34. Astrid
The bottom has fallen out of my life. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. Everything is Sean and everything is breaking apart. I steady my breathing in hopes to prevent a panic attack.
Where did I go wrong?
I try and wrap my arms around myself, as if I can stop the pieces of me from falling apart.
It’s almost as painful as watching him on the ice. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can still see the blood on the ice. I was so relieved when I heard that he was going to be okay, only to have my world come crashing down once more.
I hurry down the hall and lock the door behind me so that he can’t follow me. Not that he’ll want to, I think to myself. He doesn’t even like me. He made that abundantly clear.
I set my phone on the charger and strip off my clothes, making my way to the shower and turning the shower on as hot as it will go.
I collapse onto the shower floor, letting the water run over me as I cry. How could I have been so stupid? I promised myself that I would never let this happen again. I can’t believe I thought that he was different. They never are. They’re all the same.
I watch the water swirl around the drain as the steam rises, wrapping itself around me like a comforting cocoon as I plan my escape. I don’t know how long I sit there before I come back to my surroundings. I don’t know what to do with myself.
Where do I go from here? I obviously can’t stay. I’ll have to move. I start to do mental math. I’ve saved a lot these past few months...the only bills I’ve had to pay have been gas, car insurance, and student loans. I should have enough. At least enough for a security deposit and first month’s rent. I can figure the rest out when I’ve moved far, far away from here. Somewhere where the memories of Sean don’t haunt every corner.
And Violet...I can’t even think about losing Violet right now. If I open that wound, it will never heal.
After the shower, I dry off and get dressed in sweats, careful to avoid looking at the clothes of his that I’ve inherited over the time that I have lived here. I can’t handle those thoughts now, and I do my best to tuck them away.
Packing seems like a daunting task, but I know that I can’t afford to linger here. There’s only so much my heart can take. And every moment since our conversation has felt like a reminder of the love that’s slipped through my fingers.
I grab a box I didn’t break down from the closet and start throwing in clothes, not caring if they’re neatly folded or if they’ll wrinkle.
I glance around the room, the walls pushing in around me as I think of the moments we’ve shared.
I can’t let myself go there. I run a hand through my wet hair. I can never go there again. It’s best for both of us. Until I can move out, we’ll just have to pretend that none of this ever happened. And after I move out, I’ll pretend like he never existed.