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Day three was the worst. Day three was when the realization really began to hit me. Day three was when I finally spoke after three days of near silence, having only muttered a simple yes or no to Landon or Karen during their awkward attempts to engage me in conversation. The only sounds that actually came out were a strangled sob and a choppy explanation through tears of why my life would be better, easier, without him that even I didn’t believe. Day three was when I finally looked in the mirror at my dirty and bruised face, my eyes swollen to the point of barely opening. Day three was when I fell to the floor, finally praying to God to make the pain disappear. No one can handle this pain, I told Him. Not even me. Day three I called him, I couldn’t help myself. I told myself that if he answers we would work it out and both come to a compromise, apologizing profusely and promising to never leave each other again. Instead, I got his voicemail after two rings, proving that he rejected the call.
Day four, I slipped and called him again. This time he had the courtesy to let it ring to voicemail instead of pressing ignore. Day four was when I realized how much more I actually care for him than he does me. Day four was when I spent the entire day in bed reliving the few times he actually told me how he felt about me. I began to realize that most of our relationship and how I portrayed his feelings for me in my mind was just that . . . in my mind. I began to realize that while I was thinking we could do this, we could make this work forever, he wasn’t thinking about me at all.
That was the day I decide to join the ranks of normal teenagers and had Landon show me how to download music onto my phone. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Over one hundred songs were added, and headphones were put in my ears and barely removed for almost twenty-four hours. The music helps a lot. To hear about other people’s pain reminds me that I’m not the only one to suffer in life. I’m not the only one who loved someone who didn’t love them enough to fight for them.
Day five was when I finally showered and attempted to go to class. I went to yoga, hoping that I could handle the memories it would evoke. I felt strange walking around in a sea of cheery college students. I used all the energy I had in hoping that I wouldn’t run into Hardin on campus. I was past the stage of wanting him to call. I managed to drink half of my coffee that morning, and Landon told me that the color was coming back into my cheeks. No one seemed to notice me, and that was exactly what I wanted. Professor Soto assigned us to write down our biggest fears when it comes to life and how they relate to faith and God. “Are you afraid to die?” he asked us. Aren’t I already dead? I answered silently.
Day six was a Tuesday. I began to speak in sentences, broken sentences that usually didn’t relate to the subject at hand, but no one had the heart to call me out on it. I returned to Vance. Kimberly couldn’t meet my eyes for the first part of the day, but she finally attempted to have a conversation, which I couldn’t bring myself to participate in. She mentioned a dinner, and I reminded myself to ask her again when I can think straight. The day was spent staring at the first page of a manuscript that, no matter how many times I read and reread it, wouldn’t soak in. I ate that day, more than just the rice or a banana I had in the days before. Karen made a ham—I only noticed because it reminded me that she made one for the dinner Hardin and I had here in the beginning. The images from that night, the picture of him sitting next to me and holding my hand under the table, sent me back into my tragic state, making me spend the night in the bathroom vomiting up the small bit of food I had consumed.
As day seven dragged on I began to imagine what would happen if I didn’t have to feel this pain anymore. What if I just disappeared? The thought terrified me—not because of my death, but because my mind was capable of going to such a dark place. That thought snapped me out of my downward spiral and brought me to the closest thing to reality my mind can handle. I changed my shirt and vowed to never step foot in Hardin’s bedroom again, no matter what happened. I began to look up apartments that I could afford close to Vance, and online classes at WCU. I enjoy academics too much to close myself off and take online classes, so I ultimately decided against it, but I found a few apartments to look into.
Day eight I smiled, briefly, but everyone noticed. Day eight was the first morning that I grabbed my usual donut and coffee when I arrived at Vance. I kept it down and even went back for more. I saw Trevor, who told me I looked beautiful despite my wrinkled clothes and hollow eyes. Day eight was the shift, day eight was the first day that only half of my time was spent wishing that things had gone differently between Hardin and me. I heard Ken and Karen discussing Hardin’s birthday in a few days, and I was surprised to only feel a slight burn in my chest at the sound of his name.
Day nine is today.
“I’ll be downstairs!” Landon calls through the door of “my” bedroom.
No one has even mentioned me leaving, or where I would go if I did. I’m grateful for it, but at the same time I know my presence will eventually be a burden. Landon keeps assuring me that I can stay as long as I need to, and Karen reminds me how much she enjoys my company multiple times a day. But at the end of the day, they’re Hardin’s family. I want to make a move forward, decide where I should go and where I should live, and I’m no longer afraid.
I cannot, and refuse to, spend another day crying over a dishonest boy with tattoos who doesn’t love me anymore.
When I see Landon downstairs, he’s taking a large bite of a bagel; a dab of cream cheese rests in the corner of his mouth and his tongue darts out to retrieve it. “Morning.” He smiles, his cheek full and eyes wide.