Simp No More, Thanks

In eight years together, my boyfriend—Shayne Raffield—blocked me eighty-eight times.

This time? Because I missed his call. At my best friend's birthday party.

Usually, I'd panic-order a gift, then stand outside his office, head down, ready to beg.

But today? I blocked him first.

The Chat Feed popped up, loud as ever:

[Nooo, Ley-Bae, don't block Shay-Shay! He's just got abandonment issues. Comfort him!]

[Shay's heart = shattered; Eyes = red. Ley, go! One pout and he's yours again!]

Then Shayne called.

Didn't say a word. Just breathed for ten seconds and hung up.

The Chat Feed freaked out.

[AHHHH SHAY LOVES LEY SO MUCH HE JUST SUCKS AT SAYING IT. THIS COWARD'S GONNA LOSE HIS GIRL.]

[Tomorrow's the big 8-year ShayLey anniversary! Shay-Shay booked the amusement park! PROPOSAL ALERT. Ley-Bae, unblock him! Marry him already!]

I stared at the feed. Nose stinging.

Yeah, I caved. Almost took him off the blocklist—almost—when the property manager texted:

[Ms. Landon, Mr. Raffield says you two broke up. Please pay $44.45 for this month's utilities. Also, he's calculated eight years of dating expenses: $5,844.10.]

My blood straight-up froze.

Next second, I Venmo'd the money.

Then I packed my stuff, clipped the leash on my corgi, Pudding, and walked out.

Before I left, I sent one last message:

[I'm generous—no need to split the dog expenses from the past eight years. I'm taking the dog. You and me? We're square.]

Dragging my suitcase, leash in hand, I stood at my best friend's door.

Opened it—and there he was. Shayne. Half-reclined on the couch. Shirt undone.

Vanessa—my best friend—was straddling him like some low-budget porno.

She jumped up the second she saw me, yanking her top back in place.

Shayne blinked, slow. Eyes met mine, and all the color drained from his face.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice? Full-on panic.

It hit like a knife.

Pudding whimpered at my feet.

Not even half a day post-breakup, and he was already wrapped around her.

My so-called best friend.

My nails dug into my palms. Didn't even feel it.

The Chat Feed lit up:

[LEY-BAE, CRY! If you stay calm, Shay-Shay'll think you don't care!]

[Shay, hello? Her hands are shaking. FIX. IT.]

[Vanessa totally set you up. Got you drunk, made you think she was Ley. Just explain, bro!]

Vanessa's eyes flickered smug before she switched to pity mode.

"Leyla, it's not what it looks like. Shayne loves you."

"It's not what it looks like?" I dropped the suitcase. Four bloody crescents stared back from my palm.

"So him crashing on your couch three hours after we broke up—and you on top of him—was just bad timing? Or was I supposed to wait till you two got naked?"

The Chat Feed spiraled:

[LEY. SWEAR. FROM ABOVE, NOTHING HAPPENED.]

[Vanessa's a snake. She's been plotting this. Wanted you to walk in.]

Vanessa's face darkened.

Shayne stepped up, yanked her behind him, eyes all unreadable pain.