Page 137 of Ink Me Three Times

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But this?

This wasn’t just rejection.

This was abandonment.

Mitchell didn’t just back away. He hinted at leaving town entirely.

Running.

Again.

And I can’t stop the thought that maybe I don’t mean enough for him to stay.

I taste salt on my lips, tears clinging to me.

I don’t know how long I sit there.

Long enough for the light to shift.

Long enough for the floor to leave patterns on my skin.

At some point, Pickle scratches at the door.

A soft little whine.

And that, of all things, is what finally pulls me upright.

I crawl over, unlock it, and he barrels in, like he’s been waiting his whole life to comfort me.

He climbs into my lap, all awkward limbs and warm fur, and licks the side of my face, trying to fix everything.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, lying straight to his little dog face. “I’ll be okay.”

I pull myself up.

Wash my face.

Try to breathe through the puffiness, the ache behind my eyes.

But I still don’t look in the mirror.

I can’t bear to see what’s staring back.

I shuffle into the guest room and crawl into bed fully clothed, Pickle curled beside me as a security blanket with breath thatsmells vaguely of dirt and peanut butter. I tuck my arms around him. He’s the only solid thing I’ve got left.

And then I grab my phone.

I stare at the screen for a long time.

The brightness hurts, and my fingers hover over the messages.

Timothy: kind, steady.

Mitchell: silent, then devastating.

No new notifications.

One person left.

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