I'm making coffee for a very grumpy-looking Remy the next morning when my phone alerts me that I have a text.
"Who the fuck is texting you at 7:30 in the morning," she grumbles.
I scowl at her, even though I'm just as confused as she is. Remy and Jax are the only people to really text me, and Jax isn't exactly a morning person either.
"Just drink your coffee and try to become a decent human being again," I tell my sister with a pointed glare. "I have no idea how you used to work a 9-5, you've become useless before 10:00am since you started writing."
She scowls at me but doesn't disagree. I shake my head and turn back to my phone.
7:22am Steve: Forget it. You were only good for one thing anyway.
My hands tremble slightly as I grip the phone in my hand. Scrolling up, I realize I missed about half a dozen texts from Steve yesterday.
"Who is it?" Remy asks gruffly.
I startle and look up at her, but then immediately shake my head and answer, "It's nothing. Just an Instagram notification."
When she grunts her acceptance and goes back to her coffee, I look back at my phone and begin scrolling through the texts. With each one, my anger grows.
8:02pm Steve: Hey. I thought I saw you near Rittenhouse Square earlier. Made me miss you.
8:19pm Steve: I think we should talk. Can we talk? Let’s meet for coffee somewhere.
8:44pm Steve: Hailey, please... Give us another chance. I'm sorry about being jealous. I just get crazy at the thought of not having you to myself.
9:32pm Steve: You know I don't mean the things I say. Don't make a big deal out of them. I love you.
9:42pm Steve: You know why drinking is such a trigger for me. It's not my fault, I can't help it.
11:03pm Steve: I've forgiven you so many times for high school, why can't you forgive me for this?
7:22am Steve: Forget it. You were only good for one thing anyway.
When I reread this morning’s text, I slam my phone on the counter, fury boiling in my veins. Remy looks up at me with raised eyebrows.
"Everything okay?"
I nod quickly. "Yeah, I just need to get to work. I'll see you later."
She doesn't look convinced, but she stays quiet anyway. Within a few minutes, I'm dressed and walking to work.
I'm distracted the entire day, Steve's texts rolling on a loop in my head.
No part of me wants to take Steve back, or even hear him out. I know that. IknowSteve is a manipulative piece of shit that doesn’t deserve me. There hasn’t been a single moment where I’ve felt sad about the breakup—only relieved. The texts are infuriating because even through a phone, it feels like he has a hold on me.
I told him we were over. Itoldhim how I felt about the way he treated me, and that I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Why is he contacting me to try to get back together? Is he really that desperate to regain his power over me? How dare he try to pull me back into his toxic bullshit?
My anger grows, more and more throughout the day, my confused thoughts getting tangled in the rage.Why does he still have a hold of me? Why am I so weak? Why do a few texts from him make me feel like shit and ruin my whole day?
Because they do. They ruin my whole day. I'm curt with my customers, I snap at my employees, I freak out when one of my cooks questions me. I feel so on edge, sodefensive, that I am admittedly a royal bitch all day long. It's like any conversation with Steve immediately makes me question my self-worth. And the fact that he still has a hold on me like that makes meangry.
I end up asking one of the managers to close up, and I can practically hear the sigh of relief from the café employees. I mutter a gruff thank you and then grab my bag to go... I don't know where. Somewhere that's not in my head.
The fresh air—as fresh as it gets in the heart of any city—does seem to help. I feel Steve's metaphorical grip on my heart loosen, and my inner confident woman is able to take her first real breath of the day. I still can't shake the crushing sensation completely, but at least now I don't feel like curling up under the covers for the rest of the day. I keep walking, hoping the cool October air will continue to lift this weight off my chest.
I don't even realize where I’ve ended up until I'm standing in front of the doors, staring at the words “Bulldog MMA” that I know so well. I glance at the building in surprise, but only hesitate a moment before walking up the steps.
It's Saturday afternoon, and it looks like people are finishing up their workouts for the day. There are still a few people doing jiu-jitsu on the mats, but for the most part, people are sitting on the mat drinking water and talking.The mascot himself is snoring loudly on the couch in the reception area, his scrunched face tucked between his giant paws and his owner sitting beside him with his phone in his hand. Coach glances up at me as I walk past, giving me only a nod for a greeting.