Vanessa

It had been four days, fifteen hours, and twenty-two minutes since I stormed out of James’s apartment. Yes, I was that pathetic. 

    He hadn’t texted, messaged, or tried to make any kind of contact with me, which was probably a good thing. Then why am I checking my phone every ten minutes? 

    Every morning when I woke up, my phone was the first thing I reached for, only to be disappointed at the lack of messages received—or rather, from whom. There was no explanation for why I felt the way I did. I was the one who stormed out of his apartment feeling hurt and betrayed. I was the...