Page 1 of Somewhere in the Sunset

GRACIE

Maybe I should burn down the apartment.

Pile his clothes high on our coffee table, soak them in gasoline, and set them ablaze.

Maybe I’ll stand and watch this place burn. Watch as the flames spread to the rug, tear across the couch, soar up the curtains. They’ll spread quickly, I imagine, and soon our home will be nothing but crumbling walls, burnt furniture and belongings turned to ash, all blanketed by toxic smoke. And if I haven’t passed out by that point and the door hasn’t melted, I’ll maybe even slam it shut as I walk away from the wonderful life we’d built together.

But we are also on the fourth floor of this apartment building, with the most amazing neighbors either side, and I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to risk their homes and their lives because I can’t get a grip on my mental state.

I light the orange and vanilla scented candle that sits on the electric cooktop and then bury the lighter deep inside a drawer, safe from my dangerously intrusive thoughts. This isnotme. My mind doesn’t unravel like this. Never, ever, ever.

So, fuck him.

Fuck him for having me question my sanity.

Deep breaths, Gracie. You’ve already cried a thousand tears over him. He doesn’t deserve a single drop more.

I polish the kitchen sink until it’s sparkling, water the gorgeous arrangement of lilies my mother sent over earlier in the week, even stand on a chair to dust above the refrigerator. But there is only so much I can do to keep my hands busy – the apartment is the cleanest it has ever been, and that’s saying a hell of a lot. I am undeniably a compulsive clean freak. If my home is cluttered, so is my brain. Maybe that’s why I have convinced myself cleaning the bathroom three times a day might help me feel better.

Well, no.

I admit defeat and grab a bag of chips from the cupboard, then settle on the couch in front of the TV that I don’t turn on. I wrap myself in a blanket, prop the bag of chips between my crossed legs, and allow myself to feel the insurmountable weight of my broken heart nestled deep in my chest.

And it is agonizing, feeling it. Every time I sit down and focus on the hollowness inside of me and the echoes of a thousand memories, I lose my breath. My lungs constrict, my stomach twists; it is so tangible, so real. Pain. That’s what heartbreak is: insufferable, physical pain.

But there’s no Band-Aid to fix it. No pills to soften the blow.

You just have to carry it. Maybe even forever.

And I can’t handle that. This throbbing ache, this piercing agony, this breathlessness .?.?. I can’t feel this way forever, because if I do, it will kill me.

A whimper escapes my lips and I punch the pillow next to me. Whoever said crying is therapeutic is a liar. Crying hurts like a bitch. That lump bulging at the back of my throat, the sting at the corners of my eyes, the tension in my shoulders .?.?. It all hurts. And it is so relentless.

We were supposed to have forever. We were supposed towantto have forever.

And a week ago, I would have never spent a Saturday night alone eating chips on the couch. I’d have been bent over it, his mouth hot against my ear and his hands pulling at my hair.

A thunderous knock at the door shakes away that image.

“Open up!” Elena’s voice pulses through the apartment. “We’re here for an intervention!”

I wipe away my tears with my blanket and carry my chips to the door. My best friends have had to deal with my unwavering lack of self-care all week, so I’m no longer ashamed to open the door and reveal myself. My apartment may be a show home, but I look like a slob who’s broken in.

“Oh dear,” Madison says.

She and Elena pityingly tilt their heads in sync before pushing past me into the apartment. I survey them in alarm. They are dressed to go out. Mini dresses, five-inch heels, volumized hair, strip lashes. They are dressed to goout-out.

“I thought I made it clear the last thing I want to do tonight is go out,” I say as I click the door shut. My voice doesn’t even sound like my own anymore. It’s so flat, quiet, void of my usual liveliness.

“And you think this is better? Eating junk food in your sweatpants and crying?” Elena asks, pursing her glossy lips and daring me to deny that that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. “It’s your birthday!”

I glance at the birthday cards I made an effort to line up on the coffee table. She and Madison already came by this morning to drop off gifts and give me hugs that were tighter and longer than usual. More meaningful. That’s all the celebration I need. This is not a birthday I wish to remember.

Madison waves the bottle of wine in her hand. “We thought about it all day. Should we do what you want, or should we do what youneed?And what you need is to get out of this apartment, let down your hair, and have a good time with your friends. We aren’t leaving you here to mope on a Saturday night. Birthday or not. Where’s your corkscrew?”

“Guys. Guys!”

The pair of them ignore my pleas as they search through my kitchen for wine glasses and a corkscrew. I knew I should have burned the apartment down while I had the chance. As I approach, Elena pulls the bag of chips from my hands and replaces it with a glass of white wine. My glass is noticeably fuller than both of theirs. Clearly, they think I need it more than they do. And they’re right.

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