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DAHLIA I spent the last couple of days hating, cursing, and metaphorically stabbing a voodoo doll with Kane Davenport’s face all over it. It got so bad that I momentarily thought of going back and punching him in the face or doing something more drastic like breaking either his arm or his leg so he could kiss his beloved hockey career goodbye. That urge was mounting when I got in touch with Megan on my new phone and she sent me pictures of the Vipers’ latest win and said I missed an ‘amazing’ game. He can still play amazing games, so maybe I should ruin his final college season. Maybe I let him off the hook too easily and should have hurt him as badly as he tore me apart. I should have burrowed so deep beneath his skin that he’d be tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep, his head only full of thoughts of me. I should’ve made him so attached to me that life without my presence feels bland and tasteless. Because that’s how it’s felt for me lately, no matter how tough I tried to act.