Chapter 2 The Break Up
The break up
Coevey Bay
NOW
It’s times like this I miss Mum the most.
Wishing I could call her. Hear her voice. Hear her tell me if I’m on the right path.
I remember when I was little, and one of my friends started to pick on me.
I don’t think she was ever really my friend to be honest, but I still wanted her to like me.
I didn’t understand why at the time, but Mum used to say, “People show you who they are, again and again. But sometimes, we lie to ourselves.”
I did that back then. Just like I did with him. I kept looking away, hoping he’d change. Hoping the man I once loved was still in there somewhere.
“It’s easier to hold on to who we want them to be, instead of who they really are.”
She said that too… and she was right. She always was.
I got tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of squinting through the hope.
Tired of ignoring the truth that’s been there all along.
And when I stopped looking away, I saw him. Clearly.
Not the version I loved but the one who was always there in plain sight.
Now, I have a choice:
Keep pretending. Keep breaking my own heart. Or walk away… and choose myself.
Tonight, I’m choosing me.
On my drive home from work, I listen to “Messy” by Lola Young on repeat, screaming the lyrics out loud. My thoughts swirl, I’m trying to calm down my inner turmoil.
I’ve made my decision: I’m doing it. I’m leaving him and I’m doing it tonight. I’m not backing out this time, no matter how much he begs.
It’s something I’ve wanted to do for so long. Something I’ve been terrified to do.
But I have to. I need better. I deserve better.
As the song ends and I pull into the driveway, I shift the car into park, close my eyes, and whisper to myself, “Camille, you made this decision. You’re going to move on.
I don’t care how hard this is. I don’t care how disappointed you are.
You’re not going to let this break you. You’re moving on with your life. ”
I’ve been telling myself to leave him since we moved here to Coevey Bay, but fear kept me in place.
I started saving money in a hidden account, so I had the financial means to leave.
The only thing missing now, is a place to live.
I saved enough for a bond for a rental with my friend, Danielle.
But finding a place that’s in the right area, within both our budgets, and allows my cat Gizmo to stay…
it’s tough. But I can’t wait anymore. A dip into my savings will have to cover a motel until something opens up.
I found out recently that Sean’s been draining money. Gambling, strip clubs, nights out.
He swears he’s never cheated, but at this point, I don’t know what to believe.
He’s away half the time working fly-in-fly-out jobs across Australia, while I stay behind juggling two jobs: one that feeds my soul—hairdressing. And one that I tolerate—serving drinks at The Tipsy Tap, whenever I can squeeze in a shift.
But it’s not just the long-distance that’s killing our relationship. It’s him.
The way he treats me. The way things have slowly rotted from the inside out.
When I first met Sean he was so sweet, we had fun together, he love-bombed me, brought flowers, took me out, made me laugh. We were good.
It didn’t all fall apart overnight. It happened slowly, subtly, like a leak you don’t notice until your whole floor is suddenly flooded.
At first, the distance was manageable. I’d bury myself in work when he was gone, then cut back and soak up our time together when he was home.
But now? Now I’m working nonstop just to keep us afloat while he pisses away his paycheck in a week.
He accuses me of cheating almost daily. Can’t stand the idea of me having anyone else in my life but him.
He spends his time either high on the couch or out drinking with God knows who.
Our rent is cheap—thanks to his parents rental we live in—but once I cover his latest debt, I’m left paying for everything else.
Groceries. Utilities. Cleaning. All of it.
And then, like clockwork, he yells at me when the house is too messy.
Never mind the fact that I just worked a 14-hour shift while he’s been at home all day.
He punches holes in the walls. He says, “at least I never hit you,” like that’s something to be proud of.
Then he tells me how much he loves me and how I am lucky that he does.
That no one else could ever love me.
Then we have sex. No, that’s not fair. He has sex with me. I say yes, because it’s easier than saying no. Because it’s not worth the fight. I lie there and let him do it. Lucky for me, it’s always quick. I don’t even care if I don’t get off anymore, I just want it to be over.
It’s been well over a month since we’ve done that though.
Sean’s going back to work tomorrow for a month’s rotation. So that’s my window. I’ll stay in a motel tonight, then come back and pack once he’s gone. Hopefully, in the time he’s away, a rental will come available.
I can’t wait anymore. I won’t.
I pull myself out of my white Mazda 6, my heart hammering, praying he’s not drunk or worse. There’s a packed suitcase in the boot of my car. It’s been there for a week, waiting for the moment I found the courage.
All I need to do is go inside, tell him I’m leaving, grab Gizmo, and go.
I’ll come back for the rest later.
I thought about leaving while he was away. Ghosting him.
But after three years together, I feel like I owe him… and myself… some kind of closure. It’s not that I don’t care about Sean. I love the man he used to be. But I’m not in love with him anymore. This relationship is killing me. And I want to live.
The porch light flickers above me, casting sharp shadows across the chipped wooden steps. I pause with my hand on the door, heart pounding so loud I’m afraid he might hear it from inside.
The door creaks open with that familiar groan I used to find comforting. Now it sounds like a warning.
Gizmo greets me with a meow, rubbing her nose against my legs. I scoop her up, scratching the soft brown-and-white fur on her belly. She always reminded me of the creature from Gremlins—hence the name.
I walk inside our small house, and I can smell the scent of beer and the faint, clinging tang of smoke in the walls that no amount of open windows ever really clears.
My favourite candle is burnt out on the kitchen bench. The vanilla and cedarwood scent has been long buried under the weight of everything else.
The air feels thick—humid with unspoken words.
My lungs work hard to breathe, like the house itself is trying to keep me from leaving.
Everything is dim except for the television’s glow, flickering across the living room like a heartbeat. Empty bottles litter the coffee table. A half-eaten takeaway box sits on the armrest.
This used to be our place. Our safe little pocket of the world. Now, it just feels… stuck. Like time stopped here, and I kept moving.
Sean is asleep on the couch, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. There’s a crease between his brows even in rest, like he’s bracing for a fight. I watch his chest rise and fall. I should feel something. Anger. Sadness. Nostalgia. I feel sick and tired.
My stomach churns. My grip on Gizmo tightens. My legs want to run but my feet stay planted. Sweat gathers at the nape of my neck, trickling down my spine. Every step forward feels like betrayal, even though I know staying would be the real one.
I take a seat next to him. I check my watch. It’s only 7 p.m., early for him to be asleep. Gizmo still in my arms, like armour.
I study his angular and beautiful face. His black hair is short, messy. He looks thinner, making his tall, tattooed frame look even lankier than normal.
I say his name gently. He stirs. Looks at Gizmo curled in my arms.
“Sean,” I whisper, trying not to cry. “I’m leaving.
I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. It’s over.
We both deserve better than this. I hope you understand…
You know it’s not working. I’m going to a motel tonight.
” He shoots up from the couch. His bloodshot eyes, dilated pupils—he’s high.
If I’d known, I wouldn’t have done this tonight.
He’s too still. That kind of stillness that makes your skin crawl.
“Go on then. Get the fuck out! His voice is low, dangerous. His finger aimed at the front door. “Fuck you Camille! Fuck you for giving up like this. You’re a coward, a fucking selfish bitch.” He laughs bitterly, rubbing his face.
He’s trembling with rage. Gizmo squirms in my arms. I hold her tighter.
Too afraid to speak. “Get the fuck out of my house! I don’t fucking want you here! ”
The words hit me like a slap. The tears come before I can stop them. I knew it would be bad, I knew, but hearing him yell at me still hurts.
“Sean” I whisper.
“Fuck off! Good luck finding a man who’ll love you like I did!
” He laughs again, his fists clenched. Even though I stopped loving him a long time ago, his words feel like poison.
I turn around without another word. As I walk out the door I hear something break, like glass shattering.
I don’t look back, I keep going. Holding Gizmo tight, my heart shattered in all the old familiar places.
I get in my car and drive, “I Hate This Part” by The Pussycat Dolls comes on, as the tears start to flow.
I drive, but not really present. My hands move the wheel, my foot presses the pedal, but my mind is somewhere else entirely.
The road blurs into a quiet rhythm until I pull into the parking lot beneath a buzzing neon sign: MOTEL, its red glow casting eerie shadows across the cracked pavement.
I run inside, grab the key to my studio room from the after-hours box—something I prearranged with the receptionist.
When I park in front of the room, I tuck Gizmo inside my handbag so I can sneak her in. I haul the suitcase from my boot, grateful my room is on the ground floor.
I step inside. The beige walls softened by dim lighting.
A single window overlooking the street behind.
A small kitchenette sits in the corner, its silver kettle gleaming under the overhead light.
The bed takes up most of the space, draped in a slightly wrinkled white comforter.
It smells faintly of old linen and lemon cleaner, with a trace of something more lived-in.
Like warm dust, faded cologne, and the lingering ghost of someone else’s coffee.
Not unpleasant, just… familiar, like a place trying its best to feel like home. I guess for now, it is home.
I close the door behind me, pull Gizmo from my bag, and curl up in the bed with her, my clothes from today still on.
And I cry in mourning, in relief. I cry because it’s over. Because three years are gone. Because tonight, I finally let go. Tonight, I will allow myself the time to wallow. Tomorrow is a new day. But tonight… Tonight, I cry until I fall asleep.