The Next Phase of Ourselves

Index. Middle. Ring. Baby.

Eveline’s fingers tapped on her desk as she stared at the clock. The rhythm matched the second hand, her baby finger landing each time it ticked.

She’d checked it fourteen times in the last ten minutes.

This is getting ridiculous.

There was barely an hour left in her workday, but each second dragged into eternity. At this rate, she might never leave the office.

She normally enjoyed her job. It was fulfilling in ways many people never experienced.

And never would.

She knew she was lucky. But today? Today, she loathed it.

The problem wasn’t even work. Her mind was elsewhere for… personal reasons. And those reasons made her despise being in the office, when all she wanted was to burrow under her duvet and cocoon from the outside world.

Why do I bother?

Four words Eveline repeated regularly. Often to herself in her head – but more times than she’d prefer to admit, out loud in inconvenient places. She’d received odd looks from those who heard her mumbling on more than one occasion.

Then came the confusion.

And the pity.

And sometimes, a few steps backward.

Avoidance.

Those words pointed to everything. To her work – research following her Masters in Atmospheric and Oceanic Sciences. To her finances – dire, courtesy of said degree. To her relationships; platonic, romantic, or otherwise.

That day, however, was specifically because of another false start with another man who didn’t get her. Or maybe just didn’t want to.

She’d met him a week prior at a bar she’d only just discovered. He came on to her fast. Aggressive. Clearly a physical attraction.

But when the actual date rolled around? She couldn’t stick the landing. She couldn’t keep the mask on. I’m not for everyone, she often said to the few friends she had left. Though if she was honest with herself, ‘friends’ was technically singular, and more resembled a work colleague than friend. That one ‘friend’ was Maggie, a member of her research team who socialized with Eveline from time to time.

Maggie once suggested she try a dating app. But Eveline rolled her eyes, dismissing the idea out of hand. She wasn’t desperate. She didn’t need to be in a relationship that badly. After all, what good would it be to share herself with another who would never end up staying in the long run? To say she had a fear of abandonment would be an understatement. And it was exhausting to repeatedly put herself out there, only to experience the same thing over and over. And over again.

Isn't that the definition of insanity?

Was she stuck in a time loop? Stranger things had happened.

When the day finally declared mercy and ended, she found herself in the hallway outside of her apartment. Staring at the door. Sighing in resignation.

How did I get here?

She couldn’t even remember the journey home, as if her feet unconsciously made the trip without her. She pulled the key from her pocket, slid it into the lock, and turned it slowly. When she entered her apartment, she exhaled loudly, closing the door behind her and clicking the lock.

Practiced. Mechanical. Same thing every day.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

She slumped against the door, surveying the room in front of her. Papers. Empty takeout containers. Clutter and chaos. Her home was as messy as her mind.

Tossing her key back in her pocket, she pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her coat and dropped it over the back of the couch. With a sudden burst of urgency, she grabbed several of the scattered containers into a pile and walked them into the kitchen.

I’m going to clean this place up, I swear to fuck…

The best laid plans, however.

As she opened the cabinet under the sink, she discovered the garbage bin already overflowing with a mess. She knew just piling more on would lead to a collapse and it wasn’t a gamble her fragile mood could take. While looking at the containers in her hand, her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Right then. This will just have to wait.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head, and placed the containers on the counter next to the pile of dishes she’d been putting off tackling for at least a full day.

The buzzes were messages from Maggie.

Ev… listen

I know you had a shit date last night. I don’t know how you keep finding these guys but maybe bars aren’t the right place for you

Not to mention, hungover isn’t a good look on you girl

My sister used this app. I mean she had some good luck so maybe you will too. She’s met a couple really great guys on it

Maybe worth a try?

Eveline scratched at her temple. She looked around again. The kitchen was a disaster, as was the rest of the apartment. And really, it reflected more than just her kitchen. She’d been drinking heavily far too often. Sleeping with whoever convinced her it was a good idea.

So... all of them?

At least with the men she met, she always used protection. Well, almost always. There was that one panicky morning she rushed to the clinic, only to be told to come back in two weeks. It was much too early to detect anything.

If she would only take responsibility for one part of her life, sexual health was probably a good pick.

After a long month of waiting, the results were thankfully negative. It was the first and last unplanned visit to the clinic. She never made that mistake again.

Still, the risky behaviour she took to attract men on nights out was getting dangerous. It was to the point where she could one day end up missing. Or worse. Unfortunately, that thought rarely concerned her as much as it would any rational person.

What she didn’t want to admit – the reason behind finally considering the app – was that she was incredibly lonely. Something obvious, but consistently ignored.

Try as she might to deny it, she craved companionship. Someone to connect with. To share her happiness with, as infrequently as it came. Sex would be a bonus, obviously. Then again, all her bad experiences led there. And that only left her empty and regretful. Cursing herself for yet again putting everyone’s needs ahead of her own. Maybe it was time to re-evaluate her goals. Something needed to change.

Fuck it.

She clicked on the link to the app Maggie recommended and hit download. She had to before her brain caught wind of the treason her fingers were committing.

Climate researcher looking for some personal warming…?

Twenty eight. Looking for lust in all the wrong places…?

Jesus, Eveline. What the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Before she knew it, she was knee deep in a profile, looking through her camera roll to find a suitable picture. But even though she didn’t have many pictures of herself, every photo she did have was just… wrong.

She didn’t want to attract the same type of man she kept finding. And every photo she scrolled past showed the mask she hid behind. The persona she wore. She felt like an imposter in her own skin, every single fucking day.

It was time to show the world the real Eveline. But even she wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. Who was the real Eveline? She was positive it wasn’t the woman who put herself on display night after night, going through bizarre mating rituals that only attracted the wrong kind. Or at least she hoped that wasn’t the real Eveline.

The day had been too long. She looked frustrated. Tired. Her hair was tousled from the windy walk from the train station. But this was her authentic self. She was exhausted and exhausting. There was no sense in trying to hide that with makeup and suggestive attire. She ran her fingers roughly through her hair, smoothing what she could. Framed her face in the phone.

Say cheese, you grumpy, unorganized fuck.

And took the photo. The photo that would maybe… possibly… hopefully find someone she could finally forge something real with.

Well, Connect2… let’s see what you’ve got.

When she saved her profile, her stomach churned. Immediately the doubt and regret crept into the back of her mind. So much so that she tossed the phone aside and left the room.

This is a mistake.

Eveline woke to the television frozen between episodes of a show her focus had long diverted from. The screen waited for instructions. Stop? Check again later? Or just let it play out until the bitter end.

Sounded a lot like her life.

Forgot the sleep timer. Again. Eveline… seriously? Come on, man…

She wiped her eyes, rolling over toward the clock on the nightstand.

Does that really say 3:37?

It would certainly be a long day if she didn’t get more sleep. But the thought of the profile she created flooded her barely conscious mind.

Stumbling out of bed, she looked for her phone, unable to find it. One frantic search later, her unreliable memory finally kicked in, telling her she’d been lying on the couch before bed. There it was, nestled between the cushions.

Slumping onto the kitchen chair, she tapped her phone screen. It lit up like a beacon, her attention drawn to the Connect2 icon. She stared at it like it owed her money. But its only debts were notifications – her disappointment was audible when she saw none.

Jesus, Eveline. These things don’t work unless you attempt to match with people. I mean, I think?

She hadn’t bothered to search for matches, and she’d get none until she did.

A deluge of images appeared as she swiped left, left, left, right, left, right, and left some more. Interesting bios? Some. Attractive? Enough of them. Matches? Shockingly, yes, and she’d get to them later. But not a single profile truly caught her attention until his.

Trystan Maddocks.

Brave enough to give a full name, huh? Or… not very smart…

The name sounded familiar, but she didn’t know why. Or maybe it just had that rhythm.

Thirty two. New to online dating, apparently because his life was too busy for it. He didn’t say with what.

‘I don’t get nervous about much, but this has me quaking a little.’

The corners of Eveline’s mouth quirked upwards. It was sweet. As genuine as a short bio on a dating app could be, she supposed.

And to say he was attractive trivialized reality. His photo stole her breath.

It wasn’t enough – it left her wanting.

His ash brown hair framed his face, its waves cascading to the tops of his shoulders. The ivory tone of his skin, the gentle slope of his nose, the way his lips were slightly parted. The plain black t-shirt he wore did nothing to help envision what was underneath. A contemplative expression covered his face as he looked off screen. But was that the faintest hint of a smile? Would he tell her the secrets it held? The light stubble that played along his jaw was sexier than it had any right to be. And his eyes… she couldn’t look away. Those eyes – the colour of pooled glacial melt – looked off to his right.

The breath she’d been holding came out in a sputter. Never was she more grateful for a lack of direct eye contact – she’d never be able to close the app otherwise.

Her mind wandered. She imagined looking into those eyes. One hand tangled up in his hair; the fingers of the other tracing the stubble along his jaw. Too many superficial thoughts flooded her mind. How tall was he? What did his body look like? But the answers didn’t matter. Those eyes could have vetoed all of them.

She inhaled sharply, and swiped right.

Nothing. He wasn’t a match.

Yet.

She could still hope.

For a half second, Eveline reconsidered her profile photo. Would it be enough to catch the eye of someone like Trystan? She scolded herself. If it did, it did. And if it didn’t… well, she didn’t want to think about that outcome. Maybe she’d see him in the city one day. Bump into him. Meet him that way. She quickly shook her head, dispelling the thought before she fell down a rabbit hole of panic.

Don’t, Ev. Don’t invent scenarios for things that haven’t happened.

She glanced at the time on her phone. It was nearly five in the morning. She’d have to get up for work in a couple hours. She shrugged.

I gotta get another hour or so. I’m not gonna survive the day.