Chapter 3: The Heart Breaks
I meant to finish my manuscript that night, but my head was a mess and I couldn’t write a single word.
Lying in bed, I wanted to scream but couldn’t. Wanted to cry but had no tears. My throat and tear ducts felt completely blocked.
My whole body felt compressed by misery, so I finally just threw on some clothes and went downstairs to buy cigarettes.
My hometown is known for heavy snow in winter. The flakes were falling thick and fast, glowing warm orange under the streetlights.
I suddenly remembered walking home from school with Jake. We always had endless conversations–I’d tell him about my day, then he’d tell me about his. Even when we reached my house, our talk wasn’t finished, so we’d stand outside my door, not minding the cold, until we’d said everything.
When I’d start sneezing from the cold, he would unwrap his gray scarf and wind it around me, scolding me: “Told you to dress warmer. Trying to look cute instead of wearing proper layers again? Next time I’m not helping you.”
But the next time, and the time after that, he’d always give me his coat or scarf. He was so good. So good in every way.
Except for not loving me back.
But that wasn’t his fault. It was mine for not being good enough. Someone like him–who stood out in any crowd, handsome, well–educated, successful- belonged with someone like Olivia Bennett. How could he ever fall for someone as ordinary as me?
Those three years of closeness were the only beautiful dream in my otherwise dull life.
I stared blankly at the snow, cigarette between my lips, about to light it when I spotted two figures walking hand–in–hand through the snow.
The man wore a black wool coat, tall and straight–backed.
The woman wore a classic camel MaxMara coat, her long hair gleaming under the streetlight.
1/2
It was Olivia and Jake.
They were laughing about something, and suddenly Olivia rose on her tiptoes to
kiss him.
Jake bent his head to deepen the kiss.
The same streetlight that had shone on me and Jake countless times now illuminated them, creating a scene so beautiful it could have been from a movie. I watched for a moment, then tried to light my cigarette with numb fingers. My fingers wouldn’t cooperate; it took several attempts before I got a flame. I inhaled inexpertly, exhaling a cloud of white smoke.
But this time the nicotine didn’t work.
My heart ached dully. I pressed my palm against my chest, feeling the slow–motion heartbreak.
This winter was so damn cold.
