If I’m brutally honest with myself, this isn’t just about breathing. It’s Jenni. Deep down I want to see her. To look her in the eye and decide for myself if that photo, and all the others I’ve been sent, are just as fake as I think they are.
Honey:Sure. Meet you in the dining hall in 30.
I shove the stack of legal documents into a folder and toss it onto my bed as if that’ll stop them from breathing down my neck. Spoiler: it won’t.
One glance in the mirror confirms what I already feel—I look wrecked. I’m still in Zach’s sweatshirt from yesterday, my hair scraped back into a limp, messy bun, and dark circles shadow my eyes. I look like someone who hasn’t slept in days—which, technically, isn’t far off. If I’m going to survive facing people, I need to look less like a ghost of myself.
With a sigh, I peel off the sweatshirt, trade it for a pair of jeans and a clean sweater. Then I run a brush through my hair and swipe some concealer under my eyes. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can manage with my limited time and even less energy.
The dining hall is packed by the time I get there, but I easily spot Jenni in her usual spot.
“You look like death warmed over,” she says by way of greeting as I slide into the seat across from her.
“Thanks,” I reply dryly. “It's my new aesthetic.”
She laughs, pushing a tray of food toward me. “I grabbed you a burger and fries. Figured you needed actual sustenance, not whatever sad salad you'd choose yourself.”
It’s a sweet gesture, and guilt scrapes at my insides because part of me wants to believe her. That she’s my friend and the image of her leaning into my boyfriend while holding his phone is fake, but I can’t help wondering if I’m being naïve.
“Thanks,” I say, staring down at the meat, remembering when Zach saved me from salads in high school. It was the first time I really started to feel something for him, and I miss how easy those days felt compared to now.
Jenni leans in, propping her chin on her hand. “So, how are you holding up after Thursday? That thing with your father’s partner was brutal.”
“I’m fine,” I lie automatically. It’s not the first time I’ve been disappointed by the adults in my life, and I have no doubts it won’t be the last.
“Bullshit,” Jenni says gently. “I saw your face when you told me about it. That had to hurt.”
“That’s life.”
“So that’s it? You’ve been miserable since you started there.” She raises her hand, pointing at me. “You look exhausted all the time, you’re stressed beyond belief, and now they’re treating you like garbage. What’s your plan?”
“To stay.”
“Pfft. Why?”
I don’t have an easy answer for that. Not one I’m willing to fully divulge to her, at least. So I opt for a half-truth instead.
“It’s complicated,” I say vaguely. “The internship… it doesn’t just give me college credit. It helps someone I care about. I can’t just walk away.”
“Noble,” Jenni says, “but ultimately self-destructive. You're killing yourself for other people's happiness. Seems to be a trait for you.” She narrows her eyes and tilts her head as she studies me. “When do you get to put yourself first?”
I don't have an answer for that. I've never been good at putting myself first. Maybe because I've never been entirely sure who “myself” even is.
My phone buzzes on the table between us, and I instinctively reach for it, even though I know I shouldn't. It's become a reflex at this point—see notification, feel dread, check anyway.
Unknown:Your boyfriend doesn’t just keep busy at home. He’s been sampling the sights on the road too. Maybe ask him about the brunette at the hotel bar last night—the one he couldn’t keep his hands off.
I close my eyes for a second, feeling that familiar knot twist in my stomach. When I open them, Jenni is watching me with a mixture of concern and annoyance.
“Another one?” she asks.
I nod, setting the phone face down. “It never stops.”
Jenni rolls her eyes. “This is exactly what I'm talking about. Another example of you bleeding yourself dry to make other people happy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You could just block all unknown numbers, you know?”