Page 1 of Greased

I’m no stranger to heartbreak. It always seems to hit you in the moments that you already know are too good to be true.

Hearts are absolute traitors. Completely and utterly selfish. Zero consideration for any other part in the body other than its own. The heart almost resembles a toddler when they hone in on that bag of lollies at the shops; what they want is what they get. Tantrums are not below them.

We all seem to fall victim to the heart’s recklessness from time to time. No matter how the brain believes it prepares itself for any incoming doom ensuring all sorts of walls are built, mine never seems to quite get it right. Even though my delusional self is convinced my walls are impenetrable. That I’m immune to red flags men seem to wave with zero shame. Yet here I am.

Once again.

Completely heartbroken after the most incredible summer of my life. Falling victim to five men who broke down those walls that Ithought not even the nastiest of storms could break. The me who, a year ago, would have been ashamed of how quickly those walls fell for a few sets of piercing eyes and a couple of come fuck me smiles.

Come on, they were so fucking cliché it was ridiculous! Fuck boy was their collective persona. Right down to the tattoos that covered nearly their entire bodies. I still don’t know why I thought getting caught up with five ridiculously hot American boys was ever going to do my heart any good.

We all knew this thing was going to have a deadline.

One very short but oh so sweet summer. To be honest, I don’t think I ever stood a chance. My heart overruled my brain completely. Now I’m sure as fuck paying for it.

Nothing has ever quite hurt this bad.

Well as far as I can remember anyways. Which really isn’t that far. At least my brain is the problem here, not my heart.

Of course, I would add the utter bullshit cliché of having fucking amnesia. Having no recollection before the age of 8 is for sure one of the most prominent causes of both mine and my mother’s heartbreaks.

Another tick on the scoreboard of life completely fucking me up the ass.

My mother and I were involved in a car accident where my twin brother and father died. Not only did my Mum lose both of them in that accident, but she also lost a part of me. I think that was the worst bit. Waking up out of a 3-month long coma covered in newly healed scars with absolutely no recollection of who I was or who she was, was just the icing on the cake of her absolute devastation. She has to bethe most incredible woman that I have ever come across. I’ve never admired anyone more than I have her.

Through the lengthy hospital stay, numerous doctor’s trips and testings, that woman was an absolute force to be reckoned with. She held down her grief for me. I know a lot of other kids don’t get the same treatment that I got.

There is a part of me that grieves the loss of my twin and Dad. Even though I have looked over albums upon albums of photos, I’ve never been able to remember a single detail about either of them. I’m sure my mum thought having them would help but it never did.

Every day I long for what could have been.

No number of stories, no matter how detailed, are ever enough.

Deep in my soul, I feel the loss of my brother. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him.

Stupid fucking brain. Stupid fucking heart.

I just wish I could remember a sliver of a detail about him. Mourning a person that you can’t remember is just fucking cruel.

I absent-mindedly rub a hand over the tattoo of a dove that sits on my collarbone at the reminder of what I have lost. The heartbreak of waking up each day and grieving a loss that, no matter how much therapy and witchy woo woo I have tried, will ever bring back those memories that are forever lost to me now.

Even though it’s been over ten years, the pain hasn’t faded. I just know that my brother would have protected me from my current heartbreak. I can’t help but daydream about that situation.

What would he have done? I’d like to think he’d act exactly as Noah has been: fucking furious.

Mum always boasts about how protective he was of me. No one stood a chance against Rhodes when it came to me. But would I have even listened to him if he was here?

I sure as fuck didn’t listen to my own warning signs that rang out in my head that night at the beach when I first met them. They were like the male version of a siren. Fucking alluring and dangerous. They pulled me into their trap.

I feel dramatic over the fact that I’m heartbroken that they left. But fuck it, I am.

Those five boys changed everything for me.

Again with the cliches but I wasn’t going to fuck around with just anyone. It’s not like my virginity is sacred to me or anything, but it just felt wrong for me to lose it so some random bloke at a yardy while we were pissed.

I’m all for sexual positivity and if having a roster or sleeping with whichever person you find at the club is your thing, then go girl.

But for me, it just isn’t. Which may seem weird because I’m pretty sure that I am in fact in love with five men.

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