The Audience of One

Chapter 1 The day my boyfriend complained about me to my best friend for the fiftyfifth time, I read through their entire chat history.

"I stayed up all night gaming with her, and today I forgot to go with her to try on wedding dresses. Now she's crying and throwing a fit. So annoying!" "She dresses like a middle schooler. It's so ugly." "She's a grown adult, is it really that hard for her to call an Uber in the rain? She insisted I come pick her up. So dramatic!"

After every single complaint, my best friend replied with a cute, sympathetic meme. "I told you from the beginning that she was like this, but you didn't believe me. Now you know."

He used to tell me, "Simple and elegant is perfect." Now, he stared at my dresses and frowned: "Even a middle schooler dresses better than you."

He used to promise he would pick me up from work every day. Now, he just coldly typed a single line into the chat box: "You're an adult. You can't even figure this out yourself?"

I bit my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood slowly spread across my tongue.

Dylan walked out of the bathroom, snatched the phone from my hand, and yelled at me: "Who told you to touch my stuff?!"

He immediately typed a quick followup message to her: "She's checking my phone now. Unbelievable."

So our threeyear relationship was just a miserable prison sentence that he needed to constantly vent about to an outsider. Fine. Since being with me was such pure torture, he wouldn't be part of the good days ahead.

...

I was just about to speak, but Dylan frowned and cut me off first: "Harper, people have a right to privacy, don't you understand that?"

I pointed at his glowing phone screen, my voice raspy. "Your privacy is talking trash about your own girlfriend with another woman?"

Every time he was with me, his head was buried in his phone, tapping away. When I asked, he always said it was "work." I believed him for three years. Three years. It turned out I had believed my way into a mountain of resentment.

He actually laughed, giving me an "are you seriously doing this?" look. "Mia is your best friend. What's the big deal if I joke around with her for a bit?"

A joke. He called that a joke.

"Besides, work hasn't been going well for her lately. I played some video games with her so she could vent her frustration. Is that a crime?" He sounded so entirely selfrighteous.

I didn't respond. I just stared at him silently. Recently, I had been working so much overtime that my period completely stopped and my hair was falling out in clumps. He hadn't even offered me a glass of water.

My eyes stung fiercely. I clenched my fists and forcefully swallowed my tears.

He probably noticed I didn't look well, and his tone finally softened a fraction: "Alright, fine. I'll go with you to try on wedding dresses tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Today, I stood in that bridal boutique completely alone. The consultant rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath: "She's tried on so many dresses and hasn't bought a single one. Her boyfriend hasn't shown up once. Is she just here to waste our time?"

Enduring the judging stares of everyone in the room, I fled from the store I had loved for two whole years.

"The wedding dress... we can talk about it later."

Dylan immediately dropped the subject, plopped down on the sofa, and went back to tapping on his phone. "Mia is coming over soon. We're having hot pot for dinner."

Mia was coming. Whenever she came over, she never told me. She only ever coordinated with him. Out of seven days a week, she managed to come over for six. She claimed she was coming to keep me company, but when she was here, we barely spoke two words to each other.

The smart lock on the front door chimed. Fingerprint recognized.

Mia dropped several grocery bags onto the floor and shouted at him: "Dylan, what are you standing around for? Get over here and help me!"

He laughed and got up immediately. "Coming!"

Mia directed him to wash the vegetables and prep the dipping sauces, acting entirely like the lady of the house. "Harper, you go rest for a bit. We'll call you when it's ready." She slapped him playfully on the back and put her hands on her hips. "Wash those properly! Look, there's still dirt on this lettuce."

He didn't get annoyed at all. He just smiled and replied, "Yes, ma'am. I know, I know."

That natural dynamic. That effortless, takenforgranted intimacy. He and I had never had that.

In the summer, if I leaned against him, he said it was too hot. In the winter, if I touched him, he said he hated the cold. When I did the chores, he sat on the couch playing video games, never lifting a finger.

The spicy, numbing smell of the hot pot broth flooded my nose, and I sneezed violently a few times. Mia smiled at me, her eyes curving into crescents: "Smells amazing, right? Dylan and I specifically hauled this back from Austin last month."

I froze. "Last month... when did you guys go to Austin?"

She turned to look at him. "You didn't tell Harper?" Dylan didn't even look up. "It wasn't a big deal, nothing worth bringing up."

Mia walked over, grabbed my hand, and pressed me down into a dining chair: "I had a business trip last month, and he kept me company. On the way back, we took a detour to Austin for a few days."

Last month. During those few days, I was burning up with pneumonia, sitting in the hospital alone attached to an IV drip. I texted him, and he never replied. It turned out he was out having the time of his life with her.

My heart was overflowing with a sour bitterness. I laughed at how stupid and pathetic I was.

Mia suddenly shook her wrist. "Look, a bracelet! Pretty, right? Dylan picked it out just for me." "Where's yours? When we bought them, they were supposed to be matching bestfriend bracelets."

Dylan walked out carrying a plate of sliced beef and casually replied: "I don't know where I threw it. If you like it, I'll buy you ten more online later." "Let's just eat. I haven't eaten all day."

Then he looked at me, and his tone actually carried a hint of grievance: "Someone was throwing a tantrum today. Didn't buy groceries, didn't make dinner."

Mia laughed brightly and answered for me: "Oh, you know Harper's just like that. It's not like you just met her today."

Dylan grabbed a piece of tripe with his chopsticks, not even looking up: "If she were even half as good as you, I wouldn't be this exhausted."

Mia hissed, the spicy broth burning her tongue. He immediately followed up: "Oh, by the way, that movie you've been wanting to see is out. Want to go watch it?" "Sure!" Mia wiped her mouth with a napkin and turned to me. "Harper, want to come?"

Before I could even open my mouth, Dylan answered for me: "Don't bother with her. Last time we went to a movie, she sulked the entire night."

Last time. He was over an hour late. He showed up when the movie was almost over, sat down, and spent the entire time staring at his phone, texting. When I argued with him about it, he threw a fit and walked out.

Mia nudged me with her elbow. "Harper, why is your temper getting worse and worse lately?"

I put my chopsticks down. Smack. "My temper has always been exactly like this."

Dylan frowned deeply. "Harper, what is your problem now?" "Mia was nice enough to come over and cook, and she bought all these groceries. Do you have no conscience?"

I looked him straight in the eyes. "Dylan, I never eat spicy food."

Mia slapped her forehead. "Oh! I forgot! Harper, I'm so sorry." Dylan immediately went back to complaining. "Is it really that serious? Why didn't you just say something earlier?"

"I have told you. Many times."

Three years. He couldn't remember that I didn't eat spicy food. He couldn't remember what I was allergic to. He couldn't remember my birthday. But he remembered every single thing Mia liked.

She liked spicy food, so our apartment always smelled of chili oil. She obsessed over a pop star, so he flew across the country with her to see a concert. She wanted to go to Austin, so he took time off work and stayed with her for a week. But during the week I had a 102degree fever from pneumonia, he didn't reply to a single message.

After I said that, I stood up and walked right out the door.

I went to my parents' house. As soon as I walked through the door, my dad held up his phone and asked me, "Did you throw another fit at Dylan?"

"No."

"He just texted me. Said he forgot to go with you to try on wedding dresses and complained a bit." My dad sighed. "You aren't a kid anymore. Stop constantly picking fights over trivial things."

My entire body went numb. Dylan's texts were always faster than my own grievances. He always complained first, played the victim first, and secured his spot on the moral high ground first. He magnified all my flaws and told everyone how incredibly understanding he was for putting up with me.

"Dad, I just want to be alone for a bit." My mom called out from behind me: "So when are you guys finally getting married?!"

I didn't answer. I just walked straight to my childhood bedroom. In this relationship, Dylan was somehow the victim in everyone's eyes. No one knew what the actual truth was.

The next morning, the second I walked into the office, Dylan called. His voice was laced with anger: "Where are you? Weren't we supposed to go try on wedding dresses today?"

Faintly through the receiver, I could hear Mia's voice: "Dylan, the oatmeal is burning."

I leaned back in my office chair, my tone perfectly calm. "I forgot."

His voice spiked in volume: "Harper, what is that supposed to mean?! Just because I flaked on you a few times, you're getting revenge on me, is that it?" "You're still hung up on that stupid bullshit from yesterday? You didn't listen to a single word of my explanation, did you?!"

"I have a meeting to prep for. I'm hanging up." Before he could finish yelling, I ended the call.

Five minutes later, my phone buzzed. Dylan had posted a Facebook status: "Some people are just too spoiled. I specifically took the day off to wait for her for our wedding dress appointment, and she brushes me off with an 'I forgot.'" "Three years, and she's still this dramatic."

The attached picture was a screenshot of a text conversation. Dylan: "With Harper's temper, no one else could possibly tolerate her but me." Mia: "It's okay, don't be mad. Harper is just like that. She might actually be busy. I'll go with you to order your tuxedo." Dylan: "Having a best friend as good as you is her greatest blessing." Mia: [Cute meme] "She's just like that. Don't be mad."

The comment section exploded instantly. Dylan's cousin: "What is Harper throwing a tantrum over now? You can't keep indulging her like this." His buddy: "My future sisterinlaw is a literal powder keg, living up to her reputation. Mia is so great. If you two were together, I bet you'd be insanely happy."

Mia liked the comment and replied with a shy emoji. Dylan replied with a sighing emoji.

That evening after work, Dylan rarely came to pick me up, but today he was parked outside. On the passenger seat sat Mia's favorite plush toy, and in the cup holder was a halfempty iced coffee. "Get in."

I didn't move. He gave me a light shove. "What are you staring at?" His gaze swept over the plush toy, and he sighed, his tone saturated with impatience: "Here we go again, right?"

I shook my head. "Let's break up."

His face instantly darkened. "Are you ever going to drop this?! Just because Mia and I are a little close? Just because I complained about you a little bit?!"

I looked at him. "You think that was just complaining?" I asked. "You two, a single man and a single woman, staying out all night together. Where you went, what you did—I knew absolutely nothing."

He scoffed. "Mia and I are completely innocent. How many times do I have to explain it to you?"

I let out a dry laugh. "Right. Completely innocent."

He immediately pulled out his phone and started typing a message right in front of me. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of that familiar chat window— "Harper is threatening to break up with me again."

I reached out and lunged for the phone. He dodged backward. I threw myself at him, grabbed the phone, and with every ounce of strength in my body, smashed it into the concrete.

The moment the screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, I heard my own voice breaking along with it: "Who the hell is Mia to you?! You report every single thing to her?!" "Are you just complaining, or are you desperately searching for excuses to talk to her?!"

He shoved me violently. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

I was thrown backward, landing hard on my back, my palms scraping painfully against the rough asphalt. I pushed against the ground to stand up, but a sharp, excruciating pain shot through my ankle, and I collapsed back down.

Dylan stood a few feet away, holding the phone with the shattered screen. His expression was pure disgust. "You just fell down. You don't have to sit on the ground and pretend you can't get up."

I looked down at my ankle, which was already swelling rapidly. No matter what I said, he wouldn't believe me. In his eyes, I was always just making a scene over nothing.

I pulled out my own phone, my fingertips trembling against the screen. "I'll call 911 myself."

He let out a derisive scoff. His shattered phone buzzed. A message from Mia popped up on the cracked lock screen: "Come home quick. Dinner's ready."

He yanked the car door open, the engine roared to life, and he dropped one final sentence: "You just sit there and think about what you did."

The taillights disappeared around the corner. I sat on the freezing concrete, the unsent 911 call still on my screen. The security guard from my office building ran over and helped me up. "Miss, your ankle is huge! Where's your boyfriend?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. He sighed. "One look and you can tell he doesn't care about you at all."

I finally broke down and cried.

At the hospital. Torn ligaments. After wrapping my ankle in a cast, the doctor told me to stay off my feet as much as possible. I signed the paperwork alone, paid the bills alone, and hobbled on crutches from the pharmacy to the IV drip area all by myself.

It wasn't like this three years ago. At a party three years ago, he saw me from across the room and pursued me relentlessly, claiming it was love at first sight. Back then, when I had a 102degree fever, he stayed awake all night watching over me until his eyes were completely bloodshot. Mia had laughed beside us. "His love for you is biological. He can't escape it."

He prepared twentytwo birthday presents for me, making up for every year from age one to twentytwo. He said he wouldn't marry anyone but me. He said he would treat me perfectly forever.

My phone lit up. Mia sent me a voice memo. I tapped it. Dylan's voice exploded from the speaker: "Is Harper completely psychotic?! The second she gets emotional, she just smashes things! She shattered my phone without blinking! I've put up with her for so long, and I'm so damn tired! Tell me, what is the difference between her and an absolute lunatic?!"

Mia's soft voice coaxed him: "Don't be mad. I'll buy you a new one later."

He had gone running to her to complain again. Washing his own hands completely clean, and dumping every ounce of blame onto me.

Mia immediately followed up with a text message: "Harper, Dylan is furious. Just swallow your pride and apologize. He talks tough but he has a soft heart, you know that."

I typed back: "Mia, you know exactly how many performances you've put on for us over these last few years."

There was a long silence on her end before she replied with a "wronged" emoji. "Harper, what are you talking about? I've only ever done what's best for both of you."

I stared at that line and laughed. What's best for me—so every time he complained about me, you always gracefully agreed with, "She's just like that." What's best for me—so you kept all those chat logs degrading me, and never deleted a single one. What's best for me—so you spent three years acting like his surrogate girlfriend, with absolutely zero boundaries.

When I got home, I laid out everything that had happened, from beginning to end, for my parents. I pointed to the cast wrapped around my ankle. "Do you still think he's a good guy now?" My parents were speechless. The person who screams the loudest isn't always the one in the right.

My phone buzzed. Dylan was calling to yell at me: "What the hell did Mia do wrong?! She was just trying to convince us to get back together! When are you going to stop with this passiveaggressive bullshit?! She's crying so hard right now she's going to pass out."

I asked, "Are you guys still together right now?" It was the middle of the night.

"Obviously," he said righteously. "She's actively trying to convince me to apologize to you. Though honestly, you should apologize to Mia first."

"I did nothing wrong, and I'm not apologizing."

"You are completely unreasonable!" He slammed the phone down.

My parents, listening to the entire exchange, looked absolutely livid.

The next day, I took the day off work. While scrolling through TikTok, I saw a new video Mia had posted. She was wearing the exact wedding dress I had tried on seven times. The camera panned, and Dylan was standing right next to her.

"Does it look good?" He smiled adoringly. "You look beautiful in everything." "Is that all?" she asked, tilting her chin up.

Dylan dropped to one knee, pulled a ring from his pocket, and slid it onto her finger. "Are you satisfied now?" She nodded. "Satisfied." "Put it on my card."

A sales associate could be heard whispering in the background: "She's so much more decisive than that Ms. Harper from last time. Now this is true love."

I waited for seven appointments, and never got it. She was wearing it now.

The video froze on the frame of him kneeling. I paused it. His eyes were full of absolute, willing devotion. It turned out he wasn't impatient. He wasn't too busy. He was just those things when it came to me.

I couldn't cry. My eye sockets ached with how dry they were. It felt like I had cried a lifetime's worth of tears over these past few days.

The comments were flooded with "You two are so perfect for each other!" and "Congratulations!" Dylan's mother liked the video. Mia replied to her: "Waiting for good news!"

A week later. I went to Dylan's apartment to pack my things. Mia walked out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Her hair was a messy bedhead, and she was wearing Dylan's tshirt. "Harper, what are you doing here?"

I opened my suitcase and tossed my important documents in first. "Grabbing my stuff, then I'm leaving."

She leaned against the wardrobe, admiring her freshly manicured nails: "Harper, I don't want to be mean, but Dylan used to complain to me all the time. He said you were a dead fish in bed. You didn't know how to do anything. He was never in the mood when he was with you."

I stopped what I was doing.

She smiled. "So I spent the last few days teaching him a few things."

The blood in my veins turned to ice. "He even told you about that?"

Mia tilted her head: "What's the big deal? It's just sex. If he doesn't tell me, who is he supposed to tell? Besides, we're best friends! Talking about it won't kill you."

Her eyes were completely filled with provocation.

I stood up and sneered. "Am I supposed to thank you?"

"Why are you getting mad?" She sighed. "I guess it makes sense. You always had a terrible temper. It's human nature that he wouldn't like you."

—It was always like this. Her socalled "mediating" was just pouring gasoline on the fire. Stepping on me, to show him just how amazing she was.

I raised my right hand. And slapped her hard across the face.

She screamed, her entire body twisting to the side as her forehead slammed into the corner of the wall.

At that exact moment, the front door burst open. Dylan charged in and violently shoved me away—my ankle wasn't fully healed, and I crashed heavily into a cabinet. Pain flared through my spine.

"Harper, what the hell are you doing?! What did Mia ever do to you?! She even helped pick out your wedding dress so you and I could just live happily ever after!"

I gritted my teeth and roared: "Dylan, why the hell does she get to pick out my wedding dress?!" "What 'happily ever after'?! I broke up with you days ago!" "The wedding is canceled, and I already wired the engagement money back to your parents!"

He was completely stunned. He froze for two seconds, his voice weak: "You wired... the money back?"