He Took the Memory Potion Instead of Me Chapter 04

He Took the Memory Potion Instead of Me Chapter 04

That was the day Callum broke up with me for the first time.

He said he was too selfish, too spoiled. Said he’d only end up hurting me.

He couldn’t look at me while he said it. His eyes drifted past my face and stayed on the oak tree outside the window, like he was making his case to the tree instead.

I nodded. “Okay.”

I’d answered too fast.

Like a train with no brakes.

I stood on the tracks watching it barrel toward me, but I couldn’t see it for what it was.

I thought it was just wind. Not a train. Just wind.

It was Callum who froze. “You… you’re okay with this?”

He quickly added, “You’re not gonna do anything to yourself, right? Because if you’re upset, we don’t have to—I mean, we could…”

I shook my head and cut him off.

Everything felt muffled. Like my body and my voice were on the other side of glass.

“I won’t. There’s no reason to.”

Callum just stood there, staring.

Then his spoiled-rich-kid temper kicked in. His jaw went tight, and something sharp flickered behind his eyes.

“Fine. We’re done. If I ever come crawling back to you, I’m a dog.”

The next day, I was working my shift at a dessert shop.

Callum walked in wearing a dog collar.

He rested his chin on the counter with both hands and gave me the most shameless grin I’d ever seen.

“Woof. Babe, I got you that HO-scale train you were talking about.”

“Babe, pick a cake. Any cake. I’ll buy it and wait for you to get off work. Woof woof.”

I looked at him.

Then at the model train.

What was I supposed to do—blame him? Call him out?

He was carrying his brother’s guilt on his back. He was trying.

Was I really going to look him in the eye and scream?

“You’re guilty too! I never want to see your face again!”

My shift ended.

Another voice message from Mom. She wanted the money—the cut she demanded every month, same as always.

I sent it. She went quiet.

I scrolled back through our messages. Not a single one that wasn’t about money. Every text read like an invoice.

I took Callum back.

He was the only person that day who hadn’t asked me for something.

Even if there was a motive behind it, he’d still been kind.

When you’re dying of thirst, you drink the water. Even if you know it’s poisoned.

I couldn’t afford to be picky.

After that, breakups became routine.

Every time Callum convinced himself I was okay—stable enough, strong enough to survive without him—he’d pull the plug.

He’d invent some flaw in himself, deliver the breakup speech like it was scripted, and walk away clean.

Every time, he swore it was final.

He’d delete the photos. The posts. The message history.

Seven hundred breakups in, he wiped the slate cleaner each time.

His phone looked like it had been factory-reset.

But the next day, he’d always come back. Just to look.

Checking if I was sad. If my eyes were red. If I was eating, sleeping, holding it together.

The second anything seemed off, he’d show up at my door with that look on his face, begging me to take him back.

Eventually, he gave in, one step at a time. He installed the tracking app himself. Promised to check in constantly.

No pride left. Not an ounce.