Isaac doesn’t call. Forget my number, I’d told him. And he chose then to start doing what I tell him. I feel like some sort of psychopath, thinking about him all the fucking time. But it’s hard not to when so much about my life centers around him. The trench in my yard. The group training runs he’s apparently skipping now. The orgasms that have gone missing again since I threw him out of my hotel room.

Maddie and Emma are on their way over to my house ...