The Ninety-Ninth Goodbye

ana

scending smirk. The game continued, a meaningless blur of noise and forced laughter. A fe

, her eyes once aga

dn't sit there and watch another s

rely a whisper. I stood up on shaky legs and walked awa

my face, trying to wash away the feeling of his words, of everyone's pitying stares. I told myself to be strong, that this was the end, that hi

int in subjecting myself to any more of this torture. I

exit, I heard voices coming from the adjacent den

best friend, say. "In front of everyone? 'A f

t the wall, my heart po

. It's just another one of her little dramas, her way of trying to get my attention." His voice was fill

sounding hesitant. "She seemed di

ake me beg, like always. She thinks she can control me. Well, she needs to be taught a lesson. She needs to unde

The public humiliation, the cruel wor

sked. "You're just going to k

hout me. We both know it. In a week, maybe two, when she's cried her eyes out and realizes I'm not coming back, I'll show up. I' ll say

was colder than the pool water had been, colder than

for manipulation. A predictable pattern he could exploit for his own ego an

from the door, my movements silent and ghost-like. I s

was the biting cold that seemed to emanate from my very bones. I

his beat-up truck, watching the sunset. He' d looked at me with such awe, as if I held

the kind of pain that feels like it could physically kill you. I had grown so accustomed to hi

o this toxic, one-sided obsession? When did his

t all start

ir pictures all over social media. He hated clinginess, but he let her hang off his arm like a designer handbag

e that my pain would be the catalyst for him to wake up and see what he was doing. I tho

g person. They were seen as childish, annoying, predictable. When y

home. As I approached my house, I saw the familiar mail truck pulling a

n front of him, his

hand. The return address was unmistakable: New Yor

eaped into