Page 237 of My Rules

I sit in my dark living room, no television, no lights. Just me and my shiny conscience, my constant dark friend.

Blake left three days ago for New York. Sneaked out under the veil of darkness and didn’t even say goodbye to our friends on the street.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The sound of my clock in the distance echoes, chipping at the bones holding me together. The more time that passes without him, the stronger he gets without me.

I’m having some kind of existential crisis.

Old wounds have opened back up, and the infection is beginning to fester, poisoning the life out of me breath by breath.

There are so many questions that he raised, and deep down I’m also wondering about the answers.

Why did I sign that contract when I knew it was wrong?

Why did I keep that flower card?

Why would I even want a house that reminds me of John and of our life together?

And more than that, why was the first man I slept with a dear friend?

Was I ready for love, or was I simply seeking comfort in the arms of another?

Physical contact and a safe place to fall.

I was in a dark place when my marriage broke up, but that place seems like a children’s picnic ground compared to where I am now.

I picture my beautiful Blake all alone in New York, and my heart breaks.

He deserved so much better than what I offered.

I haven’t tried to call him again; I need to get myself together.

I’m no good to anybody like this, least of all to someone I care so deeply for.

I’m quite the expert now.

I should write a book of heartbreak: Memoirs of the Battle-Scarred Wife.

I walk into the restaurant with my head held high.

Gone is the worried woman who was afraid of her own shadow.

Today ... I’m here for blood.

I see John sitting at the table, and I walk over.

“Hi.” He smiles all sexy-like. He stands to kiss my cheek, and I push him back into his chair.

“Don’t touch me.”

He frowns up at me. For the first time, he seems confused as I sit down.

“How are you?”

---