Page 50 of Love Beyond Repair
But as I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, it all comes flooding back. Loud. Vivid. Unavoidable. Last night, Amy and I sank multiple bottles of wine. Put the world to rights, or at least, tried to. It made me feel a fraction better for a few moments, anyway.
We’re officially,completely,off men. Men are bastards. Even Terry, who popped round with wine and sympathy,agreed all men should be castrated at birth. Except him, naturally.
Staring at the digital clock, it blinks 8:05 a.m. Shit! I need to be at work in forty minutes, and I smell like a brewery. I grab my phone to check if he’d called me—and desolation strikes again. No calls. No messages. He’s walked away. And he meant to.
Yet… the world keeps turning. Work still demands I attend. I still have to smile and laugh along with my colleagues. Nod at questions from the kids who have no idea I’m falling apart inside. The worst part is how normal everything will seem. How easily life continues around you while yours implodes.
The bonus of this week is that the children only start back after their vacation on Thursday. This means I only face two days with pupils before the weekend hits. I can endure that. Brokenhearted or not.
Terry and Amy have promised me a weekend full of alcohol and drunken shenanigans. Let’s hope I survive the weekend better than I survived last week. Operation: Move Onis officially underway.
***
Tonight isNight One, and we’re going out. I’m sitting at my dressing table, applying yet another coat of mascara.War paint. You can never have too much makeup, especially when attempting to recover from a broken heart.
Ben came by earlier to collect the rest of his things. I hadn’t seen him. I was at work. In all honesty, I couldn’t cope if I did. Those emotions are being crammed deep inside, and I’m having a hard time locking them away. But feeling the loss is too much, and I don’t want to face them just yet. Alcohol has provided some sort of medication in the evenings; at least it helps me forget.
Amy, Terry, and I head out. The three of us walk arm in arm down the road, getting dirty looks from people having to navigate around us.
Amy has implemented three rules for this evening:
1. Get absolutely shit-faced.
2. Hook up with someone hot.
3. Don’t mention the bastard.
I’ve promised to do my best to stick to the rules as far as possible. The punishment for not complying is a shot of tequila. We’re four hours into our night out, and I’m six shots of tequila down. The not mentioning Ben rule is not going well. Everything seems to remind me of him, and each memory brings a fresh wave of tears. My mascara streaks down my face. My lipstick is nowhere to be seen.
Terry got fed up with my blubbering and currently has his tongue down a young brunette’s throat. He looks like he’s old enough to be her dad, and it’s totally creeping me out.
Amy’s on the dance floor with a hot blond guy. She’s dry humping him, much to his enjoyment. Squinting, I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy she has fucked a few times, but with Amy, a lot of her conquests look the same. She has a clear type.
Perched on my stool at the bar, I drunkenly survey the crowd. Everyone’s all over each other, and it’s really starting to piss me off.How fucking dare they throw their happy love lives in my face?Staggering off the stool, I hurl myself at a couple sucking each other’s faces off. I shout expletives, calling them every name I can think of.
Shocked faces turn to me, laugh, and give me the finger. The next thing I know, two hands are under my arms. I’m escorted out of the club and then dumped unceremoniously on the sidewalk.
“My jacket’s still in the cloakroom,” I mumble.
The bouncer shrugs. “Come get it when you’re sober.”
He turns and disappears inside, so I totter down the dark street, knowing not to stay where I’m not wanted. My feet are killing me in these heels, so I yank them off and walk barefoot down the cold sidewalk.
Finding a bench to sit on, I pull my cell from my bag to call a taxi. But as I scroll through my contacts, Ben’s number stops me cold. It sits there, daring me like it does every night when I’m confident as alcohol flows in my veins. I hit the call button. It rings out, then diverts to voicemail. I try again. And again.
Eventually, the calls divert before it even begins to ring. The bastard’s switched it off. Fine. I’ll leave a message. If he won’t speak to me, he can fucking hear what I have to say.
“Ben, it’s me. Well, by me, I mean Bex, in case you’ve forgotten me already. Just so you know, I’m fine. You hear me?Fine. I don’t need you. I don’t miss you. I hope you and Kelsey are very happy together. It was fun while it lasted, but it wasn’t love. Crazy to pretend it was.Meaningless sex. Have a nice life.”
I hang up. Pat myself on the back for telling him straight. Then, everything goes black.
***
The sound of beeping machines wakes me from my slumber. My nostrils fill with the scent of bleach. I balk, and it’s then I hear raised voices. A woman, acid dripping from every word. It’s my sister.
“Get the fuck out of here.” Amy’s voice is shrill and furious.
A man’s voice responds in hushed tones. “She left me a strange message. I was worried about her. I called Terry. He said she was here. Amy, please let me see her.”
