Page 112 of Breaking His Law

I’m not fine.

Far from it.

“Happy now?” I feel dizzy from a combination of getting up too quick and being unable to eat anything substantial in weeks. Laying my hand on my forehead, I plonk my ass back on the bed. “I think that’s enough exertion for one day.” I admit defeat and climb back into my bed, which is calling my name.

“Gotta go.” Maeve ends the call. “Nope, not happening. Up.” She pulls the covers off me and throws them to the ground.

“Maeve,” I shrill, sitting up. “Just…”

“Just, what?” She folds her arms in front of her and pops a hip. “What are you going to do? Rot away in this bed for the rest of the year, or get up and fight for what you want and believe in?”

“There’s no winning him back, Maeve,” I say through gritted teeth. That ship has sailed. More like it sunk with no survivors.

“You didn’t even try.”

“He told me that he would never forgive me.”

“We all say things in the heat of the moment.”

“There was no heat.” He was as cold as an ice cube.

He was hurt by my cruel intentions, which I decided to put a stop to, but he didn’t know that at the time and now all is lost.

I lost him.

I lost everything including my self-respect.

A deep emptiness crept in the minute I stepped out of the Hart Law building. It was as if I was moving in slow motion and completely disconnected from myself. Like I was watching myself from the outside. I don’t feel like myself anymore. Everything feels wrong, and yet I can’t find the strength to change my situation.

“I need to get a job,” I say, defeated.

“The 7-Eleven down the block is hiring.”

“Yeah, I could do that.” My voice is heavy. My body feels numb and weary.

“Stop being an idiot. You are overqualified.”

“I’m exhausted is what I am.” And no longer the strong woman I once was.

“Well.” Maeve sits down on the bed, takes my hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “You might feel like that, but that’s because you haven’t eaten a vegetable or had a decent meal in weeks. Your hair is matted and it looks like a bird’s nest.”

I reach up and try pushing my fingers through it but I’m unsuccessful. “God, that is gross.”

“And you smell really bad. I’m not just saying that.” She rubs the end of her nose. “I think you should jump in the shower and while you’re in there I’ll change the linens. And then you and I are going to grab a bite to eat. If you lose any more weight, you’re going to not only smell like a corpse but look like one.”

“Do I really look that bad?”

“You have a cornflake stuck in your hair. And some weird-looking brown stain on your pajama top.” She points to them both.

That’s all I’ve been surviving on; cereal and chocolate. My skin must look terrible.

“I don’t think I’m ready to face the world yet,” I confess. I feel like everyone is looking at me as if I’m wearing my guilt like a flashing neon sign above my head.

“It’s not the world. Just the coffee shop on Third Street. You can’t stay in this cesspit for a minute longer or your neighbor will call environmental health to report the stench.”

A genuine laugh bursts from my chest. I don’t remember when I last laughed.

The last time I felt happy was the night before Julie sent me that fateful fake crash report that changed the next stage of my life.

---