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Another thing. Don’t let your broken heart even think about the man you love, who doesn’t love you back, in any sexual way or form. That’s just a recipe for torture.
Kate, as always, proves to be a great distraction during what I call the I-wish-the-Jerk-never- existed phase.
“You don’t have to go,” she reminds me for the millionth time today.
I continue to pack my box of shoes, all the while wondering how I accumulated so much. Geez, I don’t want to throw the term ‘shoe whore’ around, but it’s difficult not to. Especially when I realize I have the same pair of pumps in three different colors. When did I really think I would wear the crimson pair?
“Los Angeles is great, don’t get me wrong, but aren’t you going to miss the city?”
Closing the box, I pull the tape across the top and stick on a label marked, ‘Shoes—FRAGILE.’
There, done.
“I’m done here. I miss my sister. The open spaces and sun will be a welcoming change. California has some great schools where Masen can attend,” I state, matter of factly.
“I can’t argue that. I’m from England, and anywhere there’s sun, I’m there faster than you can say the word sunburn.”
I shake my head, giggling at her comment. Kate is awfully pale, and I can only imagine what the California sun could do to her delicate skin. Nevertheless, she is gorgeous the way she is.
“You’re beautiful,” I add, smiling at her.
She places the tape aside and jumps up, almost knocking me down as we hug it out. For someone who has only been in my life for such a short time, she’s had a big impact. She is that person you can always rely on, no matter what. She is a selfless human being who genuinely cares for the people who surround her. I consider myself lucky to have met her and hope the distance won’t affect our friendship. But then again, why should it? A true friend doesn’t need to see or talk to you every day. You know they’ll be there whenever you need them. Kate is and will forever be a person I consider a good friend.
“I’m going to miss you. I’ve loved having you as a roomie. And lil’ Mase…” she trails off, letting go of me and picking him up from his crib. She’s visibly upset, having grown so fond of him during our short stay together. Kate isn’t one to cry, but her eyes begin to well, and I swear I hear a slight sniffle.
“It’s only a plane ride away. And you said you visit L.A. often,” I remind her softy.
“I know… just gotta get used to not seeing this little chubber every day.”
Smiling back at Kate, I watch as she gently sways Masen. It’s sad to go, but it’s all in Masen’s best interest. I constantly have to drum that into my stubborn head.
It doesn’t matter what I want.
But that all soon falls apart.
The next night, I wake up sweating profusely, my lungs feeling like they have been punctured, not allowing me to breathe. Panicky and dripping in cold sweat, I clutch my chest, certain I’m having a heart attack.
I’m thirty-two. The likelihood of that happening is slim. The panic subsides, and the reality of being alone in this big bed hits me like a ton of bricks.
I’m suffering from what they call a broken heart.
I have all the symptoms. The aching heart, the lack of appetite, and no song can play in the background without causing me a complete meltdown.
On day four, it officially hits. Physically my heart is aching, and the stream of tears flows evenly, escalating in loud sobs. Not wanting to wake up Masen or Kate, I grab the pillow and shove it onto my face. The pain is unbearable. Several times I have contemplated calling and telling him to come over. I miss him so much, and the thought of being on the other side of the country has left me torn in my decision.
I miss his smell. That masculine scent that drives my senses wild.
I miss the way his eyebrows do that thing every time his face breaks into a smile.
But most of all, I miss the way he watches over Masen with unconditional love. The adoration in that one
stare makes me realize that no other man could love Masen as much as he does.
I am out of my mind, clearly not thinking straight.
Then I do that awful stalker thing. I check his Facebook and Twitter accounts, but he hasn’t posted a thing. Immediately afterward, I regret looking at pictures of him. How can one human being be so beautiful, yet tear every inch of your soul to pieces at the same time?
In the light of day with the sun peeking through my curtains, the world seems entirely different. My eyes are puffy and sore from my cry-fest. Last night feels like a big blur now, yet the pain still lingers. It only reminds me that there are many sleepless nights to come.
