Jackknife (The Shivers Collection, #1)

by Joe Hill

Now, twenty years later, Dennis’s marriage was fucked, and his briefly promising career looked just about over, all because of a girl he never actually got to have, just like he never got to have the knife. He was sick of wanting and not getting—story of his life—which was why he took the handle of the knife and wiggled it back and forth until it came free.

“How terrible for you,” Helena said. “You were horribly victimized.” She laughed that mirthless laugh again. “You didn’t ever think, not once, that maybe she didn’t need you to reciprocate her self-loathing fantasies? It didn’t cross your mind that maybe she needed you to be a nice fucking guy? Take her aside and say, ‘You asked me to be your adviser, so I’m going to advise you. You’re a good kid, but we shouldn’t be working together, and I think it would be helpful for you to talk to one of the campus mental health counselors.’ But you couldn’t do that and get what you wanted.” “If I wanted her so badly, how come we never met at a hotel?” “Oh, Dennis. I never said you wanted her. You wanted this. You wanted to smash your marriage and your job and your life, all of it, into a thousand shiny little pieces.” “Why would anyone want that?” “Why do little kids break windows?” his soon-to-be ex-wife asked. “Children love the sound of smashing glass. Firebugs love a book of matches.”

Saw you tried to call but I was talking to my mom and couldn’t pick up. You’re not at your AirBnB and I’m going home and that’s for the best. Really. I said more in the letter. I’m sorry I perved on you. I’m sorry I didn’t know better. I’m sorry you Did know better and didn’t care, Dennis. Don’t call again. I’m going to mute your line. Be well.

It crossed his mind then that there was no letter, because she was twenty, and no one who was twenty wrote an actual physical letter for anyone. She meant she had sent him an email.