Olivia's POV
I collapsed onto my couch, kicking off my heels. The apartment felt emptier than usual, even with the distant hum of city traffic filtering through the windows.
"Well, this is a mess." I addressed my ceiling fan, which spun lazily overhead like it judged my life choices. "Don't give me that look."
My throw pillow made an excellent face smoother as I pressed it against my cheeks and let out a muffled scream. The horror movie hadn't been nearly as scary as the horror show that was my love life.
"Logan deserves better," I told my Houseplant. "He deserves someone who doesn't check her phone during horror movies or make up fake shooting schedules."
Houseplant leaves rustled in the AC breeze, apparently agreeing with me.
"But Christopher..." I hugged the pillow tighter. "God, when he looks at me, it's like... like..."