Chapter 5: Goodbye, Bootlicker

At first, everyone was kind. They called me sister-in-law, joked about my shyness, said I was gentle, some tried to ease the teasing. I’m introverted, don’t like noisy scenes, so I paid extra attention to where you were. When I noticed you disappeared from the room, it was only two or three minutes.

I scanned the crowd, looking for you, feeling uneasy. I didn’t want to be left alone. I left the room to look for you and saw Shayla blocking you in the mirrored hallway. Your silhouettes appeared in every glass panel, stretched and surreal, but you two looked beautiful. I heard Shayla ask, "So it’s Autumn. I admit defeat. But you broke up, so why would you rather be with Savannah than me?"

Her voice echoed in the hallway, her confidence filling the space. I felt invisible, watching from the shadows. She kissed you, and you didn’t push her away.

I froze, heart pounding, then turned and walked away before anyone saw my tears. Later you impatiently explained that you didn’t push her away because you were drunk and slow to react. You showed me your chat records with Shayla—mostly her messaging you, you replying coldly with simple words. Your buddies awkwardly vouched for you, saying if you and Shayla had something, you wouldn’t be with me, so I shouldn’t worry.

They tried to smooth things over, but it felt hollow. I wanted to believe you, but the doubt lingered. Finally, Shayla came to me. She was beautiful, especially when she smiled. She didn’t want to be called a homewrecker. She showed me a photo with her new boyfriend, and with an exasperated tone said, "Come on, Miss Brooks, isn’t it normal nowadays? I liked Lucas, he’s handsome and rich, seemed suitable, so I flirted. If it didn’t work, I’d just switch to another. Plenty of handsome, rich guys, I can always find another. Why are you so serious?"

Her words stung, but I admired her honesty. She didn’t play games—she knew what she wanted and moved on. She winked meaningfully: "Anyway, you should be worried about someone else, not me. You’ve got the wrong target, Savannah."

I caught the hint, felt the sting of truth. Autumn was always the real threat. She meant Autumn—the girl who became famous as a swan at the freshman gala. See, except for me, everyone knew where your heart was.

I realized I was the only one who didn’t see it. Everyone else knew the score. Only I believed in you wholeheartedly, took your words as gospel, loved you blindly.

I was the last to catch on, always hoping for a miracle. No wonder they say people in love lose IQ, brain full of water. I was truly bewitched. I laughed at myself, finally seeing the absurdity of it all.

This breakup was also me seeking you out. At your dorm, I heard a roommate ask you, "How many days since Savannah broke up with you? Want to bet how long before she begs to get back together?" I stood outside, listening to the laughter, feeling like a punchline.

After a while, I heard you lazily reply, "Third day, right? No need to bet, she’s probably on her way now." I bit my lip, realizing you knew me better than I knew myself. It hurt.

See, you didn’t love me, but you knew me well. You could predict my every move, every weakness. I hated how right you were.

Your roommates laughed, some said five days, some seven, then one said, "She’s like a stubborn patch, really can’t get rid of her. Lucas, we feel for you." Their laughter echoed, cruel and dismissive. I wanted to disappear.

It was your third roommate who said it. Strange, I had no grudge against him. After we got together, I tried to get along with your roommates, brought them food, helped when his family had trouble, even cleaned your dorm. I don’t know why they were so harsh.

I thought kindness would earn me respect, but it only made me seem desperate. I learned that dignity matters more than effort. Maybe because I had no dignity before you. A person who gives up their own dignity, buries themselves in the dirt, has no right to blame others for stepping on them.

I saw it now, clear as day. I let myself be walked over, hoping it would earn love. Others in love have brains full of water—mine was the whole ocean. I even thought it was because I misunderstood you and you were mad at me. How foolish—I went in, embarrassed, to apologize and ask you to forgive my distrust.

I knocked on your door, cheeks burning, voice shaking. I wanted you to say you cared, but you barely looked up. You replied coldly, "Whatever." The word hung in the air, final and cruel. I realized then that I deserved better.

Sorry, writing this makes you look bad. But you know, this is a backup’s self-rescue guide, so I can only write about your bad parts.

I’m not a masochist, nor do I have Stockholm syndrome. Of course, you were good to me at times, or I couldn’t have held on so long. For example, one winter day on a date, I wore thin clothes for looks, just light stockings under my skirt, and while waiting for the bus I shivered. You took off your North Face puffer jacket and put it on me, then squatted down to warm my exposed ankles with your hands.

I remember your hands, rough and warm, the way you smiled up at me, teasing me for "dressing like it’s spring." For a moment, I felt safe. Looking at you squatting in front of me, my heart softened like melted cheese, stretching into strings.

I wanted to believe those moments mattered, that they were proof of something real. See, you were gentle and chivalrous. Maybe when we first got together, your words were sincere, you wanted a fresh start. But love can’t be forced. You could be gentle and caring, but not loving meant you couldn’t give your heart. Maybe you tried.

I replayed our early days, wondering if you ever meant it. Maybe you did, for a second. Sometimes I think, if only you’d been cruel, I could have given up sooner. But it was this occasional, faint tenderness that kept me tied, hoping if I tried harder, maybe...

It’s always the little things that keep you holding on, even when you know better. The third breakup was on day 168. I marked the date in my journal, hoping I’d finally move on. But it wasn’t that easy.