Chapter 4: The End of Us

After I got back, I packed my things and moved out. For the next three days, I didn’t message Derek at all.

My apartment looked strange with all my stuff gone—echoes where my laughter used to be, the smell of lavender detergent replaced by nothing. I left my key in a plain envelope on the counter.

He rarely took the initiative to call:

"Hey, dress nicely tonight. Come with me to a dinner party."

His tone was stiff, but it was one of the few times Derek gave me a way out.

But I refused:

"I’m not going. Find someone else."

He paused, then sounded incredulous:

"Find someone else? Everyone else is bringing their girlfriends. Who do you want me to bring?"

I said, "Anyone. Natalie or Rachel, either is fine."

"Aubrey, how many times have I told you—we’re just friends. Why bring up old issues again?"

"You’re the one who said you’d break up and date her. Do you want me to repeat your exact words?"

On the other end, his breathing was heavy, as if he was extremely angry:

"Fine, then let’s break up. I want to see who’ll be the first to beg for reconciliation like a dog."

Derek was always so sure of himself. His friends didn’t know we’d broken up before. He always left a way out, never saying it outright. Many times, when Derek said "break up," what he really meant was: "I’m angry, coax me, and we’ll get back together."

But if only one person always gives in, no matter how much they love, they’ll eventually feel wronged.

"Then let’s break up," I said.

Whether it was at the bar or even earlier, I think I’d already felt tired. Now I finally understand, in Derek’s heart, my worries were just controlling. My calls made him feel embarrassed and angry. If that’s the case, then I choose to let go.

Derek, I’ll give you the freedom you want.

I stared at my phone after hanging up, feeling hollow but somehow weightless. For the first time in years, I went to bed without waiting for his text.