I pushed the memory from my mind. “Maybe. I’d better go. I’ve got a ton of things to do today. Have fun. See you soon.”
I heard muffled talking in the background and the sound of laughter.
“Sorry? What did you say, Harv? Someone else was talking to me.”
“It’s all good. Bye, Killian.”
Without waiting for a response, I ended the call and threw the phone onto the bed.
I recalled with clarity the one and only night we’d spent in my bed. How he’d made me come, his name on my lips. How he’d worshipped my body, kissed my scars, and driven away the darkness.
He was moving on with his life, and I should do the same.
Killian’s name flashed across the screen as my phone rang again. I lunged for it, only for it to stop. A quick text appeared.
Killian: Sorry, mate. Butt dial
How had I gone fromHarvtomatein the few seconds since we’d spoken?
I contemplated calling Julie. I needed guidance on how to deal with the flood of emotions I was experiencing.
My stomach churned, acid burning a path up my throat. I ran to the toilet and retched, my sides contracting. I’d eaten nothing since last night, and my stomach was empty.
Tears filled my eyes, and I sat back on my heels. Saliva filled my mouth again, but this time, nothing came up, just yellow bile.
Finally done, I wiped and rinsed my mouth. I knew I should eat, but I couldn’t muster the energy to do anything.
I undressed, climbed back into bed, and snuggled down into the covers. I curled up on my side and sobbed. This was how it always ended, with me here, pillows wet from tears I cried for the loss of the people I loved.
Did I love Killian, or was it infatuation? I guessed we’d never know.
I don’t know how long I lay there or when I fell asleep, but I woke to darkness outside. A single streetlight illuminated my bedroom.
I checked my phone. It was just after half-past four. My stomach gurgled. Attention-seeking fucker. I knew if I didn’t feed it, it wouldn’t stop, but sometimes, when I was feeling low, I relished the feeling of emptiness, the gnawing hunger.
I gazed at the phone in my hand, willing it to ring. For Killian to say he’d changed his mind, and I should jump on the next train.
But my hopes were for naught.
How long would it be before he missed me? Before he realised it had been days or weeks since I’d called or messaged?
My head knew that Killian wasn’t that cruel. He was busy down in London trying to forge his way in a dog-eat-dog world. He was doing what he’d always wanted to do, and I knew I should support him, tell him I was fucking proud of him, butmy heart mourned his absence. My heart ached for his arms, his kisses, his words of comfort.
I climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom. I kicked at the wet towel still lying on the floor where I’d left it. Usually, I’d have picked it up and hung it on the hook, but I’d been so eager for my plan to visit him that I’d left it where it fell.
I realised now that it was a stupid plan, one born out of desperation, needing to feel loved when, in fact, I meant nothing to anyone.
But that wasn’t true. I meant something to Killian, so why did everything feel so bleak?
My stomach gurgled again, and this time, I listened. I nibbled on some crackers and cheese, guzzled down a bottle of water, and went back to bed.
I’d talk to Julie tomorrow, and she’d put me right. Tell me everything would be fine. If I could just make it through tonight, I’d be okay.
I had to be.
But when morning came, my world seemed darker than ever. I pounced on the missed call, hoping it was from Killian, but it was from Julie, postponing our session until later this afternoon. An apology, but something had come up.
Pressure built in my chest, all my nerve endings tingled, and my legs went weak. I could barely breathe.