“I’m fine, Patrick. Just tired.”

The rest of the car ride to Brea’s place is quiet. I stare out the window and try to figure out a way to let Patrick down easy. It doesn’t matter how I say it, though. I know it’s going to crush him. I just hope he doesn’t go off the deep end. Ten minutes later, we arrive at Brea’s. She hops out and pops her head through the passenger side window where I’m sitting.

“Well, thanks for dinner, guys. Patrick, keep me posted on that concert in the city you were telling me about.”

“You bet, Brea. Goodnight.”

She and I exchange looks. She inhales deeply, nods at me, and says, “Lex, text me when you get home, please.”

“I will. Goodnight, Bre. Love you.”

“Love you too, chick.” She kisses the top of my head and jogs inside as Patrick drives away. By now, the alcohol is starting to wear off, and I’m not feeling quite as brave as before. He reaches over and starts rubbing my knee.

“Are you sure you’re okay, babe? Do you want me to stop at the store to get you anything? Crackers? Ginger ale? Soup?”

“Patrick, I’m not sick.” I’m agitated.

“Well, you’re acting strange,” he says, looking at me with concern.

“Yeah, about that. We need to talk,” I say, just as we pull up to my place. “Just park here on the curb, please.”

“But…I was hoping to stay over tonight. Since you don’t have to work now and all.” He sounds disappointed and hurt.

“I can’t tonight,” I say, looking down at my feet. “Look, Patrick, I care about you a lot, but I don’t think I can do this any more.”

“Do what, Lexi? What are you talking about? Are you breaking up with me? Maybe you should go inside and get some sleep and we’ll talk about this tomorrow after the alcohol has worn off.”

“No, I can’t. We’re talking about this now,” I insist. “I’m sorry, Patrick. I really am. But I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with your crazy mood swings all the time. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells around you. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“What brought this on all of a sudden? Was it because I freaked out that you were hogging the driveway? Fuck, I didn’t mean to scare you, Lex.” He runs his hands through his hair and rubs the back of his neck. He looks confused and frustrated, like he’s trying to figure out a way to fix this.

“Patrick, please,” I plead, hoping he’ll just accept what I’m trying to say.

“Please what, Lexi? You’re ripping my fucking heart out here. I didn’t realize…” His voice starts off escalated but then trails off into an inaudible whisper. He looks like someone just ran over his dog, and he’s on the verge of tears.

“Fuck, Patrick, I’m sorry. I tried to work through it and deal with it all, and I’m just exhausted from being so on edge all the time around you.”

He’s quiet as he grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. Then he exhales slowly.

“Okay, Lex, whatever you want,” Patrick says in a dry, even tone. He then gets out of the car and walks around to my side to open the door for me. I’ve just ripped the man’s heart out and he’s being a perfect gentleman. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Patrick, I really believe there’s someone better out there for you. I hope you don’t hate me. I truly am sorry,” I say, while grabbing my purse and climbing out of the car.

“I could never hate you. I don’t understand why this is happening, though. I love you, Lexi.”

“Goodnight, Patrick.”

“Yeah. See ya, Lex.” He’s obviously crushed that I don’t feel the same way; I couldn’t bring myself to say those three little words. As I walk toward the door he slides back into the car. I turn around to see him watching me in his rearview mirror to make sure I get inside okay before he drives off.

I WALK THROUGH the door of my house and lock it behind me. I’ve lived here for a few years now, but I still haven’t taken the time to decorate. I’d rather spend my spare time at home, reading, or chatting with friends on social media. I have a couch, a chair, a TV (that I rarely ever watch), and a bed. What more do I need? I enjoy being on my own, not having to share my space with anyone. Men just seem to cause me stress.

I’ve lived on my own since I was eighteen. I never knew my mom—she passed away giving birth to me. My dad died from heart surgery complications a couple of months after I graduated high school. Being raised by my dad, I learned a lot about cars and how to stick up for myself. He also taught me to never seriously date a man I couldn’t marry. While I’m relieved that things are over with Patrick, I can’t help but wonder how he’s going to deal. He’s never been violent, but I’ve seen him lose his temper more times than I can count. And the way he grabbed my face tonight was scary.

I decide to have a long, hot shower, slip into my favorite pair of fleece pajamas, and curl up in bed under my blue flannel blanket. My mom made it while she was pregnant with me. It’s the only thing I have from her other than pictures. It’s brought me a lot of comfort over the past twenty-four years.

As I lie in bed, I remember that I forgot let Brea know I was home safe and quickly send her a text.

Me: I’m home. Fill you in on Patrick tomorrow.

Brea: It’s about time you texted me! I was getting worried. I called Josh. We have an appointment with him at one tomorrow.

Me: I’m really looking forward to some fresh ink.

Brea: Love ya, chick. See you tomorrow! Stoplight Café for lunch first?

Me: Sure, sounds great! I could go for a big plate of cheese fries. I’ll meet you at your place at 11:30.

Brea: It’s a date! Nighty night! Xx

Me: Goodnight. Xx

I place my phone on the nightstand, switch off my lamp, and curl up on my soft, warm bed. Just as I start to drift off to sleep, the doorbell rings. Seriously? I just got comfortable! I throw off my blanket as I get out of bed, and grab my robe to go answer the door.

“Who is it?” I ask loudly before I open it.

“It’s Derek, Lexi.”

My neighbor. He has short brown hair and bright, sparkling blue eyes. He wears his facial hair very short and neatly trimmed, not one of those bushy lumberjack beards. His muscles are toned, but not overly bulky, and he’s just under six feet tall. Derek moved into the neighborhood about four months after I did.

I open the door to see him covered head to toe in dirt and grease. He details cars in his spare time. “Wow, Derek…you got a mess tonight? What happened?”

He looks a little embarrassed, and tries to wipe his hands clean on his shirt. “Ah, yeah, sorry to pop over like this. I know it’s getting late. I’m trying to tune up a car for a friend, and the oil plug was stuck. I managed to get the plug off, but knocked the drain pan out of the way in the process and now my garage, and myself, obviously, are a mess. Anyways, I was hoping you might have some kitty litter I could use?” He smiles widely at me, flashing his dimples. I can’t help but giggle just a tiny bit.

“You’re in luck. I keep a small bag of it in the garage just for this type of thing. Give me a sec and I’ll grab it.”

“I owe you one, Lex.”

On my way back from the garage, I stop in the kitchen to grab an extra bottle of blue dish soap from under the sink. Derek’s still trying to clean his hands off with his shirt, which is as dirty as the rest of him.

“Here.” I say handing the soap and kitty litter to him. “Thought you could use the soap too,” I say with a snicker. He takes it from me, careful not to touch me with his dirty hands, and chuckles.

“Thank you, Lexi. Sorry again for bothering you. Have a good night,” Derek says, and jogs back across the street.