“We’re done.”

My heart drops.

He continues speaking but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I zone out as I stare into his eyes; the eyes I fell in love with. Gorgeous warm brown eyes. I try to not think about the words that are coming from his mouth, but the way his eyes make me feel; safe.

He stops speaking and looks at me for a response.

Say something, I think to myself, anything.

But I’ve not a clue what to say. I thought I had found the love of my life, the man I was going to buy my first house with, the man I was going to start a family with, the man I was going to grow old with. I don’t ever want to love anyone else.

“You…you told me you loved me.”

My voice trembles. My hands are shaking, my eyes are tearful.

Don’t cry, I tell myself, don’t embarrass yourself not here.

“I did. I haven’t for a while.”

How can so little words hurt someone so much? I trusted him. I trusted him with everything, every little detail about my entire life he knew.

I stare at him blankly. I take a deep breath, stand up and walk away.

Walking away from the biggest part of my life, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Tears start flooding down my cheeks, I can feel my throat close up as I start to hyperventilate. What have I done? How did I screw up this badly?  I stop walking and put my hand on the wall. I can feel my whole body try to fold and break apart. My heart is aching. My heart is lost; it doesn’t know who to beat for now. My back turns to the wall as I slowly sit down, all I want is to disappear.

Normally when I get myself into a state like this; I phone him. He tells me I’m being silly and to take deep breaths and that he will be at my flat in five minutes.  But he can’t do that anymore, not now, not after what he’s done to me. I pull out my phone and go onto photos. Tears are streaming onto my screen. I search for photos of him to try and make myself feel better but it does the opposite. Every time I see a photo my stomach churns, my breathing stops and my eyes go blurry. I stay like this until my body forces a gasp so I don’t pass out. So, I decide to switch off my phone.   

I manage to gather the strength to get up and keep walking.

I try to think as I walk, but my mind is blank; the grief is consuming my entire body.

I reach my apartment door. I scramble through my bag to find my keys and open the door. I go straight to the kitchen and grab a bottle of tequila and take it with me to my bedroom, and fully clothed I bury myself in my bed. I turn on my lamp and turn on a chick flick.

About an hour and a half into the movie, I realise I haven’t watched any of it. I’ve just been sat looking at the screen.

Bing

I get a notification; I thought I had turned my phone off. I reach for my phone and open it to find a notification from Instagram to say that he has posted something on his story. I shouldn’t look, I think to myself, that will only make it worse.

I don’t listen to myself.

I want to know why he isn’t heartbroken, why he doesn’t care.

So, I go onto Instagram to see what it is. It can’t be that bad, I think, we have only just broken up it must be football or something stupid.

I wish I had listened to myself.

It is a photo of him with another girl on a date. I click on her name to see what she looks like. She’s a small blonde with the perfect body and face. Every part of her is better than me: her eyes are prettier, her stomach’s flatter, her hair’s bouncier. Why wasn’t I good enough? I get up and look at myself in the mirror. I start to compare everything about myself to her.

No.

I’m not doing this to myself. I’m not letting him make me feel like this.

I rush to the kitchen, grab my bag and his keys. I lock the door behind me and rush down the stairs out the main door and into my car.

I slam the door behind me. Thud.

I sit for a minute. I take a breath and start my engine. He only stays five minutes away. This won’t take long. I drive the route that is so familiar to me and park my car in my usual spot. I get out and head up to his apartment. You can do this, I tell myself as I stand outside his door. I reach for his keys put them in the door and open it.

It stinks. It stinks of women’s perfume that definitely isn’t mine. There’s a red bra on the couch, the couch where we used to snuggle up every Saturday night to watch Ant and Dec with a takeaway. There’s lipstick sitting on the counter in the place where there used to be a photo of me, I wonder how long it took for that to be put in the bin. I start to creep towards his bedroom. I slowly open his door, trying not to make a sound.

There he is, lying peacefully in his bed with not a care in the world. Seeing him doesn’t make me smile the way it used to; seeing him makes me want to scream.

I grab one of the pillows that is lying next to his bed.

You can do this.

I put it over his face.

Keep going.

And push down on it.

After a few seconds he starts to struggle. I push down on the pillow harder.

 I’ve never felt so powerful, ever in my life.

He starts gasping for air. I push down even harder until he stops moving.

Silence. What have I done.