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Left On The Highway: Too Late, Ex-Lover

Chapter 3

Word Count: 851 | Released on: Today at 14:50

ke's

throat burning, with a rust

ston's shouts, I limped toward the gift s

ntered, the room scented with

e beverage fridge at

as I reached for the large

memory, my hand automatical

e-he always got drowsy driving

black tea for Hiram-

lue sports dr

g water, because an hour ago she'd

aisle, hugging five co

n at the pil

and bleeding, soak

doned me in an observ

rammed me into a gar

wn money, fussing over their

laugh caught

bottles back on the shelf, and se

the cap, and drank half the bottle in three

n my empty stomach finall

gift shop into the

wing platform, the four of them were c

zie a fresh berry smoo

g on large waffle cones loa

n't wait

n't look

eats and settled into thei

sat on had exac

om for anyone e

ps of the gift shop porch, took

r the visitor center; the

an email I had sta

l College London-Graduate Re

gineering: full tuition waiver, living stip

d for through four

e in March, I had

moving to London would "der

ean, since the family needed me nearby to manage Mom

airs, "playing high-society elite" i

hesit

mittee asking to defer my de

e offer and confirm my student visa

d at th

nt blue button: "Accept Of

up from

rip of ice cream from Kenzie's lip with a napkin, and

d Avery's shoulders, poi

hey were a co

partner, or their sis

r lives-the one who picked up the tab and c

ack down a

e for half a beat. It s

ation popped up

s been received. Your enrollment guide and interna

breath fill

n six months, my che

er long swig

a wheeled bin past, emptying the r

om the st

ed, but my legs had

y empty bottle, and looked up at

tdown ha

on this trip. Then I would fly h

cond of those seventy-two ho

Chapter End

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Left On The Highway: Too Late, Ex-Lover

SHANA GRAY Modern

“I Waited Three Hours in Line for Them; They Couldn't Wait Three Minutes for Me In a hundred-and-four-degree heat, I stood in line for three hours just because my boyfriend's new coworker Kenzie wanted reservations for the observation deck. Sweat glued my shirt to my back; my lips cracked from dehydration. When I finally inched up to the window, I texted the group chat: "Almost done." No one replied. I turned around-the parking lot was empty. The sun beat straight down as I stared at the blank chat window, waiting. Then my boyfriend Easton texted: "You took too long. Kenzie doesn't feel like going anymore. We're resting at the gas station convenience store three miles out. Walk over yourself." My own brother didn't stop them. Neither did my childhood friend. In thin canvas shoes, I walked the whole three miles, my heels bleeding until the white canvas soaked dark red. The next day, ignoring my injuries, they insisted on a mountain hike. That night I ran a 103.5-degree fever and begged for help in the group chat. My brother replied: "Take some Tylenol. We're all asleep." My boyfriend twisted the knife: "Stop texting. You'll wake Kenzie." That second, I woke up. I had already accepted the full scholarship from Imperial College London-the offer I'd been sitting on for six months. There was nothing left to decide. At 5:30 in the morning, I threw those blood-soaked canvas shoes into the metal trash can, called a taxi, and headed straight for the airport. At the departure gate, I dialed Easton, my voice calm without a trace of a tremble: "We're done."”