Fragmented ✔️

31. Rubber band

There was nothing quite like the agony of limbo.

The first thing I did in the weeks that followed New Year's Eve was dye my hair back to its natural colour. Or at least as close to the blonde shade as possible. It took a few trips to the hairdressers, but as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I saw the old Beatrice.

I hadn't heard from Matt over the first month, and I couldn't claim I had tried to contact him either. It was hard at the beginning, especially that initial week. But as the days ticked by, I realised I should have concentrated on myself from the start. As much as I had fallen in love with him, I couldn't be the person he needed. We had to work through our own issues to come back together stronger. Hopefully.

I curled another strand of hair and hummed along to a melody playing out in my head. My eyes focused on a tiny spider making its way up the curtain in my room when the doorbell buzzed. Lost in my thoughts, I jumped, the curling iron slipped in my hand and I burned a section on my thumb.

"Shit," I hissed and popped it straight into my mouth to suck the red patch of flesh.

"Beatrice, you have another delivery," my mum shouted up the stairs.

My belly flipped, and I questioned for a minute if I should ignore her or check for myself. I could already guess what was waiting downstairs. I walked over to my windowsill, picked up the deep pink peony resting on its side, and placed it in the vase by my bedside. Six other faded blooms stood beside the partially wilted flower, each at different stages of decay but clinging on to a fraction of their shade. Dying from the inside out, but just as beautiful.

My chest tightened when I stepped into the kitchen and caught sight of my mother holding up a vivid blue bouquet to her nose.

"He got you hydrangeas today. Aren't they pretty?" she said, taking a deep breath in.

My mouth turned dry, and I gripped my stomach. Yes, Matt hadn't spoken to me that first month, but the day I decided I was ready for one-to-one therapy, he had a gorgeous flower arrangement sent to my house via Zaire. After that, I received a new bouquet weekly; always when I was scheduled to see Helen. Zaire no longer served as courier with him having them delivered directly from a local florist.

"Still no card?" Disappointment sagged through me. The weekly gift was thoughtful, but I longed for words. Some sort of message from Matt, letting me know we would be okay after everything.

Mum shook her head but smiled, nonetheless. "We both know it's him. Call him. I'm sure he's waiting for you to be ready first."

"I will, Mum. Just want to be better." I checked the watch on my wrist and plucked one of the petalled globes out of the bouquet. "You keep the rest. I have to hurry and get ready. Zaire will be here any minute."

I wiped down my windowsill, after the last flower lost a couple of petals, and positioned the hydrangea in the same place as the last one.

Vibrant and alive, but soon enough each petal would wither; a reminder that life was short. Even stemmed flowers died when cut from their roots. If I didn't keep hold of mine, I could fade like that flower. And then what good would it be to have Matt know I loved him? Love him. No, as much as I wanted to see him again, I owed myself this break.

I was still glaring at the sill, looking for some profound meaning in a single bloom, when Zaire walked straight into my room.

"See you have more flowers. Gonna call him?"

I stayed silent and returned to curling the last section of my hair.

"Come back to the flat with me. Speak to him. He misses you."