Page 77 of Spiralling Skywards
My phone rang. I ignored it. When it finally fell silent. I switched it off and headed upstairs to try to sort out the ruination in my bedroom.
It took me two hours, one black sack, and three trips to the dustbin to empty the hoover before I was satisfied that I’d gotten rid of all the broken glass and destruction from my bedroom.
I had my earphones in and sang as I cleaned, rocking out to My Chemical Romance, The Kooks, and Amy Winehouse. I danced to David Guetta and Madonna, and I lost myself for a little while.
I found the cleaning cathartic. I channelled my hurt and anger into dancing, singing, and making my room look pristine. I changed the bedding, rearranged the furniture, and dusted and wiped down every surface. Then, when the “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” played and the lyrics hit me, I sat on the edge of my bed and cried.
I was hurt, upset, angry, and probably a little bit humiliated, but I was done. I knew that I tended to hang on to things for too long, but I was determined to let this one go.
Relationships ended every day. Couples lied to each other and cheated, it was a fact of life. My relationship with Liam had been a whirlwind, we’d had an instant attraction the moment we’d set eyes on each other. I’d been deliriously happy the whole month that we’d been together, and I knew I’d fallen just a little bit in love with him. I would be grateful that I’d gotten to experience that with him, along with the amazingly hot, mind-blowing sex . . . But he’d lied to me, and I couldn’t help feeling both angry and disappointed. I would learn from the experience and I would move on.
I walked down the stairs carrying the hoover in one hand and the black sack full of the remnants of my broken belongings in the other. I couldn’t fix my smashed lamp, photo frames, or the Royal Doulton trinket box I’d had since I was six, but I was filled with a new-found determination to fix myself.
Jo Jo’s “Too Little Too Late” played in my ears, and I even managed a smile.
“Fuck you, Liam Delaney,” I said aloud.
I blew my hair out of my face as I reached the bottom step. I was wearing it in pigtails to keep it off the back of my neck while I worked, combined with the fan girl band hoodie and my pink pyjamas with hearts and unicorns all over them, I’d managed to perfect the art of looking like a thirteen-year-old girl in three easy moves.
The doorbell rang.
“Shit,” I hissed through greeted teeth and pulled my earphones out of my ears.
The top half of our front door was semi opaque glass. I was standing at the bottom of the stairs directly opposite it, if I moved, whomever was standing on the other side would see me. I could see them, but I had no clue who it was. I watched as they turned and looked over their shoulder, and I took a step forward, attempting to escape from view but they turned back, and I froze.
The doorbell rang again. I set the hoover on the floor and swung the door open while still holding on to the black sack.
Olivia.
Because that was just the way that life liked to fuck me up the arse.
My mouth was dry, and for some strange reason, my pulse felt like it was vibrating through my lower jaw, maybe because my teeth were clamped together so tightly.
She stared. Her eyes darted from my feet, which were adorned with one lime-green sock, one Zippy from Rainbow covered sock and mismatched Havaianas: one plain back, one purple.
Her gaze lingered over my hoodie, and she blinked, three times in rapid succession, making me wonder what went through her mind in that split second. Hopefully it wasn’t Marley Layton, coz that tattooed fucker was mine, and I’d fight any bitch for him, especially that particular bitch.
She caught me off guard by speaking before she’d even made eye contact with me.
“Hey, I’m so sorry for just turning up at your door like this, but I was wondering if we could talk.”
Despite my lips being stuck to my teeth, I swallowed before responding.
“Talk?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, this is so awkward. I’m Olivia. I’m Liam’s wife. I was at your brother’s last night when you two walked in together.”
She looked down at her feet before looking back up at me, her eyes shining with tears. She swiped the back of her hand over her perfectly made up face and brushed them away before they fell. She gave a small laugh.
“I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing. Do you think I could come in?”
No. Fuck off. Fuck off and stop existing.
I stepped aside without a word and allowed her access to my home. I dumped the rubbish bag down outside the front door and took in a deep breath. When I stepped back inside, Olivia was standing to the side of me.
“Please, go through.” I gestured with my head and my hand towards the opening that lead into our open-plan living, dining, and kitchen area.
She moved, I followed.
