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IRL!
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↳ ❝I'M NOT SURE IF I EVEN HAVE A
BOYFRIEND ANYMORE.❞

It takes approximately 21 days for a habit to form. At least, that's what the article Lovette had read had claimed. The habit she'd picked up wasn't something she'd consciously chosen. It wasn't the kind of habit that self-help books would commend, like going for a daily jog or hitting the gym. Instead, hers was the incessant cracking of her knuckles. She found herself doing it most when anxiety gripped her, and somehow, over time, it had become ingrained.

So, here she was, sitting across from Dr. Florence, the therapist's gaze scrutinizing her every move as she involuntarily cracked her knuckles.

"It's been a year," Lovette began, her voice punctuated by the familiar sound of her joints popping. "And it hasn't gotten any easier. It's supposed to get easier, isn't it?"

Dr. Florence replied gently, "Lovette, there is no fixed timeline for grief."

She sighed, sinking back into the chair's cushioning. "Isn't it said that time heals all wounds?"

A moment of contemplative silence hung in the air.

"That's not entirely true," Dr. Florence explained, her tone empathetic. "The passage of time may seem to ease the pain, but true healing requires active effort."

She paused again, selecting her words thoughtfully. "Triggers can surface unexpectedly, and if you don't have effective coping mechanisms in place, you're at risk of being severely overwhelmed."

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Her hands hadn't stopped shaking, no matter how hard she fought against it. She tried to steady them, first by sitting on her trembling fingers, but the relentless anxiety persisted. So, she settled for the familiar ritual of cracking her knuckles, the sharp sounds a dissonant accompaniment to her racing thoughts. The tremors had made even the simplest tasks a challenge – from grasping the steering wheel to inserting her key into the front door's stubborn lock. Lovette couldn't fathom how she'd managed the drive to Chris's house, but she was driven by an urgent need to escape the clutches of her own anxiety.

She stood on the dimly lit porch outside Chris's house. The evening air was thick with tension, and the distant hum of city life seemed to mirror the anger coursing through her. The streetlights cast long shadows, stretching like accusing fingers across the pavement.

The doorbell chime nearly slipped past her notice amidst the chaos of her shaking limbs. The only discernible sound was the relentless thud of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. She tried to shut her eyes, to steady her breath, but nothing could silence the tempest raging inside her.

"Lovie?"

His voice sliced through the turmoil, snapping her out of the spiralling panic. Relief should have been her dominant emotion, but anger surged like a tidal wave within her.

"What the hell?" she spat out, the words escaping her lips in a heated rush.

She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as she struggled to regain her composure. The crisp night air seemed to thicken around her, as if it, too, were pressing in, demanding a resolution.

"We tell each other when we get home, right?" Her words dripped with frustration, each syllable a testament to her simmering agitation. "You don't go radio silent for five fucking hours after you leave my house—"

Chris's feet shuffle impatiently, "Lovie, calm down. You're overreacting."

His indifference hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping for emotional breath.  The cool breeze whispered through the trees, a stark contrast to the fiery exchange unfolding on the porch. She knew him well enough to read between the lines, but she couldn't figure out why he was acting this way.

Lovette's fists trembled with barely contained fury, her jaw clenched so tightly it might shatter. "You scared me, Chris."

His face remained inscrutable, his arms folded casually across his chest. "I'm sorry I took a nap. Jesus, Lovie, it's not that big of a deal."

Teeth gritted in frustration, she replied, "It is a big deal." Her fingers dug into her palms, her anger now mingling with confusion.

"You worry too much," he said with a hint of annoyance, his voice tinged with something Lovette couldn't quite place.

Another dismissal that caused her eyes to burn with a mix of anger and hurt.

Sighing in exasperation, he ran his hands through his hair. "I have to alert you every time I do something? Didn't realize I was under 24/7 surveillance. You know, I thought you were fine hanging out with Mateo and your other friends."

Each word he uttered felt like a dagger to Lovette's heart. His mention of Mateo, in particular, stung.

As Chris stood before her, dismissive and seemingly uninterested in her anxiety, Lovette felt a familiar surge of anger boiling within her. She couldn't help but remember that fateful day—the day that had left an indelible scar on her soul. The chilly night air seemed to intensify her fury, as if it were stoking the flames of their argument.

Her mind betrayed her, plunging her back into that traumatic memory. The world around her seemed to blur, replaced by the haunting recollection of the accident. She saw it vividly—the flash of headlights blinding her, the deafening screech of tires, and the gut-wrenching collision that sent shockwaves through her body. In that split second, her life had been irreparably shattered.

The car, crumpled like a discarded toy, trapped her father inside. She could hear her own panicked screams, her voice calling out his name, pleading for help. Her mother's face—once radiant with love and warmth—appeared before her, frozen in terror, Lovette's heart ached with grief. She felt the weight of her powerlessness, the cruel realization that she couldn't save her own mother.

The argument with Chris in the present moment became distant, a mere backdrop to the haunting replay of that tragic scene. Her anger toward him became intertwined with the raw, unprocessed emotions from the past. She wasn't just angry with Chris; she was angry at the world, angry at the circumstances that had stolen her parents from her.

"God, if I knew you'd be this fucking clingy, I wouldn't have asked you to be my girlfriend," he spat out venomously, his words laced with frustration.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of their laboured breaths. Lovette's eyes narrowed, her nostrils flaring, an ominous sign of her smouldering rage. Chris had always admired her methodical way of thinking, but right now, it sent shivers down his spine.

"If you're so concerned about my clinginess, maybe I shouldn't be your damn girlfriend then."

And with that, she walked away.

He recognized his mistake too late. Panic gripped Chris as he rushed after her, berating himself for his thoughtless words. He called out her name, desperation lacing his voice, but she ignored him, her eyes fixed on her car keys, unlocking the vehicle with precision.

"Lovette!" He called out again, blocking her path, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Chris, get out of my way," she stated flatly, her voice an eerie calm, as if she were struggling to hold back her emotions.

He stood his ground, his voice pleading. "Please, don't leave."

A humourless laugh escaped her lips, a bitter sound that cut through the tension like a knife. "I thought I was being too clingy?" Lovette asked rhetorically, her tone sharp as a blade.

Against her will, tears welled in her eyes, blurring the edges of her vision like a rain-smeared window. She blinked furiously, attempting to dispel the haunting images and focus on the present, but the trauma had a grip on her. Her voice trembled as she tried to communicate her feelings, but it came out as a shaky whisper.

"I thought you fucking died, Chris!" she managed to utter, "Do you even understand how that feels? Do you?"

Her words hung in the air like storm clouds, heavy and charged and Chris felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been thrown over him. The dismissive facade he had worn moments ago crumbled under the weight of her words. His face paled, his heart heavy with remorse.

In the sudden silence, he replayed her words in his mind—I thought you fucking died, Chris!—and the weight of their impact hit him like a sledgehammer. The anger that had previously consumed him dissipated in an instant, replaced by a deep and gnawing guilt.

His shoulders slumped as he realized the gravity of the situation. His eyes met hers, and for the first time, he saw the depth of fear and pain in her gaze.  The weight of his insensitivity bore down on him, making him feel small and foolish.

His dismissive attitude crumbled, and he took a step closer to her, his body trembling with remorse. The memories of their argument faded into the background as he locked eyes with Lovette, who was now visibly shaken.

She folded her arms across her chest, her tone hardening. "You have been acting so weird this week. You're cancelling dates, and you barely respond to my texts. Tell me what's going on."

Chris shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting around as if searching for an escape route that wasn't there. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as he avoided her question.

"Why can't you just talk to me?" Lovette's voice quivered with a mix of anger and desperation.

Chris clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw working as if he were biting back words he didn't want to say. But the longer he remained silent, the more Lovette's anger grew.

"Is it me?" she pressed, her voice trembling. "Did I do something wrong?"

He finally met her gaze, his eyes clouded with turmoil, but he still didn't speak. His silence was like a slap in the face, and Lovette's patience snapped.

She wiped away her tears angrily, her voice shaking with a mixture of hurt and anger. "If you're not going to talk to me, then I'm going to leave."

The words hung between them, heavy and loaded, as the tension reached its breaking point. Chris looked at her, his face contorted with a storm of emotions, but he still didn't speak.

Lovette had reached her limit. With a trembling hand, she unlocked her car door and got inside. As she started the engine, Chris finally found his voice, but it was too late.

"Wait, Lovie, please," he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion.

She pulled away from the curb, leaving Chris standing there, his heart heavy with regret and the weight of his unspoken fears.

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Lovette has a tell, an idiosyncrasy so subtle that only the closest person to her—Imani—could truly catch. While cracking her knuckles had been a relatively recent addition to her repertoire of quirks, there was another, more mathematical one.

Lovette's mind, sharp as ever, seeks solace in the rhythm of numbers. When upset, her fingers lightly tap against her thigh, a muted drumbeat of calculations and algorithms. The taps aren't random; they follow a pattern only she can decipher. Each tap represents a digit, a variable, an element of a complex equation she's trying to solve within her mind. Occasionally, her lips move imperceptibly, silently mouthing the calculations. It's her way of finding order amidst emotional chaos, a quiet ritual that plays out when her world feels overwhelming.

Imani picked up on it the moment Lovette returned home. Her eyes followed Lovette's fingers as they tapped out the hidden math of her emotions. This wasn't just random fidgeting; it was a coded message in her distinctive numerical language. Imani understood that this was Lovette's way of coping, so she decided to wait until they had some privacy before addressing it.

The girls gathered in Lovette's room, each finding a corner of the spacious area. Layla sprawled on the bed, and Imani settled on the couch. Lovette occupied her vanity, her fingers finding an invisible canvas in the air, tapping out mathematical equations with precision.

Imani couldn't hold back her concern any longer. "Okay, what's wrong, Lovette?"

Lovette blinked, as if returning from a distant place, and her fingers halted their tapping. "Nothing, really."

Imani scoffed, sitting up. "You're doing 'the thing.'"

Layla, lounging on the bed, piped up, "What thing?"

Imani glanced at Layla, then returned her attention to Lovette. "She taps things and does math in her head when she's upset. So, spill it."

Lovette shrugged, taken aback by the sudden focus on her. She pursed her lips, her mind replaying the argument with Chris, wondering why things had gotten so complicated.

Lovette sighed, her voice quivering with insecurity. "I'm not sure if I even have a boyfriend anymore," she admitted, her gaze fixed on her tapping fingers. She'd tried to bottle up the sadness, not wanting to burden her friends.

Layla perked up, her voice full of concern. "What do you mean?"

So, Lovette recounted everything. How Chris had been distant since her hospital visit, how he seemed eager to leave when he came over, and how he'd called her clingy.

Layla didn't hold back. "He's a dick. I've never liked him, Lovette."

"Yeah, you've made that quite clear," Imani quickly interjected, defending Chris despite her friend's bluntness. She saw potential in their relationship, even if Layla didn't.

Imani had seen Chris and Lovette together countless times. Chris had a way of making Lovette smile, of breaking through her sometimes impenetrable shell of logic and order with his humour and charm. She genuinely believed that Chris cared deeply for Lovette, and she had witnessed how much happier Lovette had been since they started dating.

Layla, however, wasn't one to back down. "If it rattles like a snake, slithers like a snake. Is it a snake? Or do you need to get bit to verify?"

Lovette raised an eyebrow, seeking clarification. "What are you trying to say?"

Layla sighed. "He's avoiding dates, barely texting, and basically told you that you're too clingy to be his girlfriend."

The bluntness stung, but Layla pressed on. "Does he have to break up with you for you to see that things aren't going well?"

Oh.

Lovette felt embarrassment wash over her, her palms growing sweaty and her mouth dry. She whispered as she stood up from her seat, "You think he's going to break up with me?"

Layla shrugged, unmoved by Lovette's distress. "You're the one who said you don't even know if he's your boyfriend anymore."

As Lovette paced, her fingers continued their rhythmic dance. She muttered complex equations, her mind both racing with emotional turmoil and diving deep into mathematical sanctuary.

"The derivative of 4x² + 8x + 9 is 8x+8," she whispered to herself, her voice as soft as the numbers she sought solace in.

He's gonna break up with you, a voice in her head says.

The tapping grew more intense, each tap a plea to regain control over her spiralling thoughts. Her mathematical mind churned, seeking an anchor amid the storm of her emotions.

Suddenly, she stopped pacing, her brow furrowing in concentration. A challenging linear algebra question emerged in her thoughts, a problem she'd encountered in her studies and solved countless times before.

"The eigenvalues of a square matrix A are the solutions to the characteristic equation, det(A - λI) = 0," she recited, her voice steadier now, her fingers tapping out an unseen matrix on her thigh. "To find the eigenvalues, we must solve for λ. The matrix A is given by..."

Then her thoughts interrupt her just as she is about to solve the equation.

You're too clingy.

She squeezes her eyes shut, desperately trying to answer this damn math problem.

Layla leaned back on the bed, her gaze fixed on Lovette as she stood there, lost in a sea of equations.

"You know, Lovette," she began, her tone almost too casual, "Chris seems like the type who values his independence. A real free spirit, you could say."

Lovette frowned, her mind divided between the math problem and Layla's words. She couldn't help but listen, her curiosity piqued.

"Sometimes," Layla continued, her voice laced with a hint of concern, "people like that, they get a little overwhelmed when they feel, well, tied down."

"Independence can be a beautiful thing, you know," Layla mused, her eyes locking onto Lovette's. "But it can also lead to people making choices that might not align with, let's say, committed relationships."

It was as if Layla was dancing around a fire, hinting at something but never quite touching it. Lovette's tapping slowed, and she felt a seed of doubt take root in her mind.

"I mean, it's all about balance, right?" Layla concluded, her voice carrying a weight of wisdom that belied her years. "Sometimes, you have to find that middle ground between your own freedom and being a part of something bigger."

The mathematical problem before her became blurred, the numbers dancing in chaotic patterns that mirrored her emotions. The room, once a haven of order, felt suffocating, closing in around her like the walls of a collapsing equation.

Her fingers continued their rhythmic dance, but the numbers had lost their soothing precision. Each tap, once a melody of calculations, now felt disjointed, like the disjointed fragments of her relationship with Chris.

"Lovette," Layla's voice, soft yet insistent, cut through the mathematical fog. "Maybe he's right. Maybe you are too clingy for him."

The tapping halted abruptly. Lovette's gaze met Layla's, her eyes searching for sincerity in her friend's expression. But Layla's features were a canvas of innocence, her concern seemingly genuine.

"You can't let this define you," Layla continued, her words carefully chosen. "You're brilliant, talented, independent. You don't need someone who can't appreciate that."

Was she truly too clingy? Had her need for reassurance and affection pushed Chris away? The equations she'd solved countless times suddenly seemed foreign, and uncertainty seeped into her core.

"Maybe you should give him space," Layla suggested, her tone empathetic. "Focus on your own life, your passions, your friends."

The tension in the room thickened as Layla's words hung in the air. Lovette stared at her, her mind a swirl of confusion and self-doubt. She looked to Imani, searching for some clarity or support.

"Wait a minute," Imani interjected, her voice steady but tinged with irritation. "Layla, you can't just drop something like that without considering how it might affect Lovette."

Layla's gaze flickered from Lovette to Imani, her expression one of feigned innocence. "I'm just speaking the truth, Imani. Sometimes, people need to hear it."

Imani wasn't buying it. She'd known Layla long enough to recognize her more manipulative tendencies. "There's a difference between speaking the truth and stirring up unnecessary doubt. Lovette and Chris are going through a rough patch, but that doesn't mean Lovette is too clingy or that they're destined to break up."

Lovette, torn between her friends' conflicting opinions, continued to tap out equations, her fingers moving mechanically as she tried to drown out their words.

Imani pressed on, her concern for her friend evident. "Layla, you're not the biggest fan of Chris, and that's okay, but you can't project your feelings onto Lovette's relationship. She deserves our support and understanding, not baseless accusations."

Layla crossed her arms defensively, a challenging glint in her eyes. "I'm just looking out for her, Imani. Sometimes tough love is necessary."

Imani shook her head, determined to protect Lovette from Layla's potentially harmful influence. "Tough love should come from a place of genuine care, not from stirring the pot."

The room fell into an uneasy silence after Layla and Imani's exchange. Lovette's mind was a whirlwind of confusion, doubts, and hurt. She glanced at Imani, seeking solace in her friend's eyes, but even Imani seemed uncertain in this moment.

"I think... I need some time alone," Lovette whispered, her voice barely audible. The room seemed to constrict around her, pressing on her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Imani, her eyes filled with concern, nodded understandingly. "Take all the time you need, Lovette. We're here for you, no matter what."

As her friends left the room, her mind was a jumble of thoughts. She found herself back at her desk, her fingers absentmindedly tapping out equations that usually brought her comfort.

The message on her phone screen from Chris blinked mockingly at her: "Can we talk?"

Her heart raced with trepidation. Maybe he wanted to clarify things, to make her understand that she wasn't too clingy, that he still cared. Or maybe... maybe he wanted to end things, confirming Layla's insidious words.

With trembling fingers, Lovette typed out a reply, her words carefully chosen, yet laden with vulnerability. "Yes, we need to talk."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
an extra long one because i couldn't update last week

sooo how do we feel ??

more angst to come (sorry you guys) 💔

until next time <3!