"Clay, do you know what I was thinking on that operating table?"
He stared at me.
"I was thinking that if I died right there, that would be fine. Nobody was waiting for me anyway."
His eyes went red.
"Don't cry." I grabbed the handle of my suitcase. "You don't deserve those tears."
What happened after that, I heard from other people.
After Juliana quit, she moved to another company. Clay went after her, waited outside her new office building, and got chased off by security.
He took an extended leave. Drank every day. Made a major mistake at work and got demoted.
A friend told me that when he was drunk, he'd mumble my name over and over, calling himself a bastard, saying he deserved it.
I listened. Felt nothing.
Not hatred. Just nothing.
That light on the operating table had been so bright, it burned something out of me.
It was June now.
I'd started a new job, far from that apartment. My new coworkers didn't know my past. All they knew was that I was single and didn't like talking about relationships.
Yesterday a guy from the department next door added me on social media, said he wanted to get to know me.
I accepted. Didn't really chat.