The Internet Told Him to Leave Me, but He's Still Holding Me novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Way Too Clingy
Annika reads a thread telling men to dump clingy girlfriends and turns away from Knox when he comes to bed; she posts Day 1 of her plan, and a brand-new account replies.
I was the kind of girlfriend who needed a lot of attention.
I kissed Knox whenever I felt like it, which was often.
I kissed him while he brushed his teeth. I kissed him at red lights. I kissed the back of his neck while he was trying to draw.
I sat on his lap on the couch even though there was a whole couch.
I texted him photos of dogs I passed on the sidewalk, with ratings out of ten.
I never once thought about it.
Then, on a Sunday night in October, I found the thread.
I was supposed to be drawing a moose.
The moose was for a picture book. It was due December 1st. It had no antlers yet and a face like a sad potato.
So I was on my laptop instead, scrolling a forum where strangers answer strangers.
The title said, "What should I do if my girlfriend is way too clingy?"
I clicked it to laugh at some poor guy.
The top comment had nine thousand upvotes.
"Dump her. Clingy girls always turn obsessive. The longer you wait, the harder they are to get rid of."
The username was a little blue check and a name, Chad Brixton. Dating coach.
The next one said, "PSA. The clingier she is, the more annoying she gets. Does she not know she's pushing you away?"
Then, "Just break up. Anyway, on to the next thread."
I read them all twice.
Then I looked at my phone.
Today alone I had sent Knox fourteen texts.
Three dogs. A picture of a cloud shaped like a boot. "Miss you" at 11:02, 1:15 and 3:40.
He'd answered every single one.
But he would. He was nice.
That was the problem with nice men. They were too polite to tell you when you were too much.
I scrolled up to the dog ratings and felt my face go hot.
Somewhere in Minneapolis, right now, a man was reading these and thinking, the longer I wait, the harder she'll be to get rid of.
The bathroom door opened.
Steam rolled out into the hall.
Knox came out with a towel around his waist and nothing else.
He's six foot five. He has to duck under our bathroom door. Water was running down his chest, over the tattoos, into the towel.
His hair was wet and pushed back. His beard was dripping on the floor I had told him a hundred times not to drip on.
He leaned on the door frame and gave me the look.
The look that usually meant I would be across the room and climbing into his lap in a heartbeat.
"Hey," he said. "You coming to bed, or is the moose winning?"
I shut the laptop.
"The moose is winning," I said.
He waited.
On any other night I would have already been there.
I'd have put both my cold hands flat on his warm stomach just to hear him yelp.
I stayed in my chair.
"Okay," he said slowly. "I'll warm up your side."
"You don't have to do that."
He stopped in the hallway.
"I always do that."
"I know. You don't have to."
He looked at me for a second too long.
Then he went into the bedroom.
I sat at my drafting table in the dark and stared at the moose.
I could fix this.
I could be easy. Breezy. One of those girls who takes four hours to send a single disinterested text.
I opened the laptop and made a new account. I called it moosegirl, because the moose was looking at me.
I typed fast before I could stop myself.
"Day 1 of not being clingy before he leaves me."
"Rules. No kissing him first. No texting him first. No dog pictures. Separate blankets. I let him miss me. If he doesn't miss me, I find out now instead of in five years."
Under it I drew a tiny moose with its back turned, sitting on the far edge of a bed.
I posted it at 11:50.
I left the laptop open on the table and went to brush my teeth for a long time, practicing a breezy face in the mirror.
Then I went to bed.
Knox had left the lamp on for me.
He was lying on his back with a paperback on his chest. One of his romance novels. The cover had a lighthouse and a shirtless man on it.
He moved the book when I came in, the way he always did, to make room for me to crawl on top of him.
I got in on my side.
I pulled my own blanket up to my chin.
I turned to face the wall.
"Night," I said.
The room went very quiet.
I could feel him looking at the back of my head.
"Annika."
"Mm?"
"You okay?"
"I'm great. Just tired."
"You're never tired. You were doing cartwheels in the kitchen at eleven last night."
"I'm tired tonight."
A long pause.
Then the lamp clicked off.
He didn't reach for me.
I lay there with my eyes open in the dark, every muscle in my body wanting to roll over and put my face in his neck.
I listened to the metallic clang of the radiator instead, staring up at the dark ceiling.
When his breathing finally slowed, I slid my phone under the blanket and turned the screen down as dim as it would go.
Moosegirl had four hundred views.
Twelve comments.
Most said things like "good for you, queen" and "he'll come crawling."
One said, "Honestly, just break up with him first."
The newest one was right at the top.
The account had been made at 11:52, two minutes after my post. No picture. The name was fortyfour_k.
"Whoever he is, he's an idiot if he lets you stop."
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