Chapter 1
"We are most alive when we are in love."
That saying can be true and false in so many different ways. For me, it's true. Being in love has never felt like this. I always thought I was in love with Jason in high school, my ex-boyfriend and first boyfriend. The way I feel with Drew, is so much more compared to how I felt with Jason.
His presence evokes this strong positive emotion and a desire to be close to him.
Which is why I try so hard to pick the perfect outfit for tonight. I always try to, but tonight just feels different. I have a feeling something good is going to happen tonight, for the both of us.
"Are you- um, you don't have a different dress, Em?" Harper, my best friend and roommate frowns, her features morphing into one of disapproval. "That dress screams internship and not hot date night."
"That's the thing, Harp. It's not just a hot date night, I think it's the night," I breathe as I bite down on my lip. I can't help myself as I immediately start romanticizing the night. The perfect dinner, the perfect atmosphere, a very sleek restaurant (despite the fact that it's a surprise but I know him all too well and it will definitely be sleek) and even a bunch of roses.
Maybe I should eat slowly just in case. And maybe I should drink slowly too, you know, just in case.
"Em, did he say he's going to pop the question?" Harp interrogates, worry lines framing her mouth and tugging at her eyes.
I frown, staring off into the distance. "Well, no but it's been four years since we met and he's been hinting to it all week. Or I think he has. He paid for my nails remember? And he gave me money to buy myself some new makeup and anything I might need."
"But did he say anything?"
"Harper-"
"I'm just trying to look out for you, Em. He always did such nice stuff for you babe, I don't know, I just don't want you to get ahead of yourself."
I screw my eyes shut as my brain reels over her accusation. I mean, maybe she's right but it's always best to be prepared for when the time actually does come. Not that I don't believe tonight won't be the night, because deep down I know it will be. If it's not, that's completely fine. But I know he will pop the question, if not tonight.
We love each other.
It's no secret that I was the one that made the first move because, well, I'm no sexist. I believe that anyone can make the first move, even if it's not the guy. Making the first move doesn't change the way anyone feels, you still like the person. Despite all my rambling, I'm confident that tomorrow I'm not going to be a girlfriend, but a fiancée.
___________
The restaurant is beautiful.
The happy chatter, the fragrances, the easy and natural colours. The smell of freshly baked bread, the enthusiastic greeting from the staff. It's a modern, chic space with sleek lines and natural lighting, I feel the butterflies in my stomach flap around as I casually make my way towards the table one of the waiters are guiding me to. The intimacy this place gives off has me screaming on the inside while I try to act all cool and composed.
Drew sits upright, gaze focused on me as I take a seat across him. He gets up and places a soft peck on my cheek. "You look beautiful."
He clears his throat, his eyes dark pools of fear as he stares at an empty space between us. I go to reach for his hand and it's as if he senses it, he goes to grab the menu not once looking up at me.
"We should order, the food looks good here." He clears his throat once more, hands gripping the hardcover menu. By the looks of it, he could snap it in half.
"Drew," I can't mask the worry in my voice. He looks guilty and fearful. "Drew, talk to me baby."
He ignores me.
The way my heart jumps up into my throat is enough for me to grab my already filled glass of water and chug it down. I grab Drew's as well but before I chug it down, I look at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. It feels like an hour goes by but I'm pretty sure it's only been a few seconds maybe almost a minute.
"Tell me what's going on, Drew." I let out, more like demand as I set his empty glass in front of him. The fact that he can't even look at me already clarifies my suspicion. Something is going on and he won't even tell me a snippet of it.
His face hardens in concentration. I don't know what is so fascinating about the basket of baked brown bread but something is. I can't take my eyes off of him, his body as stiff and unyielding as a lawn chair. The deeper I look into his eyes and the harder I try to read his expression, his body language, I can't seem to get anything out of him.
The potential for disaster is enormous, like a family picnicking on the train tracks.
I try my hardest not to overwhelm him and just wait for him to speak, open up to me. As a love mentor, I know that overwhelming your partner into confessing can lead to irrational behaviour and responses and can have lasting negative consequences. Showing him that whatever he has to say, we will talk it out.
I grab the menu, my gaze slowly stalking over the dishes while all sneaking a few peaks at him now and then. I try to comment on how good a few dishes look but he's as quiet as a whisper.
"I'm sorry Emerson, I-" he cuts himself off, the muscles in his jaw bunching. I feel my heartbeat starting to pick up as I bite down on my lip, waiting for him to continue speaking.
The chair roughly scrapes against the floor as he stands to his feet, his gaze fixed on the table seperating us. "We're done, Emerson. I don't want to be with you anymore."
Before I can even get a chance to say anything, he's already walking towards the exit, hands clenched and head held high. Even after he is long gone, I continue to stare at the exit, hoping and praying he turns back.
Of course he will.
This is just a prank, he's trying to fuck with me. Maybe it's all part of the plan. He'll come back. With an entire programme planned. He'll come back with a small box that contains the key to becoming his fiancée.
Except he doesn't. I sit there for almost an hour, the tears slowly forming in the glands in the upper outer corner of my eyes. I look down at my hands and only then do I notice the nail marks on my palm. I have been clenching my hands so hard that there's proof. The only thing is, I can't feel it.
It's not long before I'm bursting out in tears, my hands instinctively going to cover my face. I try to get up and leave before people start noticing that I'm sitting alone and crying, but it is like my butt is glued to the seat. Despite the fact that I'm worried people might see me like this, I can't find the courage to get up and walk or run out of the restaurant with what I'm sure is ruined makeup and tears streaming down my face.
I can only imagine how ugly I might look under my hands but at this point, I could care less.
It's like my heart has been torn apart. Not crushed nor shattered, but torn. Ripped. He simply took a bit of me with him the second he said the word “done,” as if I would somehow be able to laugh with him yet not be with him. It hasn't been a few hours but the grief comes in like waves.
I don't know how long I sit there before I finally think, "fuck it" before grabbing my purse and a hand full of bread before speed walking out of the restaurant. I stuff the bread down my throat, tears still coming in like a waterfall.
Deep down, I still feel like maybe he'll be back. Maybe he will show up at my apartment door and slam so hard, all the neighbours wake up. All they hear is the loud apologies and the way he confesses his love. They'll hear him tell me how much he can't live without me.
But even the next day, as I sit on the living room couch, staring off into the distance, I wait. I just wait for any type of reply to the two hundred plus messages I sent Drew over the span of nine hours.
Nothing.
Even after three days.
Maybe he's blocked me.
I can't tell.
A week passes in a blur and my eyes are puffy from the tears, stinging every time I try to shut my eyes from the lack of sleep.
I thank the lords Harper is not here and hanging with her family in New York because I don't think I can bare anyone, much less Harper, seeing me like this.
It's so ironic how as a love mentor, someone who knows so much about love, or is supposed to know said much, I just didn't see anything wrong with the relationship despite the normal small, teensy tiny arguments here and there. Those arguments couldn't have resulted in the ending of our relationship. Our relationship of four years, almost five.
My heart breaks at the expense of our long-term relationship.
Days go by as I go through episodes of sobbing, rage, and despair.
The anger I feel towards him as I continuously bombard his phone with threatening messages. One minutes it's that, the next I feel like I at least deserve an explanation. Again, I feel like I've been betrayed and used. But for four years? Someone can't be that sick, can they?
"If there were unresolved issues or perceived betrayals in the relationship, please let me know. I can't live without knowing what went wrong."
That is the last message I send before I shove my phone one side and wipe up the tears that continue falling. It takes me a while but the tears finally dry up, leaving a very weird feeling residue on my face.
I go to stand up just as I hear a ping on my phone.
I have never moved so fast in my life and when I see who it is, the tears start all over again. My ripped heart shattering into pieces when I see who it is.
This is the worst timing Harp.
Despite that, I still go to read the message.
Harper: I can't wait to see you! I'm a few hours away, see you soon. FIANCÉE!!!
And than there's that. How am I supposed to tell her that she was right all along. But it went even worse than she had imagined it would. How am I supposed to face her knowing I most probably look like I had been hit by truck. I think I feel like it too. Maybe even worse.
At the age of twenty-four, I feel like I shouldn't be going through something like this. Maybe that's just a personal preference.
These past few days have been a deeply painful and disorienting experience. The kind of pain I've never went through before, leaving behind this wreckage of sadness, confusion and anger.
I never want to feel like this again.
No person should go through something like this. It's mentally not good for you, physically too. The feeling of someone tearing your heart apart like it's nothing, doing it like it's just a piece of paper with a useless draft.
