GHOSTS DON’T ASK FOR PERMISSION
1619 Words
I’m three steps out of the building when my phone buzzes again.
Not Bella.
Not Apex.
A name I haven’t saved in over a year.
My chest tightens before my brain catches up.
I stop walking.
The city keeps moving around me—cars passing, people talking, someone laughing too loud—but everything narrows to the screen in my hand.
Marcus.
I don’t answer.
Of course I don’t.
I shove the phone into my bag and keep walking, heels hitting the pavement harder than necessary. My car is only half a block away. I just need to get there. Get inside. Close the door.
My phone buzzes again.
Then again.
I unlock my car with shaking fingers and slide into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut like that might keep him out of my life.
It doesn’t.
There’s a knock on my window.
I freeze.
Slowly, I look up.
Marcus stands there like he never left—same lazy confidence, same crooked smile, same audacity. Hands in his pockets. Hoodie like he just rolled out of bed instead of into my afternoon.
I feel something hot and sharp rise in my chest.
Anger.
Disbelief.
A very old exhaustion.
I c***k the window an inch. “What are you doing here.”
He grins. “Wow. No ‘hi.’ You always were dramatic.”
I laugh once. Short. Humorless. “You’re blocking traffic. Move.”
“Come on, J,” he says, leaning closer. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do,” he insists. “You disappeared.”
“I broke up with you,” I say. “That’s not disappearing.”
He waves a hand. “You overreacted.”
There it is.
The sentence that used to make me question myself. The one that used to pull me back into explaining, softening, apologizing.
Not today.
“You cheated,” I say flatly. “With your coworker.”
He shrugs. Actually shrugs. “It wasn’t like that.”
I open the door and step out, closing it behind me so hard the sound echoes.
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t minimize it. Don’t rewrite it. And don’t pretend you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”
His smile falters for half a second.
Then he recovers. “You’re really gonna hold that over my head forever?”
“I’m gonna hold it over the version of you who still thinks I owe him access,” I reply.
Marcus scoffs. “You’re acting brand new.”
“I am,” I say. “You just didn’t get the update.”
People are starting to look now. I don’t care.
He steps closer. “So what, you think you’re too good now?”
I meet his eyes. Calm. Unflinching.
“No,” I say. “I think I’m done settling.”
That hits him harder than yelling ever could.
His jaw tightens. “You think some new job makes you better than me?”
“No,” I repeat. “I think walking away from you did.”
Silence snaps between us.
I grab my keys. “Move. Or I call security.”
He stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“Wow,” he mutters. “You really changed.”
I open the driver’s door. “You really didn’t.”
I get in, start the car, and pull out without looking back.
My hands are steady.
That’s how I know this isn’t fear anymore.
It’s closure.
I don’t make it out of the parking lot.
Marcus’s car pulls out behind mine, close enough that I can see his face in my rearview mirror. Still smiling. Like this is a game. Like persistence has ever been mistaken for loyalty.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter.
I pull into the convenience store lot instead of heading home. Bright lights. Cameras. Witnesses. I park sharply and step out before my engine even fully cuts.
Marcus follows.
“Why are you chasing me?” I demand the second he gets out of his car.
He throws his hands up. “Chasing is a strong word.”
“So is harassment,” I snap.
A couple by the entrance slows down. Someone at the pump watches openly now.
Marcus lowers his voice, like he’s doing me a favor. “I just want to talk. You don’t have to make a scene.”
“I’m not making a scene,” I say. “You are.”
He steps closer. I don’t step back.
“You don’t get to talk to me like this,” he says. “After everything we’ve been through.”
“That’s exactly why I do,” I reply. “You lost the privilege.”
He laughs, sharp and disbelieving. “Privilege? I was your boyfriend.”
“You were a liar,” I correct. “And you don’t get grandfathered in.”
His smile disappears.
“You really think you’re better than me now,” he says.
“No,” I say, slow and clear. “I think I’m better without you.”
That lands.
His face hardens. “You think some rich job is gonna save you?”
I take a step closer this time. Just one.
“I saved myself,” I say. “You just didn’t notice.”
Silence falls thick between us. The onlookers pretend not to stare. No one intervenes. They don’t need to.
Marcus exhales sharply. “You’ll regret this.”
I tilt my head. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
“You’ll come back,” he says. “They always do.”
I smile then. Not sweet. Certain.
“No,” I reply. “They don’t. Not when they finally see the pattern.”
I pull my phone out, thumb hovering over the screen. “Last chance. Leave.”
He looks around, finally noticing the attention. The cameras. The fact that this isn’t his apartment or his narrative anymore.
He scoffs. “Whatever. You’ve always been dramatic.”
“And you’ve always confused silence with forgiveness,” I say. “Goodbye, Marcus.”
I turn and walk back to my car.
This time, he doesn’t follow.
I get in, lock the doors, and sit there for a second—heart steady, hands calm.
I’m not shaking.
That’s new.
I drive away knowing something important just happened.
Not because he showed up.
But because he no longer matters.
I pull onto my street with my jaw tight and my shoulders squared.
Home is supposed to be where I unclench.
Tonight, it’s just another place where I have to be strong.
I park, grab my bag, and sit for one extra second before getting out. The house lights are on. That means everyone’s awake. That means questions. Noise. Needs.
My phone buzzes.
I don’t look at it.
I already know who it is.
Inside, the house smells like dinner and laundry detergent. My mom’s voice carries from the kitchen. One of my siblings laughs too loud at something on TV. Normal and safe. The kind of life Marcus always treated like a burden instead of a gift.
“Janyia?” my mom calls. “You’re back early.”
“Yeah,” I say, kicking off my shoes. “Long day.”
That’s all I give her. I don’t have the energy to unpack the rest.
I’m halfway up the stairs when my phone buzzes again.
Then again.
I stop.
I pull it out.
Marcus: You didn’t have to embarrass me like that.
I laugh under my breath. Quiet. Sharp.
Another message pops up immediately.
You always do this when things get hard.
I stare at the screen.
Hard.
Like balancing bills that aren’t even mine.
Like making space for five younger siblings.
Like carrying a future that everyone is counting on.
He has never known hard.
I was trying to help you, he sends next.
You think that program is gonna care about you the way I did?
There it is.
The guilt.
The doubt.
The old pressure point he used to press until I folded.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Then I hear my dad laugh downstairs—deep, familiar and warm. The sound grounds me in my body. In my spine.
I type back.
Me:
Don’t talk about my future like you had a hand in it.
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Then: You wouldn’t even be thinking this big if it wasn’t for me.
My chest tightens—not because he’s right, but because he really believes that.
I walk into my room and shut the door.
This space is small. Posters peeling at the edges. A desk crowded with notebooks and deadlines. No lock. No luxury. No illusion that I don’t belong to more than just myself.
My phone buzzes again.
You’re acting like I’m the villain.
I sit on the edge of my bed.
Slow inhale.
Slower exhale.
Me:
You cheated. You lied. You minimized it. That’s the whole story.
Seconds pass.
Then he said: You think anyone else is gonna put up with you the way I did?
That one lands.
Not deep—but familiar. Like an old bruise you forgot about until someone presses it.
I stand up, walk to the mirror.
I look tired, focused but not broken.
I type one last message.
Me:
I’m not something to “put up with.” That’s why this ended.
I block his number.
Not dramatically.
Not with shaking hands.
Just… finished.
Downstairs, my mom calls my name again. One of my siblings argues about the TV. Life keeps moving.
And for the first time today, I don’t feel chased.
I feel defended.
By me.
- Writer
