Mark sat down in the back of the small apartment with his hands clenched together. He looked over at the digital clock hanging on the wall over a worn leather sofa. Everything he has was worn and second-hand.

It was a quarter after two.

He rubbed his face and laid his head back against the wall. A large sigh exhales from his body reveals the nerves in his stomach.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he said to himself. He had gotten himself in a small quarrel with a girlfriend. A typical thing but this time, he couldn’t wrap his head around why she was so upset with him.

He glanced over to the dinner table. It was small and made out of light aluminum and yellow plastic. The chairs matched as well. On the table, two plates of food lay untouched. One was half-eaten, and the other only had scraps of what look to be rice, chicken, and broccoli.

They were eating when they argued. Mark had gobbled down his food; he hadn’t eaten all day. At the same time, Sherry (bless her heart) was barely eating the food. Something had bothered her. It was something Mark had said.

“I’ve never seen you actually finish a plate of food in my life,” he said.

Sherry looked up at him, her eyebrows pinched together, creating a look of anger.

“What? It’s true.”

“No, it’s not,” she said calmly. She was trying her best not to turn this into a fight.

“Sure, but do you remember the last time we are out? I think it was Peter’s; you didn’t even finish your burger.”

“I did eat before that.”

“What about BPs?”

“What about it,” she said, putting down the fork. Mark wasn’t going to let this go.

“We didn’t even order a lot, but you barely touched your pasta. I am starting to think that maybe you are anorexic.”

Sherry wasn’t thin or starving. She looked like anyone else. Her skin wasn’t drying out, and her hair was just fine.

“Excuse me?”

“Hey,” Mark said, leaning back into his chair and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’ll still love you either way.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s going on.”

“Listen. I see the signs, and I **know** what’s going on.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t know what’s going on. Just because you experience something doesn’t mean that it’s true to me.”

“Babe. Everyone does that. What we experience with a person tells us what’s going on. Like when I buy something and get upset because now I don’t have any money. You know through your experience that I bought a bad purchase.”

“I get it, but you are denying my experience, and I don’t think I have an eating disorder.”

“Just from what I see, you have one.”

“Well, I’m glad that what you see determines how I experience things. Now, all mighty god, tell me what other experiences determine who I am.”

“Sherry, it’s not like that. Just chill. It’s not a big deal.”

“There you go telling me it’s not a big deal, but hey, it might not be a big deal to you. But it is for me. Because it lays out what’s been itching at me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about you. You are the most normal person in the world, but if someone calls you normal, you say, ‘no, I’m not normal; I’m hella weird.’ If you make a mistake, you don’t accept it and play it off that I’ve made a mistake. You’re just a victim of miscommunication. When it’s plain to see that you are so far up your ass that you don’t even know how to relate to others or even how to accept your faults,” said Sherry, her hand tightly gripping the fork while her other hand is balled up into a fist. She was building up, and her anger was pouring through the cracks. She didn’t want another fight, but now she was tired of dealing with the type of person Mark is.

“Wow, firstly, I do accept my faults. I know when I’m wrong.”

“No, you don’t; you think you do, but you don’t. When you went and started diagnosing me with anorexia, did you think that maybe you were wrong?”

“I-I’m not—you’re making—listen, it’s not like that. I was just stating my opinion. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“So it’s alright to gaslight me and then play the victim. You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“A little bit,” said Mark adjusting in his seat.

“And that everything I’ve said so far doesn’t apply to you, and I’m making all this up,” she said. Sherry stands up and grabs her coat. “Mark, you’re a dick. You can continue thinking you’re a growing human being. You can continue thinking everyone is stupid, and you are the only one with common sense. You can continue thinking you’ve made progress in your life, but until you figure out how to see yourself in other people’s shoes, then maybe our relationship would‘ve worked.”

“Fine, leave. Gawd, if this were a discord call, I would have ended it seconds ago. I don’t need this type of toxicity in my life. I’m not wrong. You have problems. Go fix them.”

Sherry stared at him. She couldn’t believe how arrogant Mark was. Perhaps he has been this way and was just good at hiding it. She adjusts her coat, holding on to the sides because deep down, she didn't want everything to end. Mark wasn’t giving her any other choice.

“Yeah, I do. I can’t believe I thought that having a relationship with you was even possible.”

“See, you didn’t think it through. Not my fault. You knew what you were getting into.”

“No, I didn’t. You have two sides. One that plays the intellectual that attracts people; you’re easy to talk to, fun to be around. Your thoughts are unique, and your plans are ambitious. The other side is the one that shows that you don’t grow. It fights back at you, and when you think you’ve grown, you haven’t. It’s the crude you that just says your opinions, and everyone else is wrong. It’s a dark you that plays the victim because Mark is never wrong, just miscommunicated.”

Sherry put on her shoes and leaves. Slamming the door behind her, causing Mark to flinch.

He chuckled to himself and just sat there. He opens his phone, but nothing was calling for him. His Instagram, which full of models and Instagram thots, didn’t catch his attention like it used to. His Reddit, which is full of pc, gaming, and stock posts, didn’t pull him either. He just sat there as Sherry’s lunch got cold.

Now he was presently sitting on the floor. He had waited two hours for Sherry to come back. Two hours without calling her or texting her. He just sat there waiting.

“I’m not the one at fault. People just don’t know how to deal with their baggage,” he told himself like a lousy therapist trying to cheer himself up.

He sat for a couple more minutes before dozing off for a nap.

When he woke up, nothing had changed. He walked around the apartment. Sherry’s clothes were gone, and anything else that belonged to her was missing. The room felt bigger without her, more space.

He washed the dishes and then checked the clock; 9:00 pm.

After a long hot shower, he laid himself down to sleep. The bed felt colder with his newfound space. Everything felt colder. He wrapped himself into his sheets, and soon, after crying, he was asleep.

“It’s not my fault.”