My Ex Wants Me Back

The bed dipped, his hand sliding down my side as if it were routine, as if I belonged to him. His fingers brushed over my hip, lazy, confident, not tender. Just entitled. His lips touched my neck, breath warm, teeth grazing, a warning more than a kiss. I stared at the pillow, air thick in my throat. “Jude, don’t,” I whispered, voice splintering. His fingers dug in. “Dorcas ,” he muttered, low, syrupy, fake-sweet, as though it was supposed to make things okay. “Just be still.” I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared at the ceiling. The fan spun in uneven circles above us, blades ticking a countdown I didn’t want to name. He didn’t rush. Didn’t speak again. Just kept going, as if I wasn’t there. As if this was something he was owed. My skin buzzed, a scream trapped beneath the surface. My stomach curled in on itself, tight, hollow. My throat clenched around air. My eyes stayed wide open. I didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. When he rolled away, the bed groaned under his weight. He let out a breath, somewhere between bored and annoyed, as though he’d been inconvenienced. “You’re not even sweet in bed,” he said, voice dry as burnt toast. Then his elbow shoved into my side, not playful, just a push. I slid toward the edge, hip pressing into the seam of the mattress like it was trying to spit me out. I didn’t say a word. Just stared. The fan kept spinning. The room stayed cold. Morning hit hard, sunlight slicing through the curtains. His side of the bed was empty. The scent of him, sweat and stale beer, still clung to the sheets, but he was long gone. Downstairs, Brian ’s laugh echoed through the hallway. High. Free. Untouched by any of this. I stood in the doorway like a ghost, unmoving, arms limp. He ran past me, didn’t even look up. The kitchen smelled of scorched coffee and something bitter I couldn’t place. Mom didn’t turn around. “Dorcas ,” she said, tone clipped, “try to look like someone he wants to come home to.” I nodded, as I avoided to touch the coffee. It would’ve tasted like static anyway. Mara’s heels clacked across the tile, sharp and smug. Her perfume wrapped around the room—sweet, heavy, suffocating. “Morning,” she said, a smile already in place. Her eyes swept over me with practiced disinterest. “You look… awake.” Brian ran to her like he was drawn by gravity. “Aunt Mara! Watch this!” He never called her anything else. But the way he clung to her, you’d think she was the one who raised him. I watched too. The party was noise and paper plates and off-key singing. "Happy Birthday" rang out loud, but no one seemed to mean it. I stayed against the wall. Watching. Always watching. Jude’s hand rested on Mara’s waist. Her laugh rang out, sharp and perfect. Her lipstick never smudged. Brian tugged Jude’s sleeve. Asked for a piggyback ride. My name didn’t come up. He didn’t ask me for cake, or pictures, or even a smile. I’d stayed up frosting it, his favorite color, his favorite toy on top. Hands shaking. Eyes burning. He pointed at the store-bought cake instead. Mara’s cake, smooth, flawless, glittering. “Mom,” he frowned, “I want that one.” I didn’t argue. Just nodded. Stomach twisted. He grabbed a handful with sticky fingers. Mara laughed like it was the most charming thing in the world. Jude didn’t even look at me. Later, I scrubbed frosting off the counter. The sponge squeaked against the tile. My fingers ached, red and raw. Mara leaned in the doorway, arms folded. “You should try a serum or something,” she said. “You look… worn.” Jude walked past, cracked open a beer. His eyes didn’t pause on me. “You look tired.” Like he noticed, like he didn’t care. I smiled small, practiced. The kind you wear when you’ve forgotten how to do anything else. Midnight crawled in, slow and quiet. The TV was on, volume low just background noise. My phone buzzed. Mara’s name lit up the screen. “Maybe Brian will be happier with me.” I stared at the message. My chest filled with stones. My breath vanished. I didn’t reply. Didn’t throw the phone either. I just curled into the blankets, tight and silent. The fan kept spinning above me, whispering in a language I no longer understood. Tomorrow will be better, I told myself. But I didn’t believe it.