After double checking that the front door is locked, I head off to bed for my first night alone in my own place. I thought I was okay, resigned to moving on with my life. Standing here though, looking around my new bedroom and contemplating life alone, with no David, the enormity of the past few months suddenly hits me. Falling onto my bed, I curl up on my side and let the tears fall. The reminder of a love lost and of devastation so acute, I actually feel the pains in my chest from the shattered fragments of my broken heart.
Eventually, the tears and trembling stop, and I make my way back into the bathroom to wash my face of the sticky salty tracks left by my tears. Looking in the mirror, I vow to the person staring back at me that I shall never let my guard down around guys again. I will not entrust what is left of my heart to anyone. I’m going to finally start living life and discovering who the real Amber Merchant is.
With my new resolve in place, I walk back into my bedroom, pull the duvet back and climb into bed. Once settled, I reach over to switch off my bedside lamp and wait for sleep to consume me, to pull me into its numbing compulsion, where nothing and nobody matter. Instead of sleep, though, my mind drifts to a tall, dark and handsome male with deep forest green eyes that I could get lost in. It then occurs to me that I didn’t even find out his name. When I’d emerged from the toilets, he had disappeared, and Scott had cut Becki off before she’d been able to continue asking me about that dance. I wonder how close he is to Scott, and if I’ll see him around at all. Christ, Amber, stop it! The last thing you want to be thinking about is a guy, especially a guy like him. Concentrate on unpacking your stuff and enjoying being single.
I finally drift off, thinking about colour schemes and shopping trips. It’s strange, though, that the main colour dominating my thoughts is deep, dark forest green.
CHAPTER THREE
It’s quiet, too quiet. And bright, urgh, too much light! Slowly, I open my eyes, and feel momentary panic when I can’t place where I am. Then it hits me like a sledgehammer. I’m on my own in my new place. Realisation hits me again at what my life has become. For years, I have woken up next to David, or at least in the same house as him. We had continued living in the same place, albeit in separate bedrooms, until yesterday, and now I’m waking up alone. He’s not with me now, and won’t ever be again. Once again, the weight of his rejection and loneliness bears down on me, and that ever present constriction around my chest tightens. When, oh when will this hurting end?
I take a look around my room and decide that I’ve got to stop doing this to myself. David is my past, and I have a new future ahead of me. I don’t know what that will be, but I guess that is for me to discover, starting today.
First up, I need my caffeine fix. Then when I’m feeling a little more human, I’ll have a shower and get on with the unpacking.
In the kitchen, I fill the maker with water and a nice dark roast coffee blend, and switch it on. Whilst it’s brewing, I check my phone for messages, secretly hoping that maybe David has tried phoning or texting to check that I settled in okay.
Nothing!
I’d been upset yesterday when he didn’t even stick around when I left our old place. I thought he would have at least said goodbye properly and closed that chapter for the both of us. But no, in typical David fashion, he’d had more important things to do, or rather, more important people to do. I’m still not entirely sure why he called off the wedding, but I strongly suspect there is someone else involved. He denies it, of course, but nothing else about the whole situation makes any sense.
Sitting at the breakfast bar with my coffee, contemplating love, life and the universe, my phone suddenly starts ringing, distracting me from my thoughts.
“Hiya Bec. It’s a bit early for you isn’t it? Is everything okay?” I ask Becki when I answer.
“I’m just peachy, my little cherub. And you?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” I growl at her. Becki has been calling me her ‘little cherub’ since we were little. My grandma used to call me it because, apparently, I had a chubby angelic face. Everything was chubby, in fact, and that’s the very reason why I try so hard to keep in shape now. Anyway, when Becki heard my Grandma calling me that one day, she’d thought it was my name. We were only four at the time, and Becki had recently moved in next door to us. She peeked over our fence one day, and shouted “Hi Cherub. My name is Rebecca. Do you want to play?” I, of course, threw a strop and yelled at her, telling her that was not my name. She yelled back, in the way four year olds do, and we’ve been best friends ever since, but she still continues to call me that name, much to my irritation.
“For what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning call?” I ask, trying to stifle a yawn.
“Early morning, are you kidding me? It’s nearly lunch time,” she scoffs. “Anyway, I seem to remember promising you that I’d come and help you unpack. There’s no time like the present.”
I glance down at my watch, and I’m shocked to see that it’s already after eleven. Bloody hell! I never sleep this late. I also never stay out drinking and dancing as late as we did last night. Then I remember a certain sexy, dark haired, green eyed hunk of male goodness. Just the thought of him causes shivers down my spine and a wide grin to spread across my face. I can’t deny a good looking guy when I see one, and man, oh man is he one.
“Hellooo, earth to Amber. Are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry. I drifted off there for a second.”
“Do I need to ask why? No, don’t answer that. You can fill me in later. So what time shall I come round?”
“You don’t need to do that, Bec. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your Saturday afternoon. I’m just going to have a shower and make a start. And I could honestly do with being on my own to do it. This all feels a little surreal at the moment, so I think I need time to adjust to being on my own. Does that make sense?”
Becki takes the hint and doesn’t press me any further. She does however insist that she’ll come round this evening for takeout, a bottle of wine, and a chick flick to watch.
“Nothing like settling in with a bit of Ryan, a tub of Cookies and Cream, and a bottle of the finest white to get over a broken heart,” she says.
“Ha! How would you know? You’ve never stayed with anyone long enough to get a broken heart.”
“Semantics, my dear. I’ve watched enough movies to have been broken hearted along with all of those poor saps on screen.”
That gets me laughing. I can always rely on Becki to pull me out of the gloom.
“Yeah, but those poor saps usually end up back together with their Happy Ever Afters.”
“Exactly. Think of it as therapy, or case studies if you will. Then you’ll be fully prepared to forget you ever had a broken heart and get out there to meet Mr Perfect.”
I already did, I think to myself, but I’m not ready to be doing anything about it, Mr Perfect or not.
“Come round about eight, and we’ll order in. Bring the wine and ice cream though.”
“Yes, my lady,” she says in her best Parker from Thunderbirds impression. “If you need me beforehand, though, you know where I am. I’m serious, Ambs. Please don’t brood there all by yourself.” I promise her that I’ll try to stay positive before we say our goodbyes and hang up.
After my coffee and a refreshing shower, I’m feeling better and start to unpack the boxes littering my bedroom and living room floors.
Six hours later, I'm nearly done. Lifting the lid off of the last box, I see it contains mostly photos and mementos of my time spent with David. I pull out a silver framed photo of the two of us on my twenty-third birthday, the night he proposed. I run my fingertips over his face in the image and try to think back to when things had changed so drastically between us that he no longer wanted to commit his future to me. As I stare into his blue eyes, I see something I'd never noticed before, or had never let myself notice before. Nothing. Absolutely nada. No love, no passion, no joy. Yes, he w
as smiling for the camera, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was all fake, nothing but a lie, and I'd been foolish enough to get pulled in. All these years I thought we were meant to be together, when in fact, he was obviously just biding his time, waiting for the next best thing to come along.
I put the photo back in the box and pull out another. This one is of my mum and me on a family holiday in Norfolk when I was thirteen. I wonder what she would be thinking at the moment. She'd probably be quietly seething at David whilst telling me that if he doesn't want to be with me and love and cherish me like I deserve, then good riddance. She'd probably say something like, "Waste no more energy over him, Amber. Hate and despair are too consuming. Take this for what it is, the closing of one part, one chapter of your life. Now turn the page and see where the next takes you." Mum always had the right words to comfort me. I really wish she were here with me now. "Miss you, mum," I say as I place the photo on my bedside table. I close the lid on the box and put it away on the top shelf of my walk in wardrobe. I'll sort through it all properly one day, when I'm feeling stronger.
The sun is shining again, so I decide to go for a stroll around the park to clear my head before Becki comes over. I pull on my comfy Converse, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and head out. A few minutes later, I'm sitting on a park bench, enjoying the warmth from the afternoon sun and watching the children running around kicking footballs and playing tag. There are people sitting alone reading books or doing the daily crossword puzzles in newspapers. Others, like me, are simply people watching.
One thing that really captures my attention for a lot longer than it should is a young couple lying out on a blanket, laughing and joking with each other. Occasionally, they’ll have an affectionate embrace, or give an innocent touch. It occurs to me that’s what I miss, not David per se, but the intimate moments we shared, the feeling of being loved and cherished, and the happiness one gets from sharing their life with someone. That's what I miss most, and that's what I wonder if I'll ever find again.
As I’m sitting here wondering if I’ll ever find love again, if I even want to find love again and risk being hurt, my mind drifts off to Mr sexy from the club. I have never felt as pulled to someone as I was to him. As soon as I locked eyes with his, it was as if he'd snared me with a lasso and was slowly drawing me in so that I couldn't escape. Something in the depths of those deep greens of his kept me captive, something unique that I can’t put my finger on.
It’s not just those eyes, his chiselled jaw, or his perfectly styled, short dark that I was immediately attracted to. Neither was it the fact that he was so tall, at least six feet, and slim. And from what I felt when I ran into him, he was solid muscle underneath his dark jeans and white shirt. It was the fact that he radiated pure masculinity and total confidence. I could tell he was someone who knew his own mind and fought to the end for whatever he wanted, and last night it appeared that was me, at least for a short while. And that is what scared the shit out of me the most, and sent me scurrying off, like some frightened critter, to the ladies. Classy, Amber. Real classy. He must have thought I was off my rocker.
I don't know why I'm wasting my time rehashing last night. It's not like I'm ever going to see him again. We didn't even exchange names for God’s sake. And why am I even thinking this? Didn't I just swear off guys? Urgh, I'm so confused right now. I make my way back home and get ready for movie night with my best friend.
Becki and I spend the evening gorging on Chinese food, wine, Cookies & Cream Haagan Dazs, chocolate, and Ryan Gosling. We reminisce about old times, laugh about the lengths a guy at her work will take to get her to go out with him, and have a girlie chat about what I can do to brighten up the flat. She doesn’t once mention David, and I’m so grateful. I don’t need any more reminders of what was, but need to concentrate on what is and what will be. Right now, I’m enjoying spending time with my friend and not worrying about anything other than where the next glass of wine is coming from.
Shortly after midnight, we’re both pretty plastered and giggling like school girls as she tells me about the guy she was dancing with last night. “Oh My God, Ambs, he was like an octopus on crack, I swear. His hands… and feet were everywhere. I was getting ready to deck him if he trod on my feet one more time. And his breath, urgh, rank. Someone seriously needs to buy him a lifetime supply of Listerine, or Wrigley’s spearmint gum, or something.” By this time, she’s scowling and almost gagging at the memory, making me laugh harder. The several glasses of wine I’ve consumed have had a serious impact on my bladder, and I need to run to the bathroom before I embarrass myself.
When I make my way back into the living room, Becki has passed out on the sofa and is murmuring something about slimy sea creatures. I decide she’s in no fit state to get a cab home alone, so grab a spare blanket and pillow and leave her to sleep as I head off to bed.
I wake in the morning to the smell of fresh coffee and voices coming from my kitchen. My first thought is that I have intruders; coffee making intruders. Then I remember that Becki stayed overnight and wonder who she’s talking to. I slip my robe on and walk out to the kitchen.
“Good morning, sunshine… Oh, you look rough,” Becki says, looking her usual gorgeous self. How is that fair?
I have to blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the bright light spilling in through the large living room windows. After a minute, they eventually focus on Scott sitting at my small dining table sipping a mug of coffee and laughing at my obviously hung-over state.
“Scott. What are you doing here?” I murmur through a yawn.
“It’s nice to see you too, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “Bec called to say she crashed here last night and needed a lift to pick her car up before the game this morning.”
Oh shit. I totally forgot I said I’d go and watch him kick a ball about for ninety minutes. It is ninety minutes, right? Oh hell, just what I could do without when I feel like crap. I wonder what excuse I can come up with to get out of it. Before I can contemplate it too deeply, Becki interrupts my thoughts. “Don’t even think about trying to worm your way out of this. If I have to go, so do you.”
I drop down into one of the other chairs and sigh. “But I feel like shit. I probably look like shit. I know nothing about the game and will no doubt end up doing or saying something really stupid.”
Scott pulls his chair closer to mine and puts his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry, babe. I hear the dishevelled look is totally in fashion right now.” I elbow him in the side and he chuckles. “Don’t worry about it, Ambs. Just come and watch and cheer when I nutmeg a few players and when the ball I kick goes flying into the back of the net.”
“When you what a few players? You know what? Don’t bother. I don’t want to know.” I say frowning. Nutmeg? Isn’t that some kind of spice? Shaking my head, I take a steaming mug of coffee from Becki and let out a contented sigh as I take my first blissful sip
CHAPTER FOUR
An hour later, I find myself standing on the edge of painted white lines on the grass area of the recreation ground. Where are the seats? I thought there were always seats at football matches. I seriously have to stand for almost two hours? This is going to be hell. I really wish I had faked illness or something now.
There are guys of all shapes and sizes passing a ball back and forth and stretching out. Some are dressed in royal blue and white shorts and t-shirts with long royal blue socks. Apparently, they are the home team, Scott’s team. The other team is in yellow tops with black shorts and black socks.
The guys have been doing their warm ups for about five minutes, and I’m already bored. I peer over to Becki who seems to have her eyes fixed on Scott with a small smile on her face. Why, oh why, won’t she admit her true feelings for him? She’s so obviously in love with him. She must be to stand here and watch this week after week. Glancing over at the pro footballer wannabe’s on the pitch again, and deciding I’ve seen enough, I spread my jacket out on the ground and sit on it. I pull my Ipod out
of my bag, slip the buds in my ears and play some Daughtry on low so I can still hear some background noise. I don’t want to miss any goals or anything. Leaning back on my elbows, I close my eyes and tilt my head up towards the sun.
I’ve been chilling for a few minutes when a strange tingling sensation spreads across my skin, making me shiver. Someone moves in front of me, remaining still for several seconds, creating a shadow behind my closed eyes. “Nice of you to make it, Dev. Are you planning to stand there staring at the pretty girl all day, or are you going to join us?” I hear someone shout above the sound of the music. It sounds like someone is in trouble. Perhaps they should concentrate on their game and not some random female.
This isn’t so bad, sitting here in the sun, warming up, and toning down my hangover with my favourite tunes brightening my mood.
A little while later, I’m feeling the drowsy effects of relaxing in the sun, when I hear someone shout, “What the fuck was that, Dev?” Then whack! Something hard, very hard, hits me square on the forehead, sending me flying onto my back. Ouch!
When I open my eyes, I’m immediately blinded by the sun and can just about make out someone standing over me. I bring my hand up to shield my eyes from the bright glare and blink a couple of times, trying to focus on who’s standing there. I then immediately close them again. I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming. That whack must have knocked me flat out.
I slowly open my eyes again and… nope, not dreaming. Mr sexy from Strobes is standing over me with a concerned look on his face. “I’m so sorry. I lost concentration there for a second, and… well, I miss-hit the ball. Here, let me help you up.” I slowly raise my hand to meet his outstretched one, and as soon as our fingers touch, I feel that same tingling sensation as earlier shoot up my arms. Shivers ripple down my spine again, just like at the club. He pulls me to my feet but keeps his hands locked with mine and looks straight into my eyes. “Are you okay?” he repeats and softly trails his fingertips across my forehead and down my cheek. Becki is suddenly by my side, shouting at him with a thunderous look in her eyes.
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