I felt bad for my Uber driver.

For the forty-five-minute drive home, I vacillated between deep breathing exercises with my head between my knees and sobbing quietly. Even though he had to be at least twenty-one, he looked sixteen. And from the glimpse of his wide eyes in the rearview mirror, my open display of emotions was making him nervous.

After my second round of crying began, he turned on the radio and stared studiously at the road.

I didn’t blame him. I didn’t want to deal with my emotions either.

I knew my reaction wasn’t one-hundred percent because of tonight. I hadn’t fully dealt with the loss of my parents in my life and it suddenly hit me full force. My parents didn’t love me enough to accept that I could never be exactly who they wanted me to be. Even though I’d tried and sacrificed who I really was inside to be the daughter they wanted, it wasn’t enough.

So they let me go.

I was surprised how easily they slipped out of my life. I didn’t miss them, not really, but I still felt loss. I had no other family, so I was alone in this world now, except for my friends.

And I thought Charlie too. But maybe I wasn’t enough for him either. Maybe he wanted a woman more like Malka, a woman who could joke with his friends, a woman who could get on stage, under the spotlights, and not melt.

When I got home, I threw off all the clothes I had so carefully picked for tonight. I was completely drained from my panic attack and all the heightened emotions. I had nothing left inside me to pick apart what happened and how I was going to deal with it. I was spent, done in. So I pulled on my comfiest T-shirt, and without bothering to wash off my makeup, I climbed into bed, pulled up my covers, and fell right to sleep.

If there was such a thing as an emotional hangover, I woke up with one. My head was foggy and my eyes were bleary and puffy. I’d slept like a rock, but I was still tired and heavy limbed. It would have been so easy to stay in bed. I didn’t have to go to the salon. I didn’t have to be anywhere.

I got up anyway. Running was the only thing that was going to clear the fog. I dreaded doing it, but I looked forward to the results. And there was only one week until the marathon. Today wasn’t the day to slack off. Eight miles would do every part of me good.

Once I changed into my running clothes, I opened my front door, and a piece of paper fluttered to the landing. A note.

My heart skipped a beat or two. And then it sank. Instead of Charlie’s messy scrawl, the handwriting was big and loopy, with a heart over the “i” in my name.

I threw down the note and ran down the steps at top speed. Thankfully the road was deserted, because the only thing I could see was Charlie’s building. Everything else was a blur. When I got to his door, I pounded on it frantically. My heart felt like it was going to explode, and my guts were tied in knots. Charlie hurt himself?

Malka opened the door, her violet hair a tangled mess, wearing one of Charlie’s T-shirts and nothing else. For half a second, I was ready to fly into a rage and accuse her of sleeping with my man, but as angry as I was at Charlie, I knew he’d never do that. And even though I hardly knew her, I didn’t think Malka would do that either.

“Oh, Eliza, I’m so sorry, honey,” she said in a rough voice. She pulled me into a tight hug, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to see Charlie.

“Where is he?” I asked when she let me go.

“He’s sleeping. We didn’t get back from the hospital until three and they gave him some pretty powerful pain meds. He’s sleeping it off, the lucky bastard.”

“Hospital?” I asked weakly.

“Yeah, the dummy broke his foot.”

I covered my mouth with my hands and gasped.

“Can I go see him?” I asked.

She motioned toward the bedroom. “Of course. He’s your boyfriend. I’m just going to lie back down on the couch.” She flopped down in the spot where she’d obviously been sleeping and pulled a blanket over her shoulders.

I went into his room, pausing in the doorway for a second to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Charlie was lying on his back with his arms wrapped around his body. When I approached, I saw his left foot and half of his calf were wrapped in a blue cast. Shit. He really did a number on himself.

I stood over him for a minute or two, watching him sleep. His face was anything but peaceful. There was a deep line between his brows and he murmured incoherently as his head moved restlessly from side to side.

I turned away. He was alive, he was breathing, he wasn’t maimed beyond all recognition. I hated that he was in pain, but I wasn’t ready to sit by his bedside and tend to him either.

When I went back to the living room, Malka sat up and yawned.

“Still sleeping, ja?” she asked.

“Still sleeping.” I sat down on the chair next to her and sighed. “What happened?”

“I went outside to check on you guys, but you’d left, and he was so upset, so I grabbed Ian—he’s my man, by the way—and we ditched the other guys and went to a few bars. Charlie talked about you the entire time. But he was wasted and stupid by the end of the night. When we went outside to find our car, Charlie started ranting, and he kicked a lamppost. I don’t know how he did it, but he hit the post just right and broke a couple bones. Meta-somethings.”

I shook my head sadly. “Oh, Charlie. Why would he do that?” I rubbed my hands over my face, my chin quivering. “We’re supposed to run a marathon next weekend.”

She looked at me with so much sympathy, I had to look away. “I’m so sorry, Eliza. I wish I could have stopped him.”

I stood, a ball of anger starting to churn in my stomach. “He’s an adult. He knew I was counting on him. He chose to be stupid and hurt himself. This is all on Charlie.”

Stomping into his kitchen, I found a scrap of paper and a pen and started scribbling.

I left the note on his kitchen counter. “Can you make sure he sees that?” I asked.

Malka nodded slowly. “Sure. I’ll probably hang out here the rest of the day, make sure he’s okay when he wakes up. Am I to assume you won’t be back?”

I huffed out a breath. “No. Thank you for being here for him. I just can’t right now.”

“Don’t feel bad. Charlie fucked up. If he doesn’t understand why you’re not here, then I’ll punch him in the fucking face just like David. I got you, girl.”

I went to the door, but before I left, I turned back to her. “Even though last night ended terribly, I’m really glad I met you.”

She smiled. “Me too. Good luck with your marathon next weekend. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Thanks. Try to get some sleep!”

She lay down on the couch and yawned. “All right, here I go.”

When I was outside on the sidewalk again, I stood there, trying to catch my breath. I’d gone from having a partner to being completely on my own. Every curse word ever invented, and some I made up on the spot, pounded through my head. This wasn’t the plan. I couldn’t believe Charlie wasn’t going to be running with me. The deeply pessimistic part of me said maybe we’d never run together again. And then that dark part of me said maybe I’d never hold him again or see his smile. I hated that part of me. Was it possible to punch an aspect of one’s own personality in the fuckin’ face? Because that bitch deserved it for rearing her ugly head exactly when I didn’t need it.

I took off on my run, hitting the pavement hard. I missed him with every step, every time my shoes slapped the pavement. I’d run by myself for years until Charlie inserted himself into my routine, and now I seemed to have forgotten how to do it on my own.

Slipping my earbuds in my ears, I turned on my favorite podcast. I tried to get into it, to think of anything but Charlie, but even 2 Dope Queens wasn’t cutting it this morning.

All I could think of were the countless times he’d made me laugh so hard, I thought I’d pee my pants. And the times he’d pushed me when we were running, even when he was barely hanging on by a thread himself. And the first time he told me he loved me.

I was only supposed to run eight miles, but I kept running full out until I was completely exhausted and my legs went into protest mode. Home was a long way away, but the distance helped.

Time apart would be good. I had immersed myself in Charlie so much, I hadn’t even noticed when he’d become my world. I counted on him so much, I didn’t even want to run by myself anymore.

I’d been with Edward for six years and lived with him, yet our lives outside of each other had been completely separate. I wasn’t sure which was better, healthier. Obviously, my relationship with Edward had been a shitshow and everything with Charlie had been wonderful—until it wasn’t—yet the results were the same. I was alone, running to the point of exhaustion so I wouldn’t have to think.

When I finally got back home, I was wrung out and empty. Thank god I didn’t have to go into the salon today, although my hands were twitching to scrub and scour something.

After I showered, I wrapped a towel around my chest and wiped the steamy mirror. Dark circles ringed my eyes and my bangs hung in wet clumps on my forehead. I looked as crappy as I felt.

I picked up my bangs between my fingers and dropped them. Right now seemed as good a time as any for a trim. Opening a drawer in my vanity, I pulled out my spare pair of shears and a comb. I pulled my bangs straight and gave them a nice healthy trim.

There, done. Except when I looked at my straight hair and straight bangs, I was sick of it. I’d had almost the exact same haircut forever, never venturing outside of my comfort zone. A surge of rebellion rushed through me, and I picked up a chunk of hair on the top of my head and chopped.

The feeling I got when the ribbons of hair fell into the sink could only be described as freeing. So I picked up piece after piece, cutting it at random lengths. When I got to my bangs, I slid my scissors downward, leaving them in short, choppy points.

When I was breathless, and my sink was full of hair, I realized I was crying. Not exactly out of sadness, but more so as catharsis. Cutting my hair had been cathartic too. I was a complete mess now, but I was free. In cutting away the haircut I’d been given as a child, I also cut those final ties in my heart and mind.