The Wound That Never Heals

I went to my ex-boyfriend's apartment, ready to beg him to take me back. It had only been a week since we’d broken up. I pushed the door open and found him leaning down, kissing someone else.
The girl was wearing my silk nightgown.
And she wasn't just anyone. It was Iris. My roommate for all four years of college.
Just last night, back in our dorm room, Iris mentioned she might be moving out. She said the guy she'd been crushing on for ages had finally asked her out and wanted her to move in with him.
I was such an idiot. I’d actually congratulated her, happy that her dream was coming true.
I never imagined that her new boyfriend was Joss, the man who had just broken my heart.
He certainly didn't waste any time moving on. A seamless transition.
I stood frozen in the doorway, the world tilting on its axis.
Iris saw me first. "Ava?!" she gasped, her eyes wide.
Joss looked up. The moment our gazes locked, a flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, unnerving calm. He straightened his shirt and walked toward me, his shadow falling over me as he looked down.
"What do you want, Ava?"
My eyes were glued to the raw, red mark on his collarbone. A knot formed in my chest, tight and suffocating, stealing the air from my lungs. The words I’d practiced, the pleas for a second chance, died on my lips.
Iris came over, offering a small, apologetic smile. "I didn't have a nightgown, so I borrowed yours. Hope you don't mind."
My head buzzed, a low hum of white noise.
She saw my silence and rushed to explain, her voice a little too bright. "Ava, don't get the wrong idea. Joss and I only got together after you two broke up."
Watching her scramble to prove her innocence, I felt like a fool. A clown in a tragedy of my own making. It took me a moment to find my voice, to cobble together a brittle excuse for being there.
"I still have some things here," I said, my voice flat. "I came to pack."
Joss was silent for a beat, his expression unreadable. "Fine. Come in."
It was only when I stepped inside that I understood his silence.
The succulent I’d potted with my own hands was gone from the windowsill. In the bathroom, our matching toothbrush holder had been replaced. The curtains, the bedsheets, the duvet cover—all of it had been swapped out for the muted grays and blues that Iris loved.
Even the framed photo on the nightstand, a picture of Joss and me as kids, had been replaced with one of Iris.
There was nothing for me to pack. This little apartment, the home we had built together, was no longer mine. It had been scrubbed clean of me.
All in one week.
One single week.
Everything I owned had been crammed into a single suitcase and shoved in a corner of the balcony, gathering dust.
My dog was out there, too.
The hot, sticky air of the summer night wrapped around me, making it hard to breathe. I squatted on the cluttered balcony, staring at Ricky, who was slumped listlessly in his cage.
We found Ricky, a stray, on the day of our first date. Joss had named him, wrapping his arms around me from behind and whispering with a wicked grin that every time I called the dog's name, I'd remember the thrill of our first kiss.
But that was all gone now.
"Ricky," I whispered.
His floppy ears twitched and then shot up. When he saw it was me, he let out an excited little whine, his whole body wiggling as if he wanted to leap into my arms like he always did. Realizing he was trapped, he sat back down, his tail thumping against the cage in a frantic rhythm.
A sharp sting hit the back of my nose, and the dam of emotions I’d been holding back finally broke. I stormed back into the living room.
"I don't care about the other stuff, but you know Ricky was abused! He's terrified of being locked in a—"
"I know," Joss cut me off, his voice dangerously quiet. He glanced at Iris. "She's scared of dogs."
The rest of my words caught in my throat.
She's scared of dogs.
So that was it.
A dull, heavy ache spread through my chest.
The first time I sensed something was wrong between Joss and Iris was two months ago. With graduation looming, he was drowning in job offers and interviews, constantly busy. I’d send him a text at night and wouldn't get a reply until the next morning. Our phone calls became brutally short.
"He's just stressed with graduation, Ava. Don't overthink it," Iris would say, trying to comfort me as I moped around the dorm.
On Valentine's Day, Iris gave me two movie tickets. Hoping to repair the growing rift between us, I asked Joss to go with me.
Halfway through the film, he was clearly distracted, his eyes darting to his phone every few minutes.
"Ava, I have to take a call. I'll be right back."
He was gone before I could reply, grabbing his jacket and hurrying out of the theater. He never came back.
After the movie ended, I saw him waiting for me in the crowded lobby, leaning against a wall with his head down, lost in thought. I noticed something odd—the top two buttons of his shirt, which were usually open, were fastened tightly to his throat.
When he saw me, he offered a simple explanation. "Project call. Lost track of time."
"What kind of project call lasts for an entire movie?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
How did he reply? He didn't even bother to lie convincingly. "If you're going to be suspicious, there's nothing I can do."
Back in our dorm, I was scrolling aimlessly through my phone, my mind a turbulent mess, when I saw Iris's latest post. It was a picture of two half-finished coffees and a pair of ticket stubs. The caption was just a single heart emoji.
The room was silent except for the soft sound of our breathing. But I felt like I was suffocating. "Was your movie in the theater next to mine?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm not really into rom-coms."
"Did you go with that guy you like?"
Iris was quiet for a long time. Then, a small, knowing smile touched her lips. "I did."
Later that night, we were walking across the campus green. I walked ahead, wrapped in a cold silence. Joss sensed my mood and reached for my hand. "What's wrong?"
I said only one thing. "Iris was at the same movie theater tonight."
The air between us went still. But only for a second.
He tightened his grip on my hand. "Ava, it was just a coincidence."
I looked into his eyes, saw the sincerity and apology swimming there, and I couldn't bring myself to pull away. We had been together for so long; we were supposed to be each other's future. I couldn't let a few suspicions poison everything we had. Besides, I'd seen a picture of the guy Iris was supposedly obsessed with. She’d spent four years of college single for him. There was no way she'd go after Joss.
Right?
Maybe it was my imagination, but after that night, Joss grew even colder.
With his final thesis defense approaching, he became a ghost. We hadn't seen each other in almost a week. On his birthday, I baked his favorite cake, bought him a gift, and went to his apartment to surprise him.
When I opened the door, the apartment was filled with people. And Joss was cutting a cake.
With Iris.
She was practically enveloped in his arms, her hand placed over his as they held the knife together.
The cheerful chatter in the room died instantly.
Joss's face was a blank mask when he saw me. He didn't move his hand. "Keep going," he said to the group.
It was Iris who pulled her hand away, her eyes darting toward me with a complicated expression.
Someone quickly jumped in to explain. "It's Iris's birthday today too! We just thought it'd be fun for them to cut the cake together. Don't get the wrong idea!"

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