Felix Ever After(67)

The possibilities are endless. Internships, travel with volunteer organizations, vocational work—but instead of excitement at the thought of doing anything that I want, I’m filled with anxiety. There’re too many options, too many opportunities. I suddenly know how Ezra felt, unsure of his future. I feel bad for giving him a hard time about it. I was so judgmental, clouded by my own jealousy. I wish I could text him. Apologize. Ask what he thinks about me just giving up on Brown altogether. What would Ezra say?

When my phone buzzes with a notification, surprise and excitement thrum through me. Maybe Ezra could feel me thinking about him—has decided to forgive me. It’s been a couple of days now. Maybe he’s ready to move on.

But when I check my phone, it isn’t Ez.

Are you trying to ignore me?

You can’t ignore me.

I heard that your mom abandoned you.

I would, too, if I had a daughter that was pretending to be a boy.

Tears start to sting my eyes. Pain fills my lungs and makes it hard to breathe. I shouldn’t let this troll get to me, but they really figured out exactly where to hit me the hardest, what to say to hurt me more than anything else. My finger hovers over the block button. I should’ve blocked grandequeen69 a long time ago. But I don’t press it. I feel this need to respond, to stand up for myself, to make grandequeen69 realize I deserve to be treated better than this—that there’s an actual human being on the other end of the phone.

I type. What do you get out of this? Why’re you attacking me? Just because you don’t understand my identity, doesn’t mean I’m not real. That I don’t exist.

They must’ve been waiting for me to respond.

That’s what you don’t get. You don’t exist.

You’re nothing.

Do you really think you matter to anyone?

You don’t matter. You don’t even matter to your own mom.

I can feel the pain like it’s a physical thing, filling my heart and spreading through me beneath my skin. I don’t even know what to say to that. What do you say, when a person basically tells you that you’re not a human being? Treats you like you’re not human? The pain sparks into anger, and I fling my phone across the room. It hits the wall with a thud and falls to the ground. Captain hisses, leaping from the bed.

“Shit.” I jump out of my bed, snatching up my phone. There’s a tiny crack in the corner of the screen. “Fucking shit.” I wipe a hand over my face, rubbing away the tears. I shouldn’t let this troll get to me like this. I know I shouldn’t. But I can feel their words sinking into me, making it harder to breathe.

When I get to St. Cat’s on Wednesday, I’m not expecting to see Ezra—not really, not after he’d skipped class the past couple of days and wouldn’t respond to any of my messages—so when I see him cross through the parking lot, I’m completely unprepared. My heart pounds with nerves, and the memory of our kiss—of him trying to tell me he’s in love with me—makes me feel like I’m about to freak out all over again.

Ezra passes by without a glance. Right alongside the nerves is a flare of hurt. He probably just didn’t see me, but the words from grandequeen69 flash in my mind. I don’t matter. I don’t exist. I call out after him. “Ez!”

He doesn’t stop as he walks in through the lobby’s sliding glass doors. Ezra’s never ignored me before, so I assume he didn’t hear me, is way too wrapped up in his own thoughts. I follow him inside. “Hey—Ezra!”

He glances at me now, but the look he gives me is blistering. The sort of look I’d expect him to send Marisol’s way—not mine. He doesn’t say a word. He just keeps walking.

The hurt’s an open wound now, gushing blood all over the pavement. I hesitate, then start following again—slowly at first, before I start running after him, down the hall, my footsteps echoing, until I’m walking right alongside him, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

“Ezra—hey,” I say, stopping in front of him. He gives this impatient sigh, looking down at my shoes before looking up at me again. “Listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said the shit I did.”

He shrugs, doesn’t answer.

I don’t really know what else to say. I don’t think Ezra’s ever been this angry with me before. “Can we—can we talk about it?”

He shrugs again. Even his shrugs are with the least minimal effort required. “What is there to talk about?”

A few seconds pass. “I mean, are you really that pissed because of everything I said?”

“I guess not.”

“Then what’re you so angry about?”

“I’m not angry,” he says. His eyes are glazed, like he also hasn’t been getting enough sleep, but behind that glaze is—emptiness? Coldness? Boredom, maybe. Indifference.

I force myself to keep Ezra’s gaze, no matter how much I want to look away—no matter how much I feel like I’m seconds from crying. He said that he has feelings for me—tried to tell me that he loves me—but it looks like it only took a few days for him to figure out that he doesn’t give a shit about me after all. “Then what’s wrong?”

Another shrug. These fucking shrugs. “I guess I just need a second. To wrap my head around everything.” As much as I’m forcing myself to look at him, he’s looking anywhere but at me. “I just need some space.”