Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,33

This can’t be happening. But it fucking is happening, isn’t it?

I open up Tanner’s previous messages and type a new one out.

Me: I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but I wish you and Aspen weren’t screwing around behind my back. Is this because I’m dating someone? You could at least be honest with me. This is a real asshole move.

I have no reason to think Tanner is jealous enough to do something like sleep with my friend. He hasn’t mentioned anything about us or what was once an “us.” I just don’t like the sneaking around thing. They could have just told me. I’m a big girl.

After a few minutes, I see the little blinking dots showing an incoming message. Can’t wait to hear what he has to say about this.

Tanner: Whoa. Quite the accusation, Liss.

Me: Don’t turn this around on me. You could have just told me.

Tanner: If there were something to tell, I’d tell you.

Me: I’m all ears!

I watch and wait for his response. My heart is in my throat and I can’t decide whether to scream or cry. Maybe both. It’s not that I want to be with Tanner. It’s more of a respect thing: you don’t screw your ex’s friend. It’s common knowledge. If he’s trying to get back at me for breaking up with him, then he deserves the asshole title.

The three little dots flicker below my last message. They flicker and flicker, then disappear. Then they reappear. Flicker, flicker, flicker. Gone again. Yeah, go ahead and try to backpedal on this one, buddy. I throw my phone against the couch, feeling the burn behind each of my eyes.

What am I doing? Am I looking for someone else to blame? A bandage to conceal the wound? Because that’s never worked before. All it does is hide the truth.

I can’t do this. It’s too much.

I change my clothes and leave before Aspen has a chance to come back and make up stories about who she was with last night. I want to know, but at the same time, I’m not sure I can handle it. No. I’m pretty sure I can’t. She just told me she was taking a guy break…so what is this?

The second I step outside, I realize I left my car at the bar last night. Fantastic. I’m also realizing I probably have ten parking tickets on my windshield too.

The sun hurts my eyes, maybe as a result of the beer last night. Sunglasses are in the car. And so are my cigarettes.

I didn’t see the Starbucks the other day when I was looking for somewhere to hide. Beautiful. So beautiful, I’m going to pretend there aren’t at least fifteen people in front of me as I pull out my phone to serve as a distraction. When I open my email, I see some Facebook notifications piling up. I’ve been actively avoiding social media due to the types of sympathetic messages that are probably lining my wall. It’s all waiting for me regardless.

I’ve always been a silent crawler on the Facebook pages of the deceased. Curiosity has always gotten the best of me when it comes to finding out why someone died and how much pain it’s brought others. Their walls are usually filled with prayers, apologies, and run-on sentences filled with how much they’re loved and will be missed—I just never thought I’d be the one who’d have to see and accept them all. I’ve been living in this dark hole for almost two weeks, and now I feel like I have to start making Blake’s ending more official. I should delete his email account and his Twitter page. Am I supposed to leave his profile active like it’s some kind of memorial? Every time someone leaves him a message on there, it’ll pop up in my feed. And for a second I’ll forget he’s dead.

It sounds like torture.

With my thumbs hovering over the display screen, debating whether or not I feel like dealing with it right now, a text pops up from Hayes.

Hayes: I’m peeling a parking ticket off of my windshield. Oops.

Felicity: I was afraid of that. Coffee?

Hayes: Jamaican?

Felicity: Not today.

Hayes: Regular with lots of caffeine would make me a happy man.

Felicity: See you in…ten people in front of me.

Which turns into an entire half hour. Thankfully the thought of seeing Hayes distracts me from Facebook, which in turn probably saves me from a waterworks display in the middle of Starbucks.

I step out of the shop to