I wipe a tear with the back of my mind and continue looking out at the ocean.

Who would’ve imagined? Who could’ve possibly imagined a year ago this is where I’d be today? What about two weeks ago? Not me. The last image of him, giggling with that woman, still fresh in my memory, I clench my jaw and promise that, no matter what, I’ll never let myself be hurt like this again. Never ever again.

Someone is standing in front of me and I look up to see who it is.

I feel the blood draining from my face, my body, into my legs and onto the ground.

My head snaps to the side, and I wipe my tears so he doesn’t see I’ve been crying.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, poison dripping from my every word.

He stands next to the bench, his face expressionless.

“Why?”

I get up, my fists clenched next to my body. I can feel I’m trembling; I am that furious.

“Because I hate you, that’s why,” I say.

He starts laughing and I feel like I’m going to lose it. “Nothing new there, eh?”

“This time it’s for good. It’s the real deal. To the moon and back again.”

He seems so calm, it’s driving me crazy.

“That’s a lot! Dare I ask what brought on this new wave of hate?”

“Really? Are you really asking me that? What was the point of tonight? Instead of bringing Max, you brought your girlfriend to rub it in my face that I can’t be with him, but you can be with her, or what? I don’t get it.”

He laughs and I want to throw my phone at him. “Is that what this is all about?”

“No! Why don’t you just leave, Ethan?”

“I don’t want to leave and I don’t want you to leave either.”

He takes a step toward me and I take a step back.

“What more do you want from me?”

“I think there’s something you want from me.”

“That’s funny. We both know you’re not going to tell me who he is. I don’t think you ever intended to.”

“No,” he says and I’m taken back by his honesty. “It’s true. At first, I didn’t. I wanted to send you on a wild goose chase after random Lift drivers until you got frustrated and went back to New York. I was convinced that day meant nothing to you and you only came back to use my book as a launch ramp for your own writing career.”

I scoff, disgusted. “At least you admit it.”

“At first,” he repeats. “But then… I realized I was wrong. All this time we spent together, and reading your book and—”

I stare at him, the fury still raging in me.

“I don’t believe you. I think everything you’ve done since you met me was for your personal gain. What better way to sell books than to parade yourself around town with the main character? That’s what I was to you. The main character in a story. A poorly written story,” I say bitterly. “You used me and you misled me and—”