The button, labelled PUSH TO EXIT, is cool and soothing under your fingers. You stroke the smooth red plastic rhythmically, as you would the head of a childhood pet. No, no, that’s not right. You rub it as you would the lamp of a genie, because your father and your ex-boyfriend are buddies now you are wishing to be gone from this hellish place you once called home.
Your father says they should go fishing on Sunday. He says you should come along.
Your ex says that’s a great idea because he never seems to see you anymore, which is true because you actively avoid coming anywhere near him.
You look at the button and can see your reflection, cast in red, in its polished surface. Are you the very devil that has brought this ruination? Are you your own worst enemy?
Your ex smiles at you from his perch on the couch next to your father.
No, he is the devil. He is your worst enemy.