Chapter 2: Goodbye to Us

Jason and I have known each other for five years, dated for three. We met at the university rec center, swapping jokes over vending machine coffee. Both our families are ordinary. After graduation, we stuck it out in the same city, struggling through rent hikes and job searches together.

We did what everyone does: juggled student debt, scoured Craigslist for jobs, called our parents when the fridge died. To save money, we moved in together.

The apartment is small, but every item here, we picked out together.

There’s the stack of takeout menus stuffed in the kitchen drawer, the dent in the coffee table from that one game night, the Polaroid magnets on the fridge. There’s the battered thrift store bookshelf, the yellow-and-blue comforter we found on clearance, the wobbly IKEA lamp. It’s cramped, sure, but filled with memories—lazy Sunday mornings, movie marathons, the quiet comfort of two people building a life, even if it’s just in a rented space.

We treated this as our temporary home, decorated it warmly, even adopted a cute little cat.

Mochi, our cat, was sprawled across the radiator, blissfully unaware of any human drama. Sometimes, when everything felt too much, I’d kneel down and whisper to Mochi—telling her the secrets I couldn’t share with Jason, letting her purrs remind me that some love is uncomplicated.

I looked around this cramped apartment, not wanting to let go.

Every chipped mug, every photo on the fridge, felt like a thread holding me here. Maybe soon, every detail would just be a memory.

I lay on the bed, tears streaming down uncontrollably. The pillowcase was damp, the lavender scent almost medicinal. Outside, a car alarm wailed and then went silent, like the city itself was holding its breath. I buried my face in the pillow, trying to muffle the ugly, hiccuping cries I couldn’t swallow down.

As expected, soon I heard the door open and close outside.

Jason went to find someone else.

The slam of the door felt final. Realizing this, I couldn’t hold it in anymore and started sobbing out loud.

My heart twisted with pain. My first love ended just like that.

I sobbed—ugly, hiccuping cries I couldn’t swallow down.

In the empty apartment, only my sorrowful cries remained. Even Mochi, sensing my distress, hopped onto the bed and pressed her warm little body against my side. The only comfort in a night that felt impossibly long.

I don’t know how long I cried before I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I found Jason sitting by the bed. He looked at my red, swollen eyes, half amused, half exasperated.

“You hit me, and you’re the one crying?” his expression seemed to say. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he couldn’t decide between laughter or irritation.

He didn’t seem angry anymore. Looks like someone had already comforted him. Maybe it was just time, or maybe he’d talked it out with Natalie—whatever the case, the tension had faded from his shoulders, replaced by a sort of tired patience. I turned my back to him, not wanting to acknowledge him.

If we’re not breaking up now, does he still want to have it both ways?

The bitterness in my chest flared again. I stared at the faded poster on the wall, tracing the edges with my eyes, fighting the urge to say something I’d regret.

So when he tried to reach for me, I slapped his hand away again.

“I wanted to reach for him, to take it all back, but the words were already out and the distance between us felt unbridgeable.”

“Don’t touch me with your dirty hands.”

Jason was furious. He stood up and pointed at himself.

“I’m dirty? Rachel, I shouldn’t have bothered buying you medicine.”

He gestured at the ointment on my nightstand—the one he’d picked up from CVS on his way home, even after everything.

His voice was rough around the edges, the way it got when he was trying not to lose his temper. Wait, medicine?

I looked at my own hand, and sure enough, there was a thin layer of yellow ointment on it. The menthol smell was sharp, almost medicinal. But so what? It’s just the last gasp of this relationship.

The ointment felt like a peace offering at a funeral. Since he won’t say it, I’ll bring it up.

“Jason, let’s break up.”

*I didn’t expect the supporting female character to bring up the breakup first.*

*But later, when the male lead becomes successful, the one shamelessly trying to get back together will still be her.*

*Just break up already. You two aren’t right for each other.*

The crowd was back, spitting out hot takes on my life. Jason looked stunned, like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

“What did you say?”

“I said, let’s break up. I’m tired.”

My voice barely rose above a whisper, but it felt like I was shouting it from a rooftop. Jason looked down at me, his voice unusually calm.

“I want to know why.”

I sniffled and said,

“Because I don’t want to wait for you every night until one or two in the morning, sometimes not seeing you for days. You know I’m afraid of the dark.”

My voice caught on the last word. Most importantly, rather than wait for him to dump me, I’d rather be the one to end it, so at least I can keep some dignity.

*This supporting female character is hilarious. The male lead is working hard for his career, but she only thinks about herself. She deserves to be poor forever.*

*The male lead not proposing was the right move. A girlfriend like this would only hold him back.*

*The female lead is so much better. Not only can she help with his career, but she also provides emotional support.*

The imaginary comments made me want to crawl under the blankets and never come out. Jason probably thinks so too.

I secretly wiped my tears and started packing.

I dug my old duffel bag out from under the bed, tossing in socks, underwear, the hoodie I’d stolen from Jason years ago. The zipper on my old duffel snagged, just like it always did, as if even my luggage wanted me to stay. My hands moved on autopilot, muscle memory from every move since college. Jason watched my back, trying to persuade me to stay.

“I told you, after this busy period, I’ll spend time with you. Why won’t you believe me? I don’t agree to breaking up. You don’t need to rush to move out. I won’t come back these next few days. Calm down.”

His voice echoed from the doorway, half plea, half command. Jason left, leaving me alone.

The click of the door closing sounded like a final answer. I did the math—the rent is due in half a month.

Until I find another place, I’ll just stay here for now.

The idea of house hunting made my stomach twist. I could already picture myself scrolling through endless listings, measuring my life by square footage and pet deposits. I went to work as usual every day, keeping myself busy so I wouldn’t think about Jason.

I lost myself in spreadsheets and coffee refills, gritting my teeth through small talk with coworkers who noticed the bags under my eyes but were too polite to ask. Three nights later, someone knocked on the apartment door.

I thought Jason had come back.

I checked myself in the mirror. Seeing that I looked the same as always—hair in a ponytail, mascara smudged just a bit—I opened the door.

But standing there was a strange woman.

She was maybe my age, with sharp cheekbones and a tailored coat, holding a designer bag. She gave me a once-over, eyes scanning the apartment like she was already measuring for new curtains. She smiled and greeted me, “I’m Jason’s friend. He asked me to help pick up some things.”

In that moment, my heart felt like it was pricked by a needle.

The air seemed to go thin, and I had to grip the edge of the door to steady myself. I forced myself to stay calm and asked, “You’re Natalie Summers, right?”

The girl froze for a second, then nodded.

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment, before she put on a bright, polished smile. Natalie’s lips curled at the corners, her smile just a little too bright—like she’d already won. I handed her the things, paused for a moment, but still forced myself to remind her:

“Jason doesn’t like to be disturbed after drinking. Just let him sleep. Also, he can’t eat peanut butter—he’s allergic. Remember to bring a mask for him every day; he can’t stand strong smells...”

I rattled off the list, trying to sound casual, but each detail felt like a thread unspooling from my chest. Natalie’s lips curled at the corners, her smile just a little too bright—like she’d already won.

“Okay, got it. I’ll take good care of him for you.”

There was something just a little too sweet about her tone, as if she’d already claimed victory. When I closed the door, I squatted down, feeling completely empty inside.

My knees pressed into the thin carpet, and I pressed my forehead to my arms, breathing in the scent of dust and old detergent. The comments appeared again:

*It’s tonight. After drinking too much at the bar, the male and female leads lose control and sleep together. The male lead finally realizes his feelings.*

*So exciting! The whole night, the male lead didn’t stop.*

*The female lead is about to get bullied so badly—my poor girl.*

Jason won’t agree to break up, but goes to sleep with someone else so soon?

The whole night?

I never knew he had so much energy after drinking.

A bitter laugh bubbled up inside me. Maybe, just to make myself give up completely, I went to the bar mentioned in the comments.

The neon sign above the door flickered, and the air inside was thick with beer and the tang of cheap perfume. I searched room by room, until I reached the one in the farthest corner.

My hand shook so badly I almost dropped my phone. The music pulsed through the walls, matching the frantic beat of my heart. My heart was pounding so loudly I thought the whole bar could hear it. Before I could push open the door, some embarrassing noises came from inside.

“Jason, be gentle...”

“I’m coming, ah ha...”

My hand on the doorknob trembled.

My cheeks burned—I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. My stomach churned with a mix of dread and disbelief. I couldn’t believe Jason had become so shameless.

My eyes stung with tears.

But since I was already here, I had to see with my own eyes just how much disappointment the man I’d loved for five years could give me.

The moment I opened the door, there was a scream inside.

Two strangers stared at me in horror.

A couple, tangled up in each other, their faces red and startled. Realizing my mistake, I apologized over and over.

My voice tumbled out in a rush—"Sorry! Sorry! Wrong room!" As I backed out, I saw Jason and a girl entering another private room down the hall.

So I’d gotten the wrong room.

For a split second, relief washed over me, but it vanished instantly, replaced by embarrassment and an aching sense of futility.

I stared at the closed door, waiting for regret to hit. But all I felt was the quiet promise of something different.