Boys Like Him

Weaned off

My fingers moved before my brain caught up.

I opened our chat.

Nothing new.

Of course.

He said he'd be busy.

I stared at the screen anyway.

Waiting.

For what? I didn't know.

A text.

A call.

Something.

Anything.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Hey.

Sent.

The three dots didn't appear.

My stomach twisted.

I told myself I didn't care.

That I wasn't waiting.

That this didn't mean anything.

But the silence stretched.

The next few days didn't ease up on me.

I kept checking my phone like any second now, his name would flash across the screen and everything in me would settle back into place.

But it didn't.

No Cherry. No late-night come over texts I pretended to hesitate over before grabbing my keys in under thirty seconds.

Nothing.

Just... empty.

By Wednesday, it had started to itch under my skin.

I sat in class, pen hovering over my notebook, but I hadn't written a single word in ten minutes. The lecturer's voice droned on muffled like I was underwater.

My phone sat face-up on the desk.

Useless.

A tight feeling curled low in my stomach.

This is stupid.

He had said he'd be busy.

He warned me.

So why did it feel like I was being... weaned off something?

"Nyelle."

I blinked.

Mariah's voice cut through the fog.

I turned slowly. She was watching me, brows drawn, arms folded.

"You've checked that phone like twelve times in five minutes."

I scoffed, too quick. "I'm expecting something."

"Mm." She didn't believe me. Not even a little. "From who?"

I didn't answer.

Her eyes softened, worse than if she stayed sharp. "Still nothing?"

"Mariah..."

"Okay, okay." She raised her hands. "Not pushing."

But she was. Just quietly now.

I looked back at my phone.

Still nothing.

So I threw myself into something else.

Work.

By Thursday, I was at the salon straight after lectures.

Mariah didn't say I told you so when I showed up early.

She just handed me a towel and nodded toward a client. "You're on wash."

I sank my hands into routine, warm water, gentle pressure, the repetitive motion of fingers through hair. The hum of dryers filled the air, conversations overlapped, scissors snipped in steady rhythm.

"Nyelle, rinse properly," Mariah murmured behind me.

I blinked.

Realized I'd been standing there too long, hands frozen mid-motion.

"Sorry," I muttered, adjusting the spray.

So much for quiet.

It didn't last.

It never did.

Every time my hands stilled for even a second, my mind slipped.

Back to him.

I swallowed hard, tightening my grip on the nozzle.

"Nyelle."

I exhaled slowly.

Mariah again.

I turned. She tilted her head toward the back.

"Break."

"I'm fine."

"Break," she repeated firmer.

I didn't argue.

The back room was quieter.

I leaned against the counter, staring down at my hands, still slightly damp, faintly trembling.

"This isn't just about work, is it?" Mariah said behind me.

I let out a humorless huff. "I'm working, aren't I?"

"You're hiding."

That hit.

I straightened slightly, folding my arms. "I said I'd get my s**t together. This is me doing that."

She stepped closer. "No, this is you trying to outrun something."

"He hasn't called, has he?"

That night, I broke.

Just a little.

---

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

I'd gotten used to noise.

To him.

To the way he filled up space like he belonged there.

Now it felt like something had been... ripped out.

I rolled onto my side and grabbed my phone.

My thumb hovered over his name.

Lloyd.

I hesitated.

Then I tapped.

Hope you're good.

I sent it before I could overthink it.

Then I waited.

Five minutes.

Nothing.

Ten.

Still nothing.

Thirty.

I locked my phone and tossed it aside, turning onto my back.

You're doing too much.

My phone buzzed.

I grabbed it instantly.

A message.

From him.

I read it immediately.

I'm good.

That was it.

And for the first time since this started, I didn't feel wanted.

Sunday suddenly felt very far away.

And work wasn't enough to drown him out anymore.

By Friday, I told myself I was fine.

Not because I believed it.

But because it was easier than admitting I wasn't.

So I worked.

The salon was alive in that chaotic, familiar way, heat pressing against my skin, the constant hum of blow dryers, the sharp scent of relaxers and conditioners clinging to the air. Conversations overlapped, laughter rising and falling, chairs scraping lightly against the tiled floor.

I tied my apron tighter around my waist, fingers fumbling slightly before I forced them still.

The bell above the door chimed.

"God, it's actually unbearable outside."

That voice.

I didn't have to look.

My stomach already knew.

Brianna

And her entourage.

They flowed in like a performance, perfect hair bouncing, glossed lips catching the light, designer bags swinging off manicured wrists. Laughter followed them, loud and curated, like they were always aware of being watched.

Mariah glanced at me from across the salon.

I exhaled slowly and turned back to my station.

Invisible.

That's what I needed to be.

"Mariah, please tell me you can fix this," Brianna sighed dramatically, dropping into one of the chairs and fluffing her hair like it had personally offended her.

Mariah slipped into her professional smile. "What are we doing today?"

"Maintenance," one of the girls chimed. "We have things this weekend."

Of course they did.

They always did.

I kept my head down.

Hands busy.

Don't engage.

Don't react.

Don't...

"Actually..."

Her voice cut clean through the noise.

"I want her."

I looked up.

"Nyelle, right?" she added, like she didn't know exactly who I was.

Mariah hesitated.

I saw the flicker of doubt.

Are you sure?

I stepped forward before it could turn into something bigger.

"I've got it," I answered quietly. Because I wasn't about to cost Mariah business.

The water ran warm over Brianna's hair, soaking through the strands as I adjusted the pressure.

She leaned back into the sink.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

Held.

Then she smiled and looked away.

Behind me, her girls had already started.

"So... are you actually going tonight?" one of them asked, voice light but curious in that I-need-details kind of way.

"Obviously."

My fingers slowed.

"Didn't you say you were done with him?" another girl teased.

A soft laugh.

"Please," Brianna murmured. "I was bored. There's a difference."

A few giggles followed.

I kept my eyes on her hair.

"I miss him," she added casually.

"We've been talking again," she went on, almost absentmindedly. "Like... a lot."

There was a pause.

"And tonight, I'm going over."

I adjusted the nozzle, focusing on the pressure against my fingers.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

"Wait, what about his dad?" one of the girls asked.

Brianna rolled her eyes, a small huff leaving her lips. "He's been dealing with that, yeah. Busy or whatever."

Busy.

My grip tightened in her hair before I forced it to loosen.

Busy.

"But clearly not too busy for you," another girl snorted.

Brianna smiled.

"Never."

My heart was beating too fast now.

I could hear it in my ears.

Feel it in my throat.

"You know what," Brianna said suddenly, shifting slightly under my hands. "Let me just call him."

Everything in me went still.

"Girl..." one of them laughed.

"What? I'm not showing up unannounced. I'll have him send the driver."

Her fingers were already moving.

Already unlocking her phone.

Already dialing.