Page 90 of Fangs with Benefits

I sigh, but nod and turn in that direction. He falls into step behind me, his hands pushed into his slacks pockets. I can smell the cologne he’s always worn and smelling it feels surreal, like a melding of times. The scent of Matt used to be such a comfort to me, but now it feels sour in my memories. I used to love how he smelled. He was so warm coming in after working late, stripping to his boxers and crawling into bed without showering. I loved pressing my face into the crook of his neck while he rubbed my back. It was my favourite part of the day.

The memory isn’t one I’ve thought about in a long while, and it makes me feel angry. Frustrated. Embarrassed all over again. It’s a cocktail of emotions like the ones I felt when I was a teenager out of sorts and flustered by anything.

‘How you been? Did you ever finish your book? The one about the waitress?’

‘No, I haven’t really had time for that lately,’ I lie. I don’t like that he remembers what I was writing. He shouldn’t remember anything about me; I want to take every memory he has of me and give them to someone else. Elijah maybe, if he hadn’t just sprinted away from me like I was plague-stricken.

Matty frowns. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

I don’t thank him for his condolences, and barely refrain from tapping my foot.

‘I was hoping to see you tonight—’

‘Wait, you knew I was going to be at the club? Is that why you’re here?’ I ask, hackles sufficiently raised.

‘Luke mentioned missing going out with some friends tonight and I just guessed—’

‘What do you want, Matt?’ I’m not one to fight on the sidewalk, but I’m mad and confused and still embarrassed by Elijah rushing away from me.

‘I wanted to talk to you. I’ve been thinking a lot about you, Molly.’

‘I haven’t thought of you,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t think of you, Matt. You cheated on me. Many times, for years.’

‘I know, and I know it was wrong, Moll. I’m so sorry I did that to you.’

‘I’m sorry you did that too!’ I say, voice too high and full of derision. ‘Why do you feel the need to keep trying to have this conversation? I get it, you’re sorry. Let’s move on.’

‘Get dinner with me sometime,’ he says. ‘Please, Molly.’

I squint at Matt, his apologetic and earnest expression so dissonant from the image of him I’ve kept in my mind for years, the man who thought I was foolish to end our relationship for something as simple as casual infidelity.

Now he looks repentant. It makes me feel worse.

I turn around without responding, not caring if I’m being rude.

‘Moll, please.’

Matt grabs my hand and pulls me back. I yank it from his grip and cross my arms over my chest. I’m overreacting, I know, but what the fuck? He holds up his palms in surrender.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. When I don’t accept his apology, he tries again: ‘Will you think about it? I’m–I’ve changed. I found a box of cards and notes you wrote me, those poems you’d slip into my laptop on the backs of receipts. Do you remember?’

‘What the hell,’ I mutter. Of course I remember the notes, the love letters, the impromptu poems, silly things, because I loved him. I loved him so freely, I trusted him so easily.

‘I know how it sounds,’ Matt starts. ‘I realised that I’ve been missing you for months–years if I’m honest.’

‘It sounds insane, Matt. You sound delusional.’

‘I was an idiot to lose you.’

‘Matt.’ I hold up my palm between us and he stops talking.

‘I’m going home. Don’t follow me.’

He looks disappointed but gives a reluctant nod and doesn’t follow me when I walk away.

I make sure he doesn’t follow me into the station, onto the platform, or into the train car. Elijah hasn’t called me back, nor texted.

When the doors slide shut behind me and I slump into a seat, I close my eyes, hot tears spilling over my eyelids and down my cheeks. I feel more acutely lonely than I have in a long while.