so boring for you. Why didn’t you ever mention it?”
“I did.”
“Oh.” He frowns, swallowing this information like a lump of coal. We walk a few steps, stopping in front of a tower of teetering mirrored balls, stacked precariously in a corner. I catch pieces of us in their warped, convex shapes—his shoulder, my knee—turning us into fun-house versions of ourselves. We look just as wrong as I feel, standing next to him, my now-ex-boyfriend, in this new reality where our love story came to an end. I never wanted it to be like this, to create the chasm between us, yet here we are, two halves of a former whole, trying to exist in the same space. “I was a shitty boyfriend,” I hear him whisper.
“Matt…” I sigh deeply, not ready to talk about this. Especially not here.
“No, I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about everything you said. I can’t stop thinking about it, actually.” In the mirrored balls, I catch him repeatedly tightening and releasing a fist, a nervous habit he’s had since high school. The WarNats think it’s some kind of intimidation move, making villains think he’s about to throw a punch, but it’s actually just Matt trying to psych himself up. “You are right, about everything. Of course you’re right. I let all the hero stuff take over. I was doing what I thought I was supposed to—saving the world and all that—but I didn’t take care of you.”
I meet his eyes, sad but earnest. Dark brown pools of regret stare down at me, and it’s hard to keep my composure. How long have I wanted to hear those words, for him to acknowledge his behavior and its effect on our relationship? Getting an apology now, after we’ve already said goodbye, is completely bittersweet.
“I…appreciate you saying that,” I say, forcing myself to remember why we’re done in the first place. “But it doesn’t change anything right now.”
He stands tall, breathing deeply through his nose, and I prepare myself for some kind of retort or quip at my response. But surprisingly, it doesn’t come.
“Okay, I can respect that.” He walks to the next piece—a canvas covered in stripes of iridescent paint—and his acceptance of my wishes is so unexpected, so selfless, so not Matt, that I have to follow him, if only to be sure his body hasn’t been snatched by some personality-swapping evil genius.
“I’m sorry, what’s going on with you right now?” I ask, tugging at his suit jacket. It fits him like a glove. “Where’s the Matt Rodriguez who wants to sweep everything under the rug and just pretend everything is okay?”
“Oh, that guy? Yeah. Turns out he’s a terrible person, so I took care of him.” He slices a finger across his throat, tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth.
I stifle a laugh. “Just like that?”
“Just like that. I am a hero, after all. It’s my job to rid the world of assholes, so I did.” He smiles, not the toothy cheeseball smirk splattered on T-shirts and posters, but a sweet, authentic grin. It’s like seeing a ghost, but not a spandex one, more like a ghost of my past: the face of the boy I fell in love with. No winking, no posing, just a real human look that’s so unexpected, it throws me for a total loop. Where have you been hiding? Why did you disappear for so long?
“Well, rest in peace,” I say, working hard to keep a straight face. I don’t want him sensing how fast my heart is beating.
“I miss you, Bridge,” he says throatily.
My voice catches at his honesty. “We just broke up.”
“I know, but it already feels like a lifetime. I hate it. You’ve been by my side for four years, and now…do you think we could still be friends?”
Friends? We were never really friends. Our attraction was instantaneous, and things took off from there. “Matt…”
“I just…I don’t know how to exist without you. We’ve been together so long, and…do you know how hard it is not to call or text you? I’ve basically written you an entire novel of texts that I’ve deleted. I don’t want to lose that connection. I don’t want to miss all the good stuff.” I raise an eyebrow. “Not that stuff—I mean, yes, I miss that too—but like…” He looks around, trying to find the words. “Look at this.” He points to a prism suspended in the middle of a fishbowl. “Like, what is this? Your art is way better than half