I glance at the clock - 11:58 now - and then glance at the bag sitting packed and ready on my bed. My entire life's in that bag. Everything. I reach toward the battered bedside phone and dial the eleven numbers I'd been aching to dial for months. Two rings, and then a deep, slightly nasal voice answering "Hello?" Him. Of course.

I open my mouth to scream one last "FUCK YOU!" for all the pain he'd caused and his pity and his thoughtlessness. It's the only thing he deserves from me, and I've been aching to do this for too long.

But what I do instead, after two seconds' pause, is sigh a bit and hang up. I could never really follow through with that. Despite all the shit he's pulled with everyone, with me especially, I love him. But I can't tell him that. I know it's the last thing he'd ever want to hear. Especially from me. Best to just not say anything, and go.

I take my hand off the receiver and step back, lips pressed together tightly. Careful not to disturb my sleeping roommate, I pick up the bag and walk out of the door of 317 Rubin for the last time. Now I start to sprint, down the hallway, through the door, down the stairs, and into the lobby to catch my breath before I step out into the icy Manhattan midnight and forget my past entirely. Ten seconds and the world as I know it is going to end.