She Moved On—But I Won't

Waking up from the worst sleep I've had since the night before, I turn on my phone and scroll, then cower.

Why is it when you finish with someone, they just continue? They smile in their photographs, talk about that new Netflix show.

Do they not miss me? Did they not shed even a little tear for me? Was my impact on their lives really so small?

She never liked spicy food when we were together, why is she at a curry house? Smiling as she devours hot madras?

She does look good in that dress, her hair is different...she never wore her hair like that for me

This is all too much to take, but still I scroll, then cower.

When she said it was over, I thought she was joking. When it was clear she was not, I told myself I wouldn't...

Be like this.

Consumed with heart-crushing pain and distress. Devoured whole by maddening levels of intrigue and anxiety about her life without me.

I should just unfriend and block her. Not that she'd care. She seems happy without me.

That makes me seethe with rage, but also hurt...so deeply.

When you give someone your everything, then it ends and they take back theirs...they still have your everything...even if they discard it in the nearest bin or appropriate recycling receptacle.

For now, I won't unfriend or block her. I can be strong. We said we'd be friends...we said that would never die. I've not spoken to her since...I wonder if she wonders about me...even just a little.

There's always hope until there's none. That's what I think. That's what all people who are hopelessly in love think. When they've had the world crushed around them and hope is all they can cling to, through the storm.

Who's that guy that she's with? Someone from work. She never mentioned him before. He's in lots of pictures, on lots of different days.

Surely a friend from work.

She said she was done with relationships. Said ours broke her. Said she needed time. Why then is she dressing in sexy clothes and going to bars with this guy?

Seriously...who the hell is he?

Maybe I should send her a little message. Nothing too deep...just "Hey there you...hope you're doing well...I'm doing alright...work has been a bitch and I can't help thinking about you."

No...that's way too much. "Hey there, how are you?" I'll wait until she replies. Then I won't seem too desperate.

Not that I am desperate. There's a huge difference between feeling needy and feeling lost.

I just find it hurtful and a knife to my arteries that she's so happy without me. The her after the break-up is very disparate compared to the me after the break-up.

Dammit...why am I so wound-up. Just the other day, we were at the beach...cuddled and entwined like lazy lovers from Liverpool. Two peas in a pod. It felt like that moment lasted for a lifetime. I wish it had.

Then fast-forward to Tuesday. Last Tuesday when she basically took a huge anvil with "Acme" etched into its metallic surface and smashed my heart into a million pieces. She left me that night and hasn't returned. Well, she did come back...for her clothes and her perfume. I don't know if she noticed I had sprayed the pillows with it.

My mind keeps going back to weekend in Canterbury we had. We were both lovers of Chaucer, so it was nice exploring the area. It was the most perfect of weekends. No outside influence, no fights. Lust, oh so much lust, everything went so well. Can't the best days become every day?

I've spent the last three days working over every moment we spent together, trying to figure out where it started to go so wrong. It felt sudden for me, like a sudden gunshot in a game when you take the wrong turn and a non-playable character bloodies the wall behind you with your lifeforce.

We did have our fair share of fights... but I always felt as if the fights and their impact were diminished by the good times. Those golden times. Like our first anniversary...when we went to France and danced the night away under the Eiffel Tower light show and ate our weight in croissants and baguettes. The sex was intense, romantic and still gives me tingles remembering it. The smell of garlic takes me back there, to the balcony of our little apartment.

I swear if she turned up on my doorstep today, in just a robe, asking for one more roll in the quilted hay of my bed, I'd let her in at the drop of her robe and take the heartache that followed when she left. To feel her skin on my skin, her warmth, her wetness, her want, her need, her heartbeat quicken as our bodies thrashed and meshed together, as we exchanged the most intimate of gifts.

It's maddening to think about it, about her naked form. but that's where my mind goes, as I scroll.

She was always so impressive...admirable...the funniest person in any room...and the prettiest. I felt fortunate to have been the one she chose.

Our fights had increased in frequency lately. I know what you're thinking, the cliché that I didn't cotton on to the fact that my paradise was far from a glorious place and instead there were troubles that weren't being addressed.

But we were addressing them.

She claims we were just coming to a natural end.

So...did she grow tired and bored of me? She said no. But, she said she needed space. Needed to not get wrapped up in someone else's feelings.

Needed to be herself. For herself.

We kissed when we said goodbye. I don't even know that I properly washed my face since that day. Since that Tuesday.

Instead, I've wallowed. In my own self-pity, and jealousy of her ability to just throw our memories away.

When I look at the photos on my phone, there's very few that she's not in. Very few life experiences that did not revolve around us both, around her.

She was my everything, why was I not her everything?

She claims I was, but she needed more...more than me. She was a kind woman...I'll never hear a bad word about her. She was supportive. She was gentle and...

I remember when we first met.

(No, let's not. We don't need to put us through that, friend.

I know you realise, we can't ever have her back, but you're hoping she will come back, aren't you?)

No, I know she won't. But, I'm not ready for it to be over. Unfriending her, letting her go, would be like the final nail in the coffin. The final piece of chocolate cake.

I realise I could be a little intense. She called me crazy at times. She meant it with affection. I'm sure she did.

(What if she didn't though?)

Stop talking to me. I blocked you many years ago. I'm doing well without you..

(Are you? You know if I surface, you're in trouble and need my help.)

Help...you didn't help when I almost lost her the last time.

(Your grip on reality is why I'm here. Tattered and torn the frayed ends of sanity. You need to move on...before you're swallowed whole...like that prawn on her FB profile pic yester.)

Do you need to rub it in?

(Until you realise it's a lost cause... yes)

Go. Away.

(I wish I could. But listen, I have an idea. A way to not only get her back, but to get her back with some tasty revenge.)

I don't like the sound of this. I'm not listening

(Silly little man. Do you want that beautiful girl back in your life or not?)

I don't trust your plans.

(Well, it looks like you need to start trusting them, trusting me.)

What did you have in mind?

(First, I need you to relinquish control to me fully. It's the only way it's going to work. She won't know what... or should I say... who hit her)

Waking up from the worst sleep I've had since the night before, I turn on my phone and scroll, then cower in fear at the news report "Young Woman Found Dead"...

(You don't need to worry about her...that story. She...it has nothing to do with us)

What did... I/we/it do?

(shush now, go back to sleep...)

I am tired... just five more minutes

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is for my ongoing ABCommunities challenge as this week I landed in the Criminal community. Although this is fictional, this kind of thing does happen. When a breakup leads to obsession to murder.

Here are some other things:

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