Caught In His Web of Manipulation

I pulled every single item back out of the trash. The crumpled hoodie, the concert ticket, the framed photo – everything. I carefully refolded the hoodie, smoothed out the ticket, and placed the photo back on my bedside table. My head throbbed, my eyes burned, but a strange warmth had started to spread through my chest.

I lay in bed all night, tossing and turning, watching the first faint streaks of dawn paint the sky. He was there for me when no one else was. The thought repeated like a mantra. He' s my savior.

As the sun finally rose, casting a pale glow across my room, I made a decision. I took a deep breath, unblocked Colten, and typed a message.

'Colten, I' m so sorry. I overreacted. I was stupid. Please, can we talk? I miss you.'

I hit send, then waited. And waited. No reply. My stomach churned. He' s probably still mad. Or busy. He' s always so busy. I rationalized, remembering his demanding Ph.D. schedule.

I couldn't just wait. I had to show him how much I regretted my behavior. I had to prove I was "the sensible girlfriend" he wanted. I got dressed, grabbed my wallet, and headed out.

First stop: his favorite bakery. I bought him a flaky croissant and a black coffee, just the way he liked it. Then, I headed straight to the Computer Science building, his intellectual sanctuary.

The lab was on the third floor. I stood outside the heavy, locked door, clutching the warm bag of breakfast. My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried the handle; it was, of course, locked. Access required a student ID. Mine wouldn't work for a Ph.D. lab.

I called his phone. No answer. I called again. Still nothing. The croissant was probably getting cold. I pressed the bag against my chest, trying to keep it warm.

A student, a young man with thick glasses, approached the door, swiping his ID. "Excuse me," I said, my voice a little shaky. "Could you... could you let me in? I'm Colten Russell's girlfriend. I brought him breakfast, but he's not answering his phone."

The student raised an eyebrow, a surprised look on his face. "Colten Russell's girlfriend?" he repeated slowly. "Uh, sure. I'll see if he's around." He opened the door, slipped inside, and left it ajar. I heard him talking in hushed tones, then the distinctive sound of a phone being dialed.

"Hey, Colten? Yeah, it's Mark. No, I'm okay. But, uh, your... girlfriend is out here. Says she brought you breakfast. You want me to let her in?" Mark's voice was low, but I could hear every word.

A pause. Then Mark spoke again, his voice dropping even lower. "Oh. Okay. Got it." He turned back to the door, his face a mixture of discomfort and pity. "He's... he's not in today, actually. Said he was working remotely."

My heart sank, a cold, heavy stone in my chest. Not in? But he was always here.

Then, I heard it. Whispers. A group of students was gathered around a lab bench, their voices barely audible, but the words cut through the buzzing in my ears.

"...saw them at the bar, after the conference. Totally making out."

"...yeah, apparently, they went back to her hotel room."

"...no, not his, her hotel room. He said he was going to work all night, remember? But then Addisyn's story went up..."

My legs buckled. The breakfast bag slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor, scattering the croissant and spilling coffee. The world spun. No. No. No. The Comments were gone. Completely silent. My head felt hollowed out, echoing with the cruel whispers.

Making out? Her hotel room? Was this also a "misunderstanding," Colten? Was this also "just colleagues"?

A wave of nausea washed over me. The air in the hallway felt thick, suffocating. Everyone knew. They all knew. They looked at me with pity, with a quiet sympathy. I was the fool, the last to know.

I forced myself to stand upright, my legs trembling. I took a deep, shuddering breath, then another. It felt like my lungs were collapsing. I couldn't breathe. I shut my eyes tight, then opened them, fixing my gaze on Mark, who was still standing awkwardly by the door.

"Hey, Mark?" My voice was raspy, barely a whisper.

He flinched, his face paling even further. "Yes, Ila?"

I forced a smile, a grotesque grimace that felt like it was tearing my face. "Could you... could you do me a favor?"

He nodded, his eyes wide.

"Tell Colten," I said, each word a shard of ice, "that we're over. For good."