“We’re done, Ada.” he says without looking at me. The words echo bouncing off the walls of my soul. “What?” I quietly say, a crack in my voice. Derrick doesn’t even look at me, he just walks to the closet and grabs his duffle bag. “We’re done, I am packing my things and I’m leaving tonight.” I sit on the bed and stare at the wall across from me, the shuffling of his bag feels like sandpaper to my senses. Minutes of him packing, rummaging through drawers grabbing some clothes. The silence only broken with my sniffling. “Why?” I finally say, silent tears streaming down my face. “I don’t know, this is just too much” he says off handedly. A flash of fear that there are ulterior motives, another person, makes my heart sink. My vision starts to go fuzzy with the heady mix of hurt and rage “Because of one fight?! I do everything for you, I put up with everything you do for you, I have sacrificed so much for this and you just leave?!”At this point I am screaming. All of my emotions are a storm ready to destroy anything in its path.
He finally looks at me, his eyes distant, like he is trying to not see the broken person before him. After another long pause of us not moving, hell for me not even breathing, “I got you something, it reminded me of you.” He pulls out a book, “Are you fucking kidding me?” I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of giving someone a breakup gift. It hands it over before continuing to back whatever else he can fit in the duffle and his backpack. I sit there clutching the book like a lifeline. The edges of the pages dig painfully into my palms, a comforting balm to the pain in my chest. “I’ll be back for the rest of it later” without another word or glance, Derrick is out of the door. Out of my life. As soon as I hear the door close, I fall apart and succumb to the void that was beckoning me since he spoke those words.
Chapter 1: The Depths of Despair
“You should go to the springs, take your mind off things and read!” my boss urges me after telling them I didn’t know what to do tomorrow on my day off. “Yeah, you’re right. I could use some sun, and who knows, maybe I’ll drown” I say too casually for someone in my current emotional state, while clocking out. Luckily they match my dark humor “Well I will be at your funeral, and the funeral of your ex after I murder him”. The singsong voice they used made me laugh, albeit the sound weird to me. I realize I haven’t laughed in a while, if I had it was always hollow and empty.
I get into my car, excited to go home and vegetate in bed until I do it all over again tomorrow. Shit I don’t have food at home, I am barely eating as it is. Great, I have to go to the store, that task feels impossible. The weight of doing something other than existing is too heavy to bear. It’s already hard enough putting on a brave face and going to work. Here recently I feel like I am practically crawling to my car with exhaustion after my shift. I am lucky to even shower at this point, which is only because of work. The realization that work is the only reason I am even functioning at all hits hard.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
The boss is right, I need to take some time for myself. It’s been three weeks, not that I need to be entirely over it, but at least start making some progress. Living like this is unhealthy. I have grieved and wallowed long enough, it’s time to get myself together. Time for a change, a restart. Maybe I’ll cut off all my hair? A tattoo sounds nice, so does redoing my whole closet. Redecorate my apartment, get rid of everything he touched. Scrub my house, my body, and soul of his memory. Jesus Christ Ada, maybe you just need therapy.
[https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0?ui=2&ik=4672ef8881&attid=0.1.1&permmsgid=msg-f:1781080480633032289&th=18b7ab42b4838e61&view=fimg&fur=ip&sz=s0-l75-ft&attbid=ANGjdJ-0tDdEXLpzPYWOCxUv4i_d1kSEwKY_aHHOmaUUTLSz0ay7xAqlPMm3bzudZro_17snDqp2fPIO5H6ucV-CURLL2_twHPSwXT1Rb7kIbvQrLAFP90fIdJnnebQ&disp=emb]
A quick trip to the store for some food leaves me exhausted. I drop off the bags on the kitchen counter, take off my shoes and hang up my bag. I try to walk away, my bed calling my name, and realize I have some cold items to put up. I groan and debate on maybe just laying down for ten minutes. I have to do it, they’ll go bad if I don’t. With every inch of effort I could muster, for the cherry on top of the unexpected task, I finally got the groceries put up. Exhausted from the day I take off my clothes, slip on a huge shirt and climb into bed.
I look over at my nightstand, the book Derrick gave me sitting on there makes me feel like that is where my heart is. That this is not my body and I am just existing in a vessel. I don’t want to read more of it, first it’s not good and second it’s hard to read without crying. I shove the book into the drawer and slam it shut. Now that it’s gone I can see that I left a bottle full of water and a protein bar. Morning me is so thoughtful, at this point I know how to work with this. The last three weeks have made this existence a well oiled machine. My mental health has been shit for a while, way before the break up, but this is a whole new level. This is something I haven’t encountered before.
I ignore the texts from family and friends, scrolling endlessly through social media, hoping for a text that’ll never come, I finally put the phone down and drift to a numbing sleep. Wishing that it will last forever.