Three Meters Of Desire

Two Weeks Gone

I haven't left Sophie's apartment in three days.

Actually, I haven't left her couch in three days. I'm wearing the same pajamas she loaned me, surrounded by tissues and empty ice cream containers.

"Elena." Sophie stands in front of the TV with her hands on her hips. "You have to shower."

"I don't have to do anything," I pulled the blanket over my head. "I'm dead to the world. Dead people don't shower."

"Dead people also don't smell like Ben & Jerry's."

I peek out from under the blanket. Sophie is dressed for work in one of her perfect outfits. Meanwhile, I look like I survived a natural disaster.

"I missed my Modern Literature class again," I mumble.

"I know."

"And my thesis deadline."

"I know."

"I'm going to fail out of Princeton."

Sophie sits on the edge of the couch. "Elena, you've been wallowing for three days. That's enough."

"It's not wallowing. It's processing trauma."

"It's wallowing." She pulls the blanket away from my face. "And you're starting to smell."

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. It's been doing that constantly for days. Alex won't stop calling and texting. Sometimes I read them just to torture myself.

I made a terrible mistake

Please give me another chance

You're the only one I've ever loved

I can't live without you

"Why do men only realize they love you after they destroy you?" I ask.

Sophie picks up my phone and turns it off completely. "Because they're idiots who don't know what they have until it's gone."

"Maybe I should talk to him."

"Absolutely not."

"Maybe if I could explain how much he hurt me—"

"Elena Carter, I swear to God, if you even think about taking that cheating bastard back, I will lock you in my closet."

I sink deeper into the couch. "I just don't understand how I got everything so wrong."

"You didn't get anything wrong. He did." Sophie's voice got fierce. "You loved him with your whole heart. He's the one who threw that away."

Two weeks. It's been two weeks since my world exploded, and I still feel like I'm drowning.

I haven't been to class. I haven't worked on my thesis. I haven't even called my parents because I don't want to admit what a disaster my life has become.

"I think I'm going to drop out," I say quietly.

Sophie's eyes flashed. "Over my dead body."

"Sophie, I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend I belong in that world when everyone keeps reminding me I don't."

"One professor and one cheating ex-boyfriend do not represent the entire world."

"Professor Grant was right. I don't have what it takes."

"Professor Grant is a misogynistic fossil who probably hasn't had an original thought since the 1980s."

I want to believe her. But every time I close my eyes, I see Alex with that woman. I hear his voice calling me pathetic.

"I keep thinking about what she said," I whisper. "About how she couldn't believe he stayed with the scholarship girl for so long."

Sophie's face goes dark. "What she said doesn't matter. What he said doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is what you know about yourself."

"Right now, I don't know anything about myself."

My phone starts buzzing again even though Sophie turned it off. She must have turned it back on.

"That better not be Alex," she warns.

I check the screen. It's not Alex. It's my academic advisor.

"Dr. Morrison?" I answer hesitantly.

"Elena, where have you been?" Her voice is concerned, not angry. "You've missed two weeks of classes. Your professors are worried."

Guilt crashes over me. Dr. Morrison has always been kind to me. She's the one who helped me get my scholarship.

"I've been... dealing with some personal issues," I say.

"I heard about the situation with Professor Grant. Elena, one rejection doesn't mean your thesis is worthless. It means you need to try a different approach."

"I don't think I have it in me to try again."

"Yes, you do." Her voice is firm. "I've seen your work. You're one of the most promising students in your program. Don't let one man's opinion destroy years of hard work."

After I hang up, Sophie is watching me with hopeful eyes.

"See? Dr. Morrison believes in you."

"One person believing in me isn't enough to fix everything that's broken."

"Then we'll find more people." Sophie gets that determined look again. "But first, you're going to shower, put on real clothes, and remember who you are."

"I don't remember who I am anymore."

"You're Elena Carter. You're the girl who got into Princeton on merit, not money. You're the girl who works three jobs and still maintains a 3.8 GPA. You're the girl who doesn't give up."

I want to be that girl again. But right now, she feels like a stranger.

One week later, Sophie stages an intervention.

I'm back on the couch, wearing different pajamas but still basically a human disaster, when the door bursts open.

"Surprise!"

Mia and Lila rush in carrying bags of food and enough wine to float a small boat.

"Oh no," I groan, pulling the blanket over my head. "Not an intervention."

"Yes, an intervention." Mia yanks the blanket away. She's tiny but fierce, with bright purple hair and more piercings than should be legally allowed. "You look like hell."

Lila, who's basically a walking Pinterest board with her perfect curls and pastel outfits, wrinkles her nose. "Elena, honey, when was the last time you washed your hair?"

"I don't know. What day is it?"

"That's the problem," Sophie says. "You've lost track of time, reality, and personal hygiene."

They dragged me to the bathroom and basically forced me to shower while they set up what looks like a small restaurant in Sophie's living room. Thai food, Chinese food, pizza, and enough chocolate to supply a small army.

When I come out clean and wearing actual clothes, they're waiting for me with wine glasses and determined expressions.

"Sit," Mia commands.

I sit.

"We're here to remind you that Alex Sunry is a walking trash who doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you," Lila announces.

"And that you're amazing and strong and deserve so much better," Sophie adds.

"And that wallowing is only productive for like, a week max," Mia finishes.

"I don't know how to move forward," I admit. "Everything I thought I wanted was a lie."

"So we'll figure out what you actually want," Sophie says. "Starting with getting you back to school."

"And maybe eventually back to dating," Lila adds with a sly smile.

"Absolutely not." I shake my head. "I'm never dating again. Men are garbage."

"Not all men," Mia protests. "Some men are wonderful. You just have terrible taste."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

"She's right though," Sophie says. "Alex was your first serious boyfriend. You have no idea what's out there."

"I don't want to know what's out there. What's out there is more heartbreak and humiliation."

Lila pulls out her phone. "That's why we're starting small. No actual dating. Just... exploring."

"What are you doing?" I ask suspiciously.

"Downloading a dating app."

"No." I reached out for her phone. "Absolutely not."

"Come on," Sophie joins in. "It's just for fun. Just to remind you that there are men out there who aren't complete disasters."

"The last man I trusted called me pathetic and cheated on me for two months."

"Which is exactly why you need to see what decent men look like," Mia says. "Consider it educational."

They spent the next hour passing around Lila's phone, setting up a profile for me while I protested weakly. But honestly, the wine is making everything seem less terrible, and my friends' laughter is the first good thing I've felt in weeks.

"Okay, what's your bio going to say?" Sophie asks.

"'Recently betrayed by human garbage, looking for someone who won't destroy my life,'" I suggest.

"Too honest," Mia says.

"'English literature student who loves books more than people,'" Lila tries.

"Too depressing."

They settle on something simple and normal. Then comes the real torture: looking at profiles.

"Oh my God, look at this one."

Sophie holds up my phone, showing a guy flexing in what looks like a public bathroom. His bio says "6 '2", gym rat, looking for fun."

"That's a hard no," I say, reaching for more wine.

"But look at those arms," Lila sighs dreamily.

"Those arms probably can't hold a conversation," Mia points out. "Next."

We've been at this for an hour. Sophie's living room looks like a war zone of takeout containers and wine bottles, but for the first time in two weeks, I'm actually laughing.

"Ooh, this guy has a boat," Lila says, showing us the next profile.

The photo shows a guy in sunglasses standing next to a yacht. His bio is literally just: "Rich. Sexy. Available."

"Gross," all four of us say at the same time.

"Why do they think we care about their money?" Sophie asks.

"Because some girls do," Mia says practically. "But Elena's not one of them."

I think about Alex and his BMW. His family's money that he used as a weapon. "Money doesn't matter if the person is garbage."

"Exactly," Sophie says. "Next!"

We keep scrolling. Guy after guy with the same photos, the same empty bios, the same red flags.

"This one says he's 'not like other guys,'" Lila reads.

"Which means he's exactly like other guys," Mia says.

"This one's bio is just a list of what he doesn't want," Sophie reports. "No drama, no crazy girls, no gold diggers."

"Translation: he causes drama, calls women crazy when they have feelings, and he's probably broke," I say.

My friends stare at me.

"What? Two weeks of wallowing gave me time to think about dating red flags."

"Our girl is learning," Mia says proudly.

We keep swiping. More gym selfies. More cars. More guys who think "hey beautiful" is peak conversation.