Summer Of Broken Hearts.

chapter 1

It was April, that Friday, the twelfth of April. My ex-girlfriend, Lydia, posted a photo after three days of being missing. She finally posted a photo on her Instagram. In that post, another woman appeared with her, and they both seemed very happy. Both blonde, wearing wool jumpers, they stood somewhere unknown to me. All I could see were their happy faces and the caption, which I read over and over again: "Together, happier than ever."

"What is that supposed to mean? Wasn't she happy enough with me? Or is she just saying she's happy to be with her, and this nightmare of mine will end?" I thought as I kept staring at those faces.

All I remember after that was anger, and then I exploded into tears because, deep down, I knew something was off with her. I just ignored the signs because I blindly loved her, and now my worst fears were invading my most positive thoughts.

This is part of how my love story ended, or maybe how it will begin. One thing I knew for sure, this was going to be one of those unpleasant stories of my life. But let's start from the beginning.

My name is Marta, and I am from Barcelona City. Five years ago, I moved to Ireland.

I have always been a high-stamina kid. By all means, I was great at sports: swimming, I was the champion; athletics, champion; cycling, champion. Any sport that required long-lasting stamina, I was there. I didn't necessarily compete, but yeah, I could say that.

I was one of the top students in my class. I was good at everything except art, Spanish history, and geography. I didn't hate them—well, maybe Spanish history a little—but my marks were six to seven at the highest in those subjects, while in the rest, I was excellent. So, I was one of those kids who needed to make mom and dad happy somehow.

I always wanted to make my parents proud, so I would do anything to get their attention. But I wasn't the favorite child. I never took praise for granted, especially from anybody. All I ever wanted was praise from my parents, but that was never going to happen.

I am the eldest sister, and I have one sibling named Marti. Marti is my younger brother, and he seems like the younger male version of me: brunette, curly hair, green eyes, a meter seventy tall. I am a meter sixty-five, so I'm slightly shorter than him. One thing is clear between my brother and me: rivalry. We were enemies. We never got along, and I don't believe we ever will. But for good or bad, he is my younger brother, and I didn't choose him, so I don't have much choice if something happens in the future.

Anyway, he was the opposite of me. He got the attention and praise, and he wasn't at the top of his class, so I never understood why I should be the black sheep.

That was my life. I was also the girl hiding behind books. I was shy; I still am shy, but I was more so back then until I met my first girlfriend. She was kind and interesting, and I always loved her straight blonde hair. She had almond eyes and many freckles around her face, just like I do when it's sunny.

But she was always someone who would listen to me, as I would do the same for her. She had that special something that made me smile so silly, but like everything good, there was a negative part. Being gay at the end of the 90s and the start of the 2000s was hard, beyond hard. Hiding ourselves and not being able to walk like a couple freely wasn't pleasant, but the hardest part was telling your parents and being accepted. From my experience, it didn't go well.

My only chance was with a gay couple that my mom and I saw walking in the market. I thought how beautiful it was, but my mom said, "This is disgraceful. These two are sick, these freaks. Let's not get any closer to them." Hearing those comments, I knew I couldn't be free in front of my parents.

After a while, my girlfriend fell into drugs and almost killed herself. I remember very well how high she was, too high to realize how much I loved her. Breaking up was the best for both of us.

I never told my parents or anyone I trusted. I didn't have many friends I could trust with this kind of secret without being judged.

My second big love was a boy, and we met doing triathlons. He was a dreamy guy, one of those guys you see on TV and crush on. His hypnotic green eyes and well-organized short brunette hair always stood out. He was an adrenaline junkie, and somehow that turned me on at that time. After my ex-girlfriend and I broke up, it took me a year to open up to him. He loved motorcycles, and while I respected them, as long as I was with him, I thought everything would be fine.

I was eighteen when we were together, and like all eighteen-year-olds, I wanted to try everything. But I was disappointed with the sex part. He broke up with me after a year without words or fights. It turned out I was just a bet. I never actually knew my worth, and to be honest, I still don't want to know. That was the moment I realized love wasn't made for me, so I hid it. I hid the fact that I wanted to be in a relationship with someone.

In my 20s, I went a bit wild. Well, pretty wild. I used to party quite a lot, if not every weekend. I started mixing alcohols and tried coke, which isn't that bad until it is. Where I went wild was in sex. I never explained that, but man or woman, if someone made me feel something, I had to go for it. Don't worry, there weren't that many, but one took me deep, pretty deep. From casual sex to almost every day, at some point I thought he wanted a relationship. It turned out he didn't, so again I got stuck and disappointed with a guy who just wanted sex. My drive for sex became lower because there wasn't any excitement with him. To the point where there was no excitement at all; it was just fucking and lies.

So I tried to meet him less, and it made me realize that hunting would bring nothing good. I decided to find myself and try new things. I went to Ireland to study English, and since that time, I have been living there.

Once I finished my course, I started working in a franchise of fast food, in Subway. Then the coronavirus hit, and nothing is more boring than being stuck in your own house. For a month it was okay, but then those four walls became a jail, at least for me. Going out wasn't really an option at that time.

My neighbor, Lydia, was also trapped at home. Lydia was from Switzerland and was working in Google security in Ireland. She dreamed of having her job in Switzerland, or at least that's what she always said. Lydia was blonde with blue eyes, a pretty skinny young woman. She was kind and funny. So every day we went to our garden and started chatting about books, series, films, even working out together, though separated. Soon, she became that friend who made sense of my life, and then we went for something more, and till now, we were in a relationship.

Two years passed, and we were thinking of moving out of our landlord's house and finding a place for us. However, Ireland isn't an easy country to find a place for a couple. One day, it all happened. Lydia's dream came true. She was moving to Switzerland and told me the very same day that she was flying there. I felt stabbed. She was keeping secrets from me, so I did what any girlfriend would do.

"When did you know this news? What about us? Are we going to be long-distance for a while? I mean... I don't mind doing it. I just need to take care of some things, and in a couple of months, we can be together again. Once I am in Switzerland, I'll figure out the rest," I spoke up, letting my mind empty out in words, waiting for her answer.

"No," she answered, and I froze. I didn't know where to take the conversation from there, just saw Lydia leaving, and my brain still didn't know what to say to her to understand what was going on.

For days I went quiet, looking for the right words to tell her over the phone. I searched for the best words to talk to her without saying anything wild, but every time I tried, I began to feel sick, really sick. I didn't even mention it to my colleagues at work. I was totally mute. There was one tiny voice still speaking to me, but I preferred not to listen to it because what it was saying, I was afraid, was goddamn right at that moment.

After three days, all the pieces began to fall into place, and so did my biggest nightmare of my life