Call It What You Want

Call It What You Want is a complete work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance is simply coincidental. Copyright © 2023 Alissa DeRogatis All rights reserved. Cover Art by Hailey Moore ISBN: 9798356026331 You’ll always be my favorite almost. If this story could be told through songs: The sun pours through the small window in my bedroom as I roll over and snooze the 6 a.m. alarm. Most New Yorkers are already wide awake, grabbing their oat milk lattes and gluten-free bagels, while my head is pounding from a bottle of wine and three hours of sleep. In an instant, the memory of last night’s events floods back and I feel the agony coursing through my veins all over again. The pain still lingers. I remember that looking at him hurt. He’s always been the one to make me feel safe, but last night was different. It was as though he’d taken a knife and repeatedly plunged it into my chest. Each time I looked at him, the wound was reopened, the pain as fresh and raw as the first time. It was like death by a thousand cuts. “I can’t do this anymore,” he cuts me off mid-sentence. “I think this, us, needs to end.” I’m holding a glass full of my favorite Cabernet and within seconds it’s out of my hand and on the floor. Almost as if it’s instinct, I bend down to pick up the pieces. I hate messes and I’d rather focus on anything but this conversation right now. I look down at my hands to see that my right palm is gushing blood. Why can’t I feel it? Why can’t I feel anything? I watch as he pulls out his phone to call us an Uber. He’s moving so quickly, but in my world it’s like time has stopped. I stare at him as he frantically moves around my kitchen, grabbing anything we might need for the emergency room, and I wonder where the guy I met in college went— the guy in the worn-out Yankees t-shirt with the soft smile and trusting eyes. I never thought I could hate him, and yet. I can’t even look at him. I never want to see him again but at the same time I don’t want him to leave. Ever. I’ve loved him for over two years. How could he end two years with four words? I can’t do this. The words are on replay in my head as if they’re a new Taylor Swift song that I’m trying to memorize every line of. I think the worst part is realizing that somewhere, deep down, I knew it the entire time. I knew he wouldn’t be able to get where I wanted him to. I just hoped that I was wrong. No, we didn’t date. Technically, he’s not an ex-boyfriend. He’s an ex-something. An ex-maybe. An ex-almost. Maybe that’s all we’ll ever be— an incomplete sentence or a book that someone put down halfway through and never picked back up. Finished without an ending. The first time I ever locked eyes with Ethan Brady was in a passing moment. It took me years to realize that life is just a succession of these so-called passing moments. If it’s a painful moment, it will pass. If it’s a perfect moment, it will also pass. That particular moment occurred on one of the hottest days of the summer. Even with the coastal breeze the heat in North Carolina was brutal. Unfortunately for me, it was also senior year move-in day, which meant carrying boxes up two flights of stairs for hours. Usually, one of my parents would be in tow, but my mom was called into work last minute and my dad wasn’t always the most reliable. So, I had to do it all myself. My mom was a pediatric surgeon. When I was growing up, she transferred hospitals every few years until she finally landed a position at Duke. My dad’s career as a writer was flexible, so we were able to move wherever my mom needed us to. Quickly after publishing his first novel, my dad became a New York Times Best Selling Author. Little did we know, that would be the first and last book he ever wrote. His agent dropped him after he missed his deadline four times. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t write. He started drinking a lot, mostly while my mom was at work. Eventually she had enough of it and asked him to move out. When I was younger, I used to admire my parents’ relationship. Things I used to consider “gross”, I now realize were beautiful. Kisses in the car, holding hands in restaurants, cuddling on the couch. How can two people go from not being able to get enough of each other to never wanting to speak again? I’d never been in love, so I guess I wouldn’t know. The wood creaked under my feet as I started down the stairs for what would be my last trip from the car to apartment. I noticed that the parking lot was now full of students with their parents— unloading cars, breaking down boxes and saying their goodbyes. I couldn’t help but miss mine. Ascent Student Living was no different than any other off-campus apartment complex. It was new and made up of eight buildings, all different shades of blues and greens. One of my favorite parts of living at the beach was that everything was prettier. The architecture of most buildings and shopping centers mimicked the aesthetic of a small beach town and even though we were a good twenty minutes from the ocean, the bright colors and palm trees made it feel closer. When I was applying to colleges, I was so excited to finally get to decide where I lived instead of following my mom up and down the east