.Prologue.
Heartbreak.
Such a strange word, because some people know first hand what it is and how it feels while others are completely ignorant of that miserable emotion.
As for me? I know it- I know it very, very well.
According to Encarta, heartbreak is defined as intense grief or unhappiness. Those simple words don’t do much to capture the force of the feeling, though.
I remember how heartbroken I was the day I discovered he had been unfaithful- the same man I’d been with for six years, the same man who had shunned me as a young girl for being annoying. The same man who’d meant everything to me, because he’d grown to understand who I was as a person better than anyone else on earth.
Our connection, our chemistry, our love- it was all so perfect.
He was, and still is, perfect to me.
No matter what he’s done, I cannot change my opinion of him. How can I forget the softer side- the side he would show with the little things, like staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, or remembering some silly piece of jewelry I wanted and giving it to me when I’d completely forgotten about the conversation we had on glittery bracelets, or even helping me with my finance assignments because I’ve always been hopeless with numbers.
How can I forget that? How can I forget how he looks when he’s teasing me, in that quiet way of his? How can I forget the knowing smirk that twists his lips when he realizes his sarcastic comments have upset me? How can I forget how he always apologizes by pulling me into an embrace, and not letting me go until I hug him back, no matter how much I try to fight him off or cuss him out?
I can’t.
I just can’t.
The same way I can’t forget the fact that he’s betrayed my trust.
The same way I can’t forget the fact that he’s seeing her now- the same girl he cheated on me with.
I wonder sometimes, if he’s happy with her. We haven’t spoken to each other in months, you see, so I can’t ask him. It comes as no surprise, though: I always knew that if things between us ended there would be none of that “let’s just be friends” crap.
We aren’t friends.
We aren’t even enemies.
We are two people who were once very much in love, and who now behave as though they have never met.
When I happen to pass him in the hallways at university, or bump into him downtown, we pass by each other wordlessly; every time it happens, another part of my heart shatters.
The funny thing about all this, is that despite how long it’s been since we broke up (three months and twelve days, to be exact), I sometimes have to smother a gigantic urge to rush up and share something interesting with him, or confide my problems and wait for him to comfort me just the way he always did.
I know that, that will never happen again, and it breaks my heart- no, it breaks my spirit.
As I sit here in my bedroom, scribbling furiously into my journal, I can’t help but recall the beauty of this thing that we shared. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to hit him, I want to demand a reason why I wasn’t good enough, I want to allow this jealous beast within me full license and toss pride aside- but I won’t.
It isn’t easy being heartbroken- but it’s even worse to be rejected. I will suffer this agony in silence, and maybe one day I’ll realize that this storm of emotions has subsided. Maybe one day I will be able to say “you mean nothing to me”.
Right now though, that is but a distant dream- right now, the only thing keeping me from getting drunk and leaving a tearful message on his voicemail is my pride. I shall cling to it, draw strength from its shallow depths and hope for courage to face the future alone- without his comforting presence by my side.
-- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- -- -
It is Thursday afternoon, and she is not with me.
Three months have passed since our separation, and I still find Thursdays the most difficult to deal with. In the past, busy schedules had kept us away from one another most of the week, but Thursday afternoons were always for just us.
Sometimes we’d cook together, at others we’d lie in bed and discuss politics or swap ludicrous get-rich-quick plans. Whatever we were doing though, it was always special. I never felt like there was some place else I’d rather be, and she didn’t bore me like the other girls.
So how had it ended?
How could I ******** up the best thing that had ever happened to me?
Even now after the passing of so much time I can’t stop hating myself for doing what I did.
She had been out of the country, and my ex-girlfriend had come out clubbing with me and the guys. I knew that Sakura wouldn’t approve, but I convinced myself that nothing would happen because my ex was just a childhood friend.
I was an idiot.
Some would say alcohol was to blame, others would say it was because my ex came on to me. Whatever it was, one thing led to another and in a drunken stupor I ended up making out with her in a club full of my girlfriend’s friends.
Nothing else happened, because I remember heading home with one of the guys, but the next morning I woke up with a headache and a surprisingly clear memory of the events of the previous night.
Knowing what I had done, and in front of whom I’d done it, I knew it was useless to hope nobody would tell her.
I was right.
She called about an hour later.
I can still remember the anger and hurt in her voice.
Before I knew what was happening she was saying goodbye.
Then it was over.
The next time I saw her, she wouldn’t even look at me. Not even when I tried to beg, to make her understand.
“Don’t, Sasuke.’’
Those had been her words, uttered in a small, strangled voice. I knew that any other attempts to win her back would be futile. Sakura wasn’t the type of girl to forgive a betrayal of trust.
So I’ve stayed away from her.
It kills me every day, but I’m doing it. I’m doing it because I want her to be happy.
She won’t start dating any time soon because she’s still hurt from the past, but I’ve tried to encourage her to do so, in my own way, by dating my ex. Well, not dating exactly- more like just ********.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a pack of cigarettes and light one, watching the end burn orange in the wintry sunlight.
Thursday afternoon, of November the 16th.
If I hadn’t ******** up, we’d be going on seven years now.
The thought brings a bitter smile to my face.
Guess it’s true what they say: you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.
_________________________________________________
Mo0n-cHan:: SO I CHANGED THE PROLOGUE. I THINK THIS IS BETTER. I’VE GOT CHAPTER ONE WRITTEN OUT, SO THE SOONER YOU REVIEW THE SOONER I POST THE FIRST CHAPTER.