Page 1 of Between Love & Ruin

Sienna Hayes

Iwill never find the kind of love I write about. The swoon-worthy, butterflies-in-your-stomach, sparkle-and-rainbows kind of love. The kind that sets your soul alive.

And as if to prove my point, my boyfriend, Mark Thomas, asks, “Where’s my tie?” while rummaging through his closet as I settle into my seat to finally write a few words.

I used to say I thrived in writing in chaos, but I definitely didn’t mean getting up every five minutes. That’s not chaos. That’s overstimulating my nerves.

“Look around on the bed, Mark,” I say, rolling my eyes. I Growing up, I fantasized about living with the love of my life, surrounded by romance stories that made it look effortless.

Until real life happened, and I wanted to meet every single one of those writers who made it look like it was a blissful experience. Because it was quite the opposite of that.

Turns out, living with a man makes you realize how chaotic they can be—how quickly they get on your nerves and how constantly overstimulated they leave you.

So, I began writing men in my stories who were the opposite of the ones I had met in real life and totally opposite of the man I had been dating since three years of our university days.

“Found it,” he says and I roll my eyes. Of course you did. “Did you make breakfast?”

I take a deep breath and remind myself that I cannot murder him. He is just a man. A man I claim to love.

“I didn’t,” I tell him, turning around in my chair to face him. “I didn’t have the time. I wanted to get ahead in writing a little since you know how close I am to the deadline. Plus, I have a meeting in a few hours.”

“You could’ve at least mentioned you were having a busy morning so I knew to grab something early,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t you have two functional hands? If you’re hungry, cook for yourself—I am not your mother, Mark.”

“But you are my girlfriend,” he argues.

“Exactly,” I say. “Don’t expect maid duties from me when I am your girlfriend. Your partner. Or do you not remember that?”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, knowing he can’t win in this argument. I am not going all out for a man who can’t respect my work time. I have no issues making food for him or both of us. But I do have a problem with his attitude, and I am afraid that I cannot hide that anymore.

“I am not doing this again with you. I will eat out.”

“Suits me.”

He stomps his way out, not saying a word more, and I don’t even expect him to. And when he shuts the door of our apartment with a loud thud, I realize that his indifference doesn’t even hurt me anymore.

I used to think that the love like I read in books. Until real life hit me like a truck and I was shown that it wasn’t true.

It’s not like I don’t love my boyfriend. He was the first guy I ever let into my life. There’s not a part of me that doesn’t still care about him.

But is he the same ‘love’ I used to dream about day and night? I guess not.

When I tell any of my friends about this, they say that I have set my expectations too high from reading and writing romance. I have heard the same thing over and over again so many times that I have it memorized.

It always goes like this—“Real life is different, Sienna.”

“It’s not always sunshine and rainbows.”

“The spark dies after some time.”

But what if I don’t want that? What if I don’t want the spark to die? What if I want sunshine, rainbows, and all the things everyone insists don’t exist in real life?

What if I want a man to be devoted to me? Love me like I am the only one who exists in the world?

But since no one gets that, and all I look like is a girl who doesn’t want to settle down, I started writing what I couldn’t get on paper.

It didn’t change my reality, but it created an escape for the thousands of readers who pick up my books.