Page 67 of The Truth About Love

I slam the lid of my laptop closed.

Another night, another three hours of my life wasted.

Chapter Oneare still the only words I’ve been able to write since I opened that document for the first time a year and a half ago.

Maybe it’s time to face the truth that my goal is just too big for me. That maybe I don’t have it in me to write a full-length novel, let alone convince a publishing house to take it on and turn me into a world-renowned author.

I rest my head on the desk and suck in a deep sigh.

Tonight is one of those rare nights that I’m alone in my apartment. Cara’s gone out for dinner and drinks with a few of her girlfriends and though I told her I’d miss her, I’m actually glad for the temporary reprieve.

As much as I enjoy her company, sometimes I just need to be alone with my thoughts. Or lack thereof, as the empty document would signify.

It’s late?just after eleven according to the time display on my microwave oven?but sleep still feels far off. For the last couple of weeks, I haven’t been able to shake the conversation I had with Winter and the lingering concern for Summer-Raine that it left me with.

I know it’s pathetic that five years later I’m still thinking about the girl who ripped out my teenage heart, but even with all the time that’s passed and the way that things were left between us, there’s still that connection there. Like a thread of gold tying our two souls together even though we’re worlds apart. I can’t say if she feels it too, or if it’s just my pitifully feeble heart clinging onto something that hasn’t existed for half a decade, but I feel it as profoundly as I did back when we were in love.

Since that phone conversation with Winter, my dreams have been haunted by images of Summer-Raine wandering lost and alone down dark roads and woodland paths, the gnarly branches of trees clawing down at her as the sky turns black and shadows slither out of corners to play in the gloom of the night.

I’ve woken up every morning with a racing heart and a sweaty sheen on my skin.

But I have to keep reminding myself, as I have done for so long now, that Summer-Raine isn’t for me to worry about anymore.

My thoughts shouldn’t be overwhelmed by images of her, but of the woman who warms my bed at night and tells me that she loves me every single day despite never hearing it returned.

I shouldn’t obsess over what Summer-Raine is doing, but instead daydream of Cara and the wide-eyed, rosy way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.

What does it say about my relationship that I spend more time thinking about a woman who isn’t my girlfriend?

And yet, I can’t stop.

It may not be fair to Cara, but I can’t imagine a time when I won’t think about Summer-Raine and hope that she’s doing okay. But that’s fine, right? It’s not as if I’m still in love with her or fantasising about her in ways I shouldn’t be, with the exception of every single time I’ve slept with a woman over the last several years.

But my daytime thoughts, the ones that really matter, aren’t of an illicit nature, nor of something inappropriate or disrespectful to my relationship. They are simply ones of concern for someone that I used to know. The way you worry about an old college friend you haven’t spoken to for years, or a distant relative who lives overseas somewhere.

I’m sure Cara does the very same with people from her past.

With that in mind, I go to pick up my phone for a late night check in with Winter, when she bizarrely beats me to it. Her name flashes on my screen and my stomach dips.

She never calls me.

Especially not at this time.

“Winter, hey.” Confusion and unease are clear in my voice. “Everything okay? What’s going on?”

She waits a beat too long to answer. “Hey, no, yeah, um, everything is fine. It doesn’t matter. Forget I called, okay?”

“What? No,” I yell, stopping her before she has a chance to hang up the phone. “Something’s up. What is it?”

She sighs and I can hear her defeat and resignation through the receiver.

“Summer’s in hospital.” My stomach plummets. I open my mouth to ask why, but Winter carries on. “A couple of days ago, she… um, well she made an attempt on her life.”

The world falls out from beneath my feet as pain seers through my heart.

Summer-Raine tried to kill herself.

I feel sick. Acid rises in my chest and burns in the pit of my throat. I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t think of anything but Summer-Raine and the incredible pain she must have been in to do something like that to herself.

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