40. Astrid
Istare at my belongings scattered across what used to be my bedroom. My home. I will the tears back into my eyes. I won’t cry another second over a man that won’t choose me. I swipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand. I’m better than this. And I will hold my head up high on the way out.
I don’t know how I’ll move everything. Again. I allow myself to fall on my bed and crawl to bury my face in a pillow. If I can’t cry, I’m going to scream. And I do just that, letting out all of the frustration that has built up over these last few days. I’m glad Violet is with her grandparents and doesn’t have to bear witness to my meltdown. Even if it kills me not to spend what precious time we have left together.
I take out my phone and pull up my messages with Heather. My fingers tremble as I consider my options. I was too embarrassed to tell her, or anyone. But now that I’m officially moving…
Astrid
Sean and I broke up. I’m moving out.
I watch the dots appear at the bottom of the screen and then fall away. Ugh, she’s probably going to try and call me and the last thing I want to do is say these words out loud. It’s hard enough to text them.
Astrid
I’m okay. Can’t talk. Just wanted you to know.
Heather
Okay. I love you. Call me when you’re ready.
I fall back again. That was harder than I expected, and the consequences are just beginning.
I pull one of the pillows into my chest and wrap myself around it, reluctantly letting the tears fall. It’s going to be alright, I tell myself on repeat. I’ve survived break ups before. Not that this is really a break up. Can’t call it that if he never asked to be with me in the first place.
I’m so, so stupid. I cry harder, letting it all out.
It’s not until the sobs subside that I pull myself upright. I wipe my face dry, sighing and grabbing the remote off the nightstand. I turn through the options and settle on some meaningless reality tv that keeps me company.
And because I can’t help but hurt myself a little more, I go to my little closet and pull out the hoodie Sean gave me on our walk that one day, slipping it over my head and bringing the neck to my nose to breathe him in.
It still smells like him. After all this time. I suppose everything about this place is him.
I crawl into bed, promising myself that this will be the last night I wallow in my self-pity. Starting tomorrow, I’m giving everything that reminds me of him back, and I’m planning my new life.