Page 1
Story: Break Me
Chapter 1 - Lexi
“You’re just too needy.”
That’s what Jackson said right before he dumped me. Fourth time’s the charm, I guess...if the charm is another fucking failure.
I pick the wine glass up to my lips and take another of the many last sips that I've had tonight, while I run my thumb along the newly open space on my ring finger.
The day my usually self-centered ex walked in the door with flowers and dinner for the two of us, I should've known that the night would end in the shitter.
Turns out I was right. He sat me on the couch and gave me what I'm sure is a compliment sandwich. Told me how great of a woman I am, then slid in the middle that he couldn't see himself with me for the rest of his life. And finished it all off with telling me that I won't have any trouble finding my next love.
As if I didn't just give him all my love. I gave Jackson my everything, mostly because I was determined not to go through another failed engagement.
Apparently, my everything still wasn't enough.
The wine doesn't even burn as it goes down my throat anymore.
I feel nothing.
My eyes drift down to the dark red liquid in the nearly translucent gold glass. The wine sits there in perfect peace. Not even a ripple. Mocking me. Tormenting me with the peace I've tried so hard to find.
I never fucking win.
With a rage I thought I was finish with, I haul the wine glass against the bone white wall and roar with all my might at the sight of the broken glass and wasted alcohol.
"Damn you! Damn you Jackson!"
My heart is thumping in my chest like a drum, but the anger hasn't disappeared. With every breath I take, all I can think about is how bad Jackson hurt me. How bad they always hurt me. Not that anyone would ever know.
No matter what I'm going through, any time I open up and speak my truth, I always get the same response. "You're strong. You'll get through this."
If that's not the biggest pile of steaming bullshit, I don't know what is.
I don't want to be strong. I don't want to have to get through it. I'm tired of being the one to fix everything. This shit is getting old real fast.
With a sigh, I push the chair back, get up and walk over to clean up my mess. I kneel down and reach for the first shard of glass.
With my left hand.
The empty one.
Like a weathered ruin that one small trembling reminder is enough to make me crumble.
Gut wrenching sobs punch up and out of my mouth as I slide all the way to the floor with tears cascading down my cheeks.
I'm not talking cute dainty tears but ugly mouth open, snot bubble tears. The ones that hurt more than they heal.
By the time I'm all cried out the wine on the floor has nearly dried and I can't figure out how much time I've wasted.
I know what I should do. Buck up as they say, but I just don't have it in me.
I don't want to buck up. I don't want to do anything besides huddle into a corner somewhere and pout.
Instead, I get up giving a side eye to the mess that I'm perfectly happy leaving there on the floor for another hour or day.
Who cares? Who am I cleaning up for, it's not like someone is coming home for dinner.
Not anymore.
“You’re just too needy.”
That’s what Jackson said right before he dumped me. Fourth time’s the charm, I guess...if the charm is another fucking failure.
I pick the wine glass up to my lips and take another of the many last sips that I've had tonight, while I run my thumb along the newly open space on my ring finger.
The day my usually self-centered ex walked in the door with flowers and dinner for the two of us, I should've known that the night would end in the shitter.
Turns out I was right. He sat me on the couch and gave me what I'm sure is a compliment sandwich. Told me how great of a woman I am, then slid in the middle that he couldn't see himself with me for the rest of his life. And finished it all off with telling me that I won't have any trouble finding my next love.
As if I didn't just give him all my love. I gave Jackson my everything, mostly because I was determined not to go through another failed engagement.
Apparently, my everything still wasn't enough.
The wine doesn't even burn as it goes down my throat anymore.
I feel nothing.
My eyes drift down to the dark red liquid in the nearly translucent gold glass. The wine sits there in perfect peace. Not even a ripple. Mocking me. Tormenting me with the peace I've tried so hard to find.
I never fucking win.
With a rage I thought I was finish with, I haul the wine glass against the bone white wall and roar with all my might at the sight of the broken glass and wasted alcohol.
"Damn you! Damn you Jackson!"
My heart is thumping in my chest like a drum, but the anger hasn't disappeared. With every breath I take, all I can think about is how bad Jackson hurt me. How bad they always hurt me. Not that anyone would ever know.
No matter what I'm going through, any time I open up and speak my truth, I always get the same response. "You're strong. You'll get through this."
If that's not the biggest pile of steaming bullshit, I don't know what is.
I don't want to be strong. I don't want to have to get through it. I'm tired of being the one to fix everything. This shit is getting old real fast.
With a sigh, I push the chair back, get up and walk over to clean up my mess. I kneel down and reach for the first shard of glass.
With my left hand.
The empty one.
Like a weathered ruin that one small trembling reminder is enough to make me crumble.
Gut wrenching sobs punch up and out of my mouth as I slide all the way to the floor with tears cascading down my cheeks.
I'm not talking cute dainty tears but ugly mouth open, snot bubble tears. The ones that hurt more than they heal.
By the time I'm all cried out the wine on the floor has nearly dried and I can't figure out how much time I've wasted.
I know what I should do. Buck up as they say, but I just don't have it in me.
I don't want to buck up. I don't want to do anything besides huddle into a corner somewhere and pout.
Instead, I get up giving a side eye to the mess that I'm perfectly happy leaving there on the floor for another hour or day.
Who cares? Who am I cleaning up for, it's not like someone is coming home for dinner.
Not anymore.