.She still cares about me,I think with a smile.

Jessica gets louder, anger vibrating in her words. “Can you believe that, Monica? That I’d lethim—that asshole—invade my thoughts? He put a tracker in me, for God’s sake!”

Not smiling now.

The warmth vanishes, replaced by a cold, sinking weight.

Monica’s voice is soft, hesitant. “Maybe it means something? That you thought of him?”

“It means he’s brainwashed me into thinking he’s human when he’s not. He’s amonster.”

My grip on the phone tightens at her words.

Am I selfish, obsessive, possessive? Yes.

Am I irrevocably fucked-up from my past? Also, yes.

Am I a monster?

Ten months ago, I would’ve agreed with her. I’d have worn the label proudly. But not anymore. Not since meeting Jessica. Loving her. She taught me that I do have a soul, one that’s shredding itself apart at the thought of her moving to New York.

Their conversation fades into background noise. I can’t focus. My mind is already spinning, frantically crafting a plan to reclaim her love.

To make sure Jessica staysmine.

Jessica

Monica convinces me to go out for drinks. She says I only have one week of break left, and I should live it up. That the only way to get over West is to move on. Go out and flirt. Remind myself that there are other men in the world.

I have no desire to move on. No motivation to let another man into the space West left vacant, but I go along with her plan. She’s been wonderful, letting me sleep on her couch and mope. I owe her since I’ve ruined her crazy active love—or should I say lust—life. The least I can do is go out with her.

The bar downtown is dark and loud, full of bodies crammed together on a Friday night. We take our place at a table in the corner, falling easily into our pre-West routine. Within minutes, a couple of guys approach and offer to buy us drinks. We accept. They sit down and talk to us. The man I speak with is named Mike. With brown hair and light brown eyes, he seems like a nice guy. We laugh over shared trash TV shows that we like and commiserate over the state of the environment. When I ask if he likes to read and he says no, I try to ignore the jolt of disappointment, the comparison to West that springs immediately to my mind, but it’s hard.

I find that my gaze drifts over Mike’s head, searching for dark hair and piercing gray eyes. It gets so bad that at one point Mike asks if I’m expecting someone. I flush, choking on my sip of wine, and sputter my denial. The night wears on. Mike and his friend leave, only to be replaced by another pair of men and then another.

Monica goes to the bar and gets waylaid by a tall, handsome, blond man, just her type, while I’m left alone to fend off several men who approach with cheesy pick-up lines. Already tipsy and on a fast train to drunk, I decline. I have a feeling that if I let myself get wasted tonight, it’ll end up with me crying on some man’s shoulder about West and how much I miss him. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone, so when 1:00 a.m. hits and the room has a shiny, spinning haze to it, I decide to call it quits. Weaving slightly, I make my way to Monica, who’s now licking her way up the blond dude’s neck with complete disregard for the astonished stares around her.

“Monica,” I say when I reach her, followed by a louder, “Monica! Get your tongue out of his ear.”

She disengages herself from the man and swings her gaze my way. “What? Are you okay, Jess?”

“Fine. I want to go home, though. Don’t worry. I can walk by myself.”

She squints at me like she’s trying to separate out exactly who I am. Drunk Monica is just as formidable as sober Monica. I brace myself to argue, determined she won’t ruin her night because of me.

“I’ll come too. I don’t want you to go alone.” She casts a look filled with longing at the blondie, who stares at her enraptured, like she’s a goddess brought to life.

I roll my eyes, used to Monica’s effect on men. Poor bastard. She’ll sleep with him tonight and then never see him again. Even fresh off my disaster with West, I’d love to see Monica finally settle down with someone. She says that’s never going to happen. That she’s not the monogamous type. I disagree. After all, she’s been my faithful best friend for over fifteen years.

“It’s okay,” I reassure her—desperate to be gone, far away from here. “It’s only two blocks to your place. I can make it home myself.”

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