“This is the last box,” Beth declares, striding into the apartment and kicking the door shut behind her. Our new home, while nowhere near as lavish as Dameon’s, has its own charm. Nothing will ever compare to that level of luxury, but this cute, bohemian beach shack is more than enough for us.
I check my phone once more: still no text from Dameon. After his stupid “kink” text, I responded withDon’t be a dick. Which was followed by twenty-four hours of silence until finally, a more serious message:I need time and space. His mature response brought a wave of relief, giving me hope that we might eventually be able to have a proper conversation about what went down with Mark.
So, time and space are what I’m giving him, even though it’s tearing me apart. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve begun composing a message, only to swiftly delete it before hitting Send. My phone has become my constant companion; I check it a thousand times a day in anticipation of a message announcing he’s ready to talk.
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I work on easing the knots in my neck.
“Okay, where do you want to start?” Cora says, emerging from my bedroom.
“My room. I’ve got a ton of homework to finish this afternoon,” Beth responds.
Four hours later, after setting up the two bedrooms, bathroom, and living room, Cora and I find ourselves sitting on the floor of the kitchen, quietly unpacking a box of pots and pans.
“You doing okay?” Cora asks, studying me.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I suppose. I just really want to clear the air with Dameon. I miss him,” I admit.
“Give him the space he’s asked for; he’ll come around.”
“I know, I’m trying to. It’s so hard though,” I reply, placing my hand on my stomach to settle my nerves. This past week I’ve been so anxious that I’ve made myself physically sick. Remembering how furious he was, the pain and betrayal radiating from his eyes, makes my stomach churn.
I hate that I’ve hurt him like this.
***
I bolt upright with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My hands reach for my throat, clawing at an invisible belt tightening around my neck, restricting my airway. As my eyes fly open, I’m momentarily disoriented, my mind struggling to piece together the fragments of reality. Gradually the unfamiliar room comes into focus, and I realize that I’m alone in my new bedroom. With a heavy sigh, I sink back onto the mattress.
Grief is a sneaky ninja, creeping into every nook and cranny of your life when you least expect it. It doesn’t just mess with your feelings; it messes with your body and mind, too. Whether you’re mourning the loss of a loved one or saying goodbye to a relationship, grief remains a constant, always lurking around. It’s something that everyone will experience at least once in their lifetime, but it hits each of us in its own unique way.
During that first brutal week after Dameon threw us out, anguish racked my body like a storm, leaving me drained and defeated. Anxiety and the raw ache of loss combined, making it impossible for me to hold anything down. Nausea became my unwanted sidekick. As the days wore on, the anxiety started to ease, but the weight of sadness and the longing of missing Dameon hung over me like a dark cloud, a constant reminder of the hole he left in my life.
Night after night, sleep slips through my fingers, chased away by relentless nightmares. They’re like twisted reruns of that fateful scene by the pool, playing out in my mind with eerie precision. I’m trapped in a macabre loop, watching different versions of the same horror show unfold before me, each one more unsettling than the last.
In one, I’m reaching out to Dameon, pouring my heart out, and seeking comfort in his arms. But in another, he’s wielding that fucking pregnancy test like a dagger, stabbing me with it right in the heart. My subconscious has become my worst enemy, a twisted playground for all the emotions swirling inside me, crafting vivid and sometimes downright disturbing scenes of my grief and longing. It’s a constant tango of agony and despair, every night a new battlefield where I wrestle with the beautiful memories of our time together and the uncertainty of our future.
Going back to sleep is impossible at this point, so I reach for my phone, the dim glow of the screen illuminating the dark room. My heart skips a beat when I see a text from Dameon waiting for me. With a surge of adrenaline, I sit up, brushing aside the stray strands of hair clinging to my forehead.
Dameon
Meet me at Bondi Brew tomorrow?
Me
Yes! What time?
His response comes almost instantly, and I glance at the time. It’s two in the morning. Obviously, he’s not sleeping either.
Dameon
Nine?
Me
See you then x
Clutching the phone to my chest, I release a sigh of relief. It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of relentless torment, each day dragging on with agonizing slowness as I’ve patiently waited for this moment—the chance to speak with him face to face. I only hope it will bring an end to the nightmares and provide me with some semblance of peace. Dameon’s absence has left a gaping hole in my heart so wide, I fear nothing could bring the pieces back together again.
Chapter thirty-five
