My chest aches.

Slowly, I uncurl from my fetus position and stare at the blinking clock. 2:30pm. It's been two days since Nick left, and here I still am, still wearing my baggiest sweatpants, still clutching the flowery pillow, still trying to escape from the world around me. I hate this. I'm not the type of person who gets so horribly miserable. Usually, I can see the bright side in things. Usually, I am able to hide my heartbreak and paste a toothy smile on my face.

Not today.

I moan as I stretch my arms out slightly. They're incredibly stiff. I haven't even been out of my room within the last two days. Tomorrow is monday, but I'll probably skip work. Every part of me feels heavy: every limb, every thought, every feeling. I have never felt so alone and helpless before. This feeling is so foreign to me.

"Jess," I hear a soft knock on the door and bury my face into my arms. Rain is pouring outside, adding to the miserable feeling I wish would go away. Tip-toeing, I shut the blinds.

"Jess."

Groaning, I muster up a response. "Go away, Schmidt."

"Jessica Day, you have to eat. Would you rather come out here and get the food yourself?"

Since I don't want to leave my cave of despair, I reluclantly let him in. Schmidt walks over to my bedside table, carefully places the soup, and sits precariously on the edge of my bed.

"Are you okay, Jess?" he says, grave seriousness on his face. It seems like when it comes to Nick, Schimdt knows how to deal with seriousness. Maybe he's caught on to how fragile I am.

I dip the tiny silver spoon into my soup and take a gulp. "Fine," I answer, my voice cracking. Avoiding his gaze, I take another spoonful and fixate my gaze on an invisible spot on the carpet.

He knows. My expression says it all. "Jess," he says lightly, crossing his legs. "He asked us to go meet him for dinner tonight."

I almost choke on my soup. What? Who does Nick think he is? That he can just leave us all for an ex who doesn't care about him and expect us to be fine with it? That sharp feeling returns to my chest again, and I feel like I'm about to start hypervenilating.

"No," I say, my lips barely moving. Schimdt considers my uncrafted response and considers a moment; then, he takes a deep breath and looks at me with so much sympathy it breaks my heart.

"I know..." he trails off, his eyes dark. "I know how hard this is for you, Jess. I mean... I understand. But he wants to see us so badly. It's his life. We can't tell him what to do. And we can't just ditch him, can we? No, we're his friends."

In some way he's right, but I can't do it. Nick isn't a friend anymore. He's a stranger. A stranger I am starting to lose memory of, a little more everyday. A stranger I only see in dreams, who haunts me. For my own good, I need to let him go.

"He has a new friend," I say, and for some reason, I want to start crying. I'm afraid if I finish my sentence I'm going to break into sobs. But I need to say this, and, gathering up all the courage I have left, I say, "He has Caroline. And who says I want to be friends with him? Tell him I said to have a nice life."

Schmidt looks very taken back. I'm not surprised. In the loft, we may have had our arguments, but no way have we ever considered giving up on our friendship. We're basically a family. To him, it sounds like I'm disowning Nick.

"I'll tell him you were sick," he replies, and walks out the door. Once I hear the door shut, I crawl into a heap of strewn clothes on the floor and start to cry. I hate how small this loft is. I hate how I have to make an effort to muffle my sobs. And most of all, I hate Nick. I really, really do.

He was the person I connected most to in the loft. He was the once I talked to, fought with, took his side in arguments. He was always there, too, so I always had someone to count on. Someone to help me through. Now, here I am, Jessica Day with all the light sucked out of her. The rosiness drained from her cheeks. The pep from her step. I am sitting in my room, alone, clutching a pillow, my hair greasy, all because of him.

The rain starts to subside, dissolving into a soft drizzle. I hear Winston and Schmidt leave, the door clicking behind them. You could catch up with them, Jess. Stop making things harder than they have to be. A part of me itches to throw on clean clothes and catch up with them on the elevator, but I don't. Instead, I watch the raindrops slide down the window, mirroring the melancholy in my face.

I like you a lot, Jess. I'm glad you're around.

The words still haunt me, still make their way into my head and almost make me choke. I glance at the clock again. 6:30. How did time fly that fast? Usually, time drags on like a form of torture. And why are they eating so early?

As I lay my head on the ruffled carpet, I close my eyes, one thought running in my mind as I drift off to sleep:

I like you a lot, Jess. I'm glad you're around.

I wake up in a daze. Frazzled, I make sense of my jumbled thoughts and realize from the sunlight spilling in my room that it's morning. The smell of bacon fills my nose, and I quickly yank my robe closed and walk into the small kitchen. Even Winston is up, and both him and Schmidt are up, rummaging through cupboards and arranging the table. There is so much happiness and lightness in this room I want to scream. Didn't Nick just leave a few days ago? What's going on?

Both of them seem oblivious to my presence until Winston speaks up. "Good morning, Jess," he says, brewing coffee. Schmidt nods and checks on the eggs.

"How was dinner?" I say, casually, drumming my fingers on the counter. Aren't they deppressed?

"Great," Schmidt says. "We were wrong about Caroline."

"What?" I say, my heart pounding frantically. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"They were such a nice couple," Winston adds, his tone the same. "She's really changed, Jess. I never thought I'd get to say this, but she's changed."

Changed? Changed? I repeat the word repeatedly in my head, each time angrier. What the hell? She hasn't changed! She stole Nick!

"We're eating dinner at their place, tonight," Schmidt smiles and offers me a strip of bacon. I decline. "Do you want to come?"

Cardboard boxes. Empty fridge. Playing TV. A place from scratch. An unused bed. Caroline and Nick's bed. Where they sleep, where they fall asleep to the sound of each other's heartbeats. Where they connect, where they get used to each other's habits. Where they fall in love, where they stay in love.

"No," I say. Before they can reply, I fling my jacket on and dash outside. I need to get away. I need to clear my head.

Moving bodies fade around me, and I avoid them as I dodge through the streets, breaking into a run. I can't do this. I honestly, truly can't.

I find myself under a shady tree in the park, isolated from everyone else. I see couples, hand in hand. Couples, kissing on park benches behind newspapers. I don't even register the fact that Winston and Schmidt are making their way towards me.

"Jess!" Winston calls. I suck in a breath and ignore them. Finally, they arrive, sitting next to me on the ground.

"Jess," Schdmit says, out of breath. "What has gotten into you?"

"Nothing," I say.

"Nick told us to tell you to feel better, by the way."

Thermometers. Medicine cabinets. Sick days. Fixing Caroline chicken soup. Kissing her forehead and watching her sleep. Worrying. Caring.

"Why can't you guys leave me alone?" I burst out. All a sudden all the anger and frustraion building over the last few days take over me, and I can't stand it anymore. "Why do you fucking care so much? Just because you like Nick doesn't mean I do. I hate his guts. I really, really do. I'm glad I don't have to deal with him anymore. I'm glad he isn't around," I shudder over that last line, Nick's drunken words replaying in my head. "Him moving out was the best thing that ever happened to me. So stop acting like you care anymore. I don't like you guys, either. Don't ever talk to me, again."

They don't protest as I storm away. I am no longer that sweet, adorable girl who arrived in their apartment with bags in her hands. I'm just dead. In the most literal sense besides the truth.

Maybe I should move out. But I can't stomach it, honestly. So I'll just have to stop talking to them. Come in and out. Lock myself in my room. Wake up early and leave for work. Get breakfast on the way.

Maybe it's time, like Nick, I stop trying to force myself into a life that no longer suits me anymore. Maybe it's time to leave and forget the scars I left behind.

As I shuffle into the loft, the phone rings. I mindlessly pick it up, numb as hell and surely not in the mood to talk. My heart drops when I hear the gruff, familiar voice on the other line.

"Jess."

I don't say anything. I don't move. I just stand there and try to figure out how to speak.

"Jess?"

I hang up. I can't do this, I can't. Instead, I run into my room and throw my clothes into a suitcase. I get my phone, my laptop, everything I own. Once all my bags are packed, it's well past dark. With a shaking hand, I write a note on a yellow post-it:

Dear boys,

I'm sorry for my outburst earlier, but this is for the best.

-Jess

With no hesitation, I leave it all behind. The loft, my family, the world that I had built up over the course of the last year. I let it all fade into my memory. I don't look back.