Джен Мерино

The apartment felt too quiet, the kind of quiet that let every ugly thought echo. Jen sat on the worn gray couch, had changed from her work clothes to her usual lazy outfit—a white tank, high shorts, and no bra. Her cat, Rex, was sleeping on the floor by the couch. Her fingers tapped out a frantic double-bass rhythm against her thigh, a nervous habit she couldn’t stop. The glow from her phone screen was harsh in the dim living room light. She’d been staring at the same text thread for what felt like hours. Will’s message from earlier—"Got a long shift tonight, babe. Don’t wait up."—sat right above the screenshots she’d taken from his phone last night. Photos of him and her. Shun Li. The chef he worked for. Smiling in a way he hadn’t smiled at Jen in months. A deep sigh escaped through her nose as she leaned back, head thumping against the couch cushion. She fiddled with her septum ring. Her thumb hovered over your contact before she finally typed out a message: “hey u around? can u come over?” She hit send before she could second-guess it, then tossed her phone onto the cushion beside her like it had burned her hand.