Page 132 of Damaged

I’m a little shocked. I had no idea it could feel as devastating to have to say goodbye to the living as much as it does the dead.

I choose to glance at the park. Half my heart is in there. Walking in the dark. The cold. The snow.

I swallow. Good riddance. She can keep it.

Because the less heart I have, the better.

Sophia

I’ve stayed active after the breakup. Springtime helps. The sun. The warm air. Those first few days of it, when even the smell of mud is amazing because of what it signifies.

Warmth. New beginnings.

Spring started to bloom nearly as soon as James and I broke up. I’ve tried to take that as a sign that I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.

It helps that James has been cold about this. I haven’t so much as seen him since that snowy night in Quebec four weeks ago.

He sent my things down and already packed from his apartment. When I got back to New York, there was a knock on my door not ten minutes later. And the lobby attendant was standing next to my suitcasesandSteve—who gave me quite the dirty look for our eviction.

It was so impersonal, so business-like that it pissed me off, and I’m happy for it. It makes this easier when we’re not friendly.

Exes that stay friends are in for more pain. I’ve seen it unfold a million times before.

I’m doing all the smart things you’re supposed to do after a breakup. I’m not lounging in my sweatpants. I’m not eating pints of ice cream.

I’m doing stupid things like taking up running. I’ve never hated a hobby more, but I guess I don’t mind the feeling of accomplishment afterwards.

It dulls my thoughts. Makes me tired enough to not toss and turn before going to bed. At least I’m not being kept up by my upstairs neighbor. I haven’t heard a peep out of James sincemoving back down to my apartment. I don’t even think he’s been back to the building.

A part of me wonders if he hates me. A part of me wonders if I was too cold. But I had to pull myself away. I had to walk. I broke into sobs when I was farther away on the trail. I couldn’t have done that in front of him.

I couldn’t have held steady with my decision to break up for much longer.

Still, I think about James too much. And I’m thinking about him extra today because the money hit my bank account this morning. I got an email alert for a transfer. I was expecting our agreement to trickle in towards the end of the year, but there it was, staring me in the face.

$680,000.00

When I got the email, I stared at the number for a long time. After New York taxes, it will be almost exactly four hundred grand.

It’s a bit unbelievable. It’s not like I can retire. But it’s a base. I have more on the way because I changed my mind and I’m joining Claude Bernard’s twelfth voyage into the Caribbean.

My lease is up in two months, and I’m not renewing. I’ll live on the research vessel for three months and bank the rent money. That’s on top of my salary for being out there. It’s $70,000. Nothing to scoff at for 120 days of work. Even if I am stuck on a boat.

I’ll miss Steve. That’s currently my biggest reservation for wanting to stay. But he’s a lover, and Alana is happy to watch him.

I’ve never been in a better financial position. Yet I’ve never been this nervous. We set sail in twelve days. And in the meantime, I have a date.

It wasn’t something planned. I wasn’t looking for anyone. I DM’d an archeologist living in Brooklyn who was part ofBernard’s regular team. His name’s Michael Hoffman. He asked if I’d like to FaceTime so he could answer questions.

During the little interview, he told me that the vibe at sea is a bit austere. Military. Bernard likes to act like an admiral more than a friendly treasure hunter, but the pay is good, and the other employees are good company. Mostly what Michael emphasized as the biggest pro was the money. I could tell he didn’t love to work for Bernard, but he wasn’t saying it directly. He didn’t want to scare me off.

He was cute, with thick curly hair and a short beard, so when he asked over FaceTime if I’d like to do another interview over a drink, I said yes.

And today’s the day.

It feels like the right thing to do. Four weeks, and my heart still belongs to James. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But maybe if I can have a nice night out and laugh at another man’s jokes, maybe then it won’t feel like the world has ended.

He won’t be James. He doesn’t have emerald eyes with that dangerous flash of fire and shoulders as broad as the Brooklyn Bridge.

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