We stayed there for a long time until Adrian rapped hisknuckles on the door and reported that everyone was gone. It was just us three. Together, he and Dad lifted me to my feet and practically carried me up to my bedroom and sat me on the bed.
They reluctantly left the room after I insisted, slowly shutting the door behind them. And finally safe in the knowledge that I was alone, I began to cry, my body heaving with alarmingly uncontrollable sobs as it began to sink in what was happening.
My whole world had just fallen spectacularly apart.
Dad keeps bringing me walnuts.
It’s been a week since the broom-cupboard breakup, and every single day my dad has dutifully brought walnuts up to my room. Apparently, he googled ways to help someone get through a breakup. An article he read stated that there are certain foods that can help improve the mood and one of them is walnuts.
So, now I am surrounded by little bowls of walnuts. They are literally everywhere I look. I don’t understand where he’s getting all these walnuts from.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, when he appears in my doorway carrying yet another bowl. “But I’m not hungry. And I’ve already got the ones you brought in this morning.”
“I’ll just pop these here in case you need another snack,” he insists, coming over to place them on my desk next to my keyboard. “So! How’s work going?”
“It’s fine.”
He nods. “Are you sure you should be working, Freya? It’s great that you can work from home, but your boss did say you could take some time off and I think it might be a good idea to—”
“No, Dad, I need to work,” I tell him firmly, my eyes fixed on my screen as I scroll through my emails. “It’s keeping me busy and distracted. It’s getting me out of bed in the morning.”
“Yes, but…” He trails off, searching for the right thing to say.
I sigh and swivel in my chair to face him. “Dad, honestly, I’m fine. I don’t need any time off.”
“If you’re sure,” he says sadly.
I offer him a small smile. “Look, Dad, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll head back to London in a week or so. I just wanted to give Matthew time to… clear out all his stuff from the flat. You know, so I don’t have to see it when I get home and be reminded of…”
Him. Our life together. Our future.
I trail off and swallow the lump in my throat, hurriedly turning back to my laptop. God, I hate this feeling. I hate how much it aches all the time.
I can’t get rid of this stupid, fucking ache.
It might seem strange, but at thirty-two, this is my first ever heartbreak. I started dating Matthew when I was twenty years old and before then I didn’t have any serious boyfriends. He was my first love. Whenever I told anyone that, they always said how lucky I was. But now, the fact that I’ve never loved anyone else feels like a curse. Because I have no idea how to cope with a breakup. I didn’t realize it felt like this.
How can someone be the most important person in the world to you and then, just like that, they’re gone from your life? Vanished? Except you know they’re actually still out there, somewhere. They’ve just chosen not to be with you. And you’re supposed to keep going on with your life. You know everything about that person, but all of a sudden, you’re not allowed to know them at all. It’s like grieving the death of someone, but they’re still alive and kicking.
I can’t get my head round it. It can’t really be happening. It just can’t.
He’ll realize what he’s done. He has to. This is a gigantic, cruel, mortifying mistake, and he’ll realize that soon. We’ll befine once he’s got his head sorted. Until then, I’ve landed on the temporary solution of hiding away from the world and everyone in it. I can’t let them see me like this.
Before my heart got shattered in a broom cupboard, I’d have described myself as an energetic, busy person. I’m good in the mornings, able to push myself out of bed when the alarm first goes off, unlike Matthew, who presses Snooze several times. Usually I’m out on a run before he gets up. I’m not exactly good at running—or any kind of exercise, to be honest—but I like the quiet, solitary time to get my thoughts in order, and I always feel much more ready for the day after my five-kilometer loop.
Once home, I’d get in the shower, get dressed, do my makeup, and then make the coffees while Matthew took his turn in the bathroom. He’d take any old mug, but I always have my coffee in the flask that Ruby bought for me as a joke, which hasHOT STUFFwritten across it. I inexplicably love that flask, and if I don’t have my morning coffee in it, I worry I’m going to have a bad day. (I know this seems like a stupid superstition of mineand yetthe morning Matthew broke up with me? I had my coffee in one of Dad’s mugs with a flamingo on it. That’s proof right there.)
By the time I’d leave for work, Matthew would just be out of the shower and getting dressed. He’s a graphic designer, and his office is in South London and a quick commute from ours, so he has the luxury of leaving just half an hour before he needs to be there.
“Love you,” I’d tell him every morning, handing him his coffee and kissing him on the cheek.
“You too,” he’d reply sleepily.
A matter of habit for some couples, maybe. But it had never felt that way for me.
Anyway, I haven’t been able to force myself out for a morning run since the wedding-that-wasn’t. I can’t even muster the energy to bathe properly. I just stand there in the shower, letting thewater splash on the top of my head. I mean, it’s tragic. If I had more energy, I’d feel ashamed of myself, but there’s just no room for that right now.
As I have temporarily lost any kind of enthusiasm for personal hygiene, my skin is retaliating by completely breaking out, just to kick me when I’m down. It’s cruel really. All those years of being so regimented with my skin-care routine—double cleansing, a vitamin C serum, careful moisturizing—it’s all gone out the window. The idea of washing my face twice istoo much.
