Wrong Number

Derek took a slow sip of his beer, letting the bitterness settle on his tongue as he settled deep into the couch cushion. His apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional distant honk from the street below. These moments—the quiet reprieve after the commute—had always been a chance to reset from the busyness of the day. A beer before dinner, feet on the coffee table, and playful texts with Eliza. That was the routine.

It had only been a couple of days, but it felt longer. Shouldn't he be over it by now? Breakups happened! People moved on! It was normal.

That’s what he told himself.

But no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, the weight in his chest wouldn’t lift. The anger, the confusion, the why of it all clung to him, thick as tar. She had loved him. He had loved her. Of all the women he'd dated, Eliza had been different. She was smart, strong, a woman who held herself with pride, with purpose. More than that; they had a future together! Marriage, kids, a life; it had been so close, Derek could almost taste it.

And then, out of the blue, she just... flipped a switch.

Then, suddenly, it was all gone. The future. The relationship. Eliza.

Derek took another sip, letting the beer fizzle on his tongue. He should just **** himself to move on. It was Friday night. He was young, he was suddenly single, maybe he should head to a club and find himself a rebound. Forget her. He'd tried to talk to her, but she wasn't responding. No emails, no phone calls, no texts. If she wasn't interested in fixing things, then why should he be?

"Fuck her," he said into his bottle before taking another swig, not quite believing the sentiment. If she had just been a girlfriend, if she had just been someone he liked, he might be able to get himself there. But not Eliza. Not yet. He had loved her long before he admitted to her, even before he admitted it to himself. She was supposed to be The One.

But instead she was The One Who Got Away.

Or The One Who Broke His Heart.

Another drink, this one deep, leaving an empty bottle in his hand. Normally he didn't drink this quickly, but the emptiness he felt inside felt better when it filled with liquor. He put the empty on the table in front of him and sat up.

"Fuck it," he said, "I'm going out."

He stood, deciding that if he was going to drown his sorrows, he might as well do it among strangers. Before he walked away from the couch, though, his phone buzzed.

He wasn’t expecting anyone. He reached for his phone, thumb swiping over the screen.

A message. From Eliza.

His stomach twisted.

For a moment, he just stared at it, unsure if he wanted to open it.

Then his curiosity won out.

Eliza: It’s happening!!! Joey’s party tomorrow night at his place!! I can’t WAIT! Address is 214 Ridgeway Lane. You have to be there. He’s amazing, he’s so...

Derek stopped reading. He let the phone drop to the soft cushion of the couch. A moment later he followed suit.

Joey.

The guy.

The room seemed to tilt slightly.

Derek **** himself to breathe, to unclench his jaw, but the tension in his body wouldn’t ease. Picking up the phone, he read the text again, this time in completion, looking for more information to fuel his rage.

Eliza: It’s happening!!! Joey’s party tomorrow night at his place!! I can’t WAIT! Address is 214 Ridgeway Lane. You have to be there. He’s amazing, he’s so hot. I've never been with a man like him before. I’d do anything for him. I don’t even care how that sounds. Just thinking about him makes my whole body feel electric. I seriously think he might be the one.

Rage fueled.

Why the fuck would she text this to him? How cruel could she be?! She had to know how it would make him feel, how it would break his heart. It was bad enough that she broke up with him over text, but to rub this in his face the same way?

Derek swallowed hard, a bitter taste rising in his throat.

Derek: What the hell? First you dump me, now this?

He hit send.

The message went through instantly.

And then—nothing.

Minutes passed. No typing indicator. No response.

The longer she stayed silent, the hotter his anger burned.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his phone buzzed again.

Eliza: Sorry - my bad! I sent that to the wrong number. Sorry to bother.

Derek stared at the message, disbelief crashing over him. He shouted in rage, slamming his fist into the couch cushion beside him, the seat that Eliza used to sit in when she'd come over.

That was it? No explanation. No apology. Just a fucking brush-off.

His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles ached. She had moved on. Completely. Without hesitation. Without a second thought. And now she was acting like he didn’t even matter. Like what they had didn’t even exist.

The beer in his stomach felt like lead.

His seething rage coiled in his gut.

He needed to see this Joey. To understand why she’d thrown everything away for him. And maybe, just maybe, he needed to fuck him up.

214 Ridgeway Lane.

Derek’s lips pressed into a thin line. Tomorrow night.

He had a party to go to.