The Ex Who Called After His Engagement

I came home from work.

A copy of Vogue was in the mailbox, its cover a special issue celebrating the engagement of my ex-boyfriend, Julian, and his new fiancée.

I froze. Before I could process it, my phone rang.

I answered instinctively. A familiar voice spoke my name—one I hadn't heard in three years.

"Ava, what if I told you I regret it?"

"Would you take me back?"

————————

1

"Ava—"

Over the phone, Julian's voice was a tentative blade, slicing open healed scars and leaving them raw all over again. Feeling my own heart hammer against my ribs, I cut him off, my tone icy.

"Julian."

"Did you lose another game of Truth or Dare with your fraternity brothers?"

I sank onto the sofa, staring at the perfect couple in the magazine. Their radiant smiles were blinding, just like at that party three years ago. The same party where Julian shoved me down a flight of stairs, shattering my bones. I’d collapsed to the sound of the crowd's jeering laughter, begging him to just look at me.

But he had only glanced coldly at the pathetic sight of me on the floor and said...

"Ava."

"You will never belong in my world."

Now, listening to Julian's heavy breathing on the other end of the line, I let out a short, harsh laugh.

"What's the bet this time?"

"A bet on whether the foster kid whose life you nearly destroyed will still come running back, wagging her tail for you? Or," I drawled, "is the plan to play with her feelings again? To make her your new trophy while you watch me grovel at your feet, crying and begging you not to leave?"

Julian.

Who the hell did he think he was?

The water glass on the table tipped over, soaking the tabletop and scattering my anti-anxiety medication.

My PTSD prescription.

The white pills dissolved in the water, a stark contrast to the glamorous magazine cover. I trembled, my fingers fumbling as I tried to pick them up, but then I heard Julian speak.

"Ava, it's been three years."

His tone softened, as if he were coaxing a child.

"Three years."

"Can't we start over?"

Start over.

The thought was so absurd I almost laughed again. My hands wouldn't stop shaking; I didn't even have the strength to pick up a single pill.

And he was talking about starting over. How could we possibly start over?

I’d thought three years was long enough to face the past. I never expected Julian’s voice alone could dredge up such a visceral memory. That bone-deep pain swept over me once more.

"A good ex is a dead ex. I already mourned you, so why can't you just stay in your grave?"

I suppressed a shiver and scoffed.

"Julian."

"What, sad you didn't finish the job when you pushed me down the stairs? Or are you planning to spread those fake naked photos again—"

"Ava!"

Julian's breathing grew ragged, his voice trembling. "I'm not like that. I never wanted to hurt you, and I would never look down on you because of your background."

"What happened back then… I was an asshole. It was my fault, I admit it, but can you please—"

A long silence stretched over the line.

Then, a sound… It sounded like the once-arrogant star quarterback was quietly sobbing on the other end of the line. He choked out, "I really regret it."

"Ava."

"I regret it."