I Am Not Jessica Chen

by Ann Liang

“I left because I couldn’t bear it.” “What?” “You,” he says, and the air escapes my lungs. He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “What I . . . felt for you. How much I needed you. I thought I would lose my mind if I stayed any longer, if I . . . if we—” He cuts himself off, breathing hard. “What?” I repeat, but this time there’s no anger in my voice, only shock. I blink at him, uncomprehending. I’m scared to speak again, to make even the slightest sound, scared he’ll take the words back and tell me I imagined it. “Surely you must have sensed it,” he says, coming to an abrupt stop, his expression distressed, almost desperate. “Even just a little. I know . . . I know it took me too long to start looking at you the way you wanted. But near the end—once I did . . .” “All I know,” I say very slowly, to make sure we’re speaking the same language, “is that you pulled away from me. Don’t you remember?” Because I do, I want to add, though it’s hard to summon that old, humiliating rage when he’s looking at me this way. I remember every detail, even now. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since you left. “Because I was scared,” Aaron says,