The Turning Point

CHAPTER THREE - PIECES

"Hello?"

"Hey, Lisy!"

"Hey."

"Are you feeling any better? I mean… you’ve been locked up in there for so long. I think it’s time for you to go out a little."

"For what? That won’t change anything," I sighed, waiting for her to continue.

"Look, you can’t live in the past. Michael is your past now. You’re young, you need to live your life."

"Twenty-six isn’t young. It’s practically the road to old age. Who’s gonna want a grandma like me?"

"If twenty-six is old, then I’m prehistoric! I’m already thirty-three and still single. But even the elderly can have fun. Let’s drink all night, ring doorbells and run away, graffiti the neighbors’ walls…"

"Okay… you do know that’s terrible advice, right? Sounds like something a teenage delinquent would do."

"No, ma’am! It’s great advice. I’m good at this. Who do you think gives my nephews advice?"

"I don’t even dare to say," I chuckled.

"So, are we going? Please!"

"Fine," I replied, unenthusiastic. "Pick me up at seven-thirty, okay?"

"I’ll be there, girl!"

Ashley was beautiful, both inside and out. Her skin was dark, like rich dark chocolate—perfect in color and texture, the kind that doesn’t stay in the display case for long. In short: she was irresistible. Tall and slim, with dark eyes, full lips, and short, curly hair. She turned heads wherever she went.

I, on the other hand, was just brown-skinned, five foot three, brown-eyed, and nowhere near Ashley’s natural magnetism. I didn’t think I was ugly, of course, but I also didn’t see anything particularly special about my looks. Or my life.

Ashley was different. She had a way of lighting up any room with her presence, always making me laugh, always managing to convince me to do things I didn’t want to. And once again, she had succeeded.

Even without any real enthusiasm, I decided to get ready.

My reflection in the mirror was a disaster—deep dark circles, dry lips, messy hair. I took a long shower. And as the warm water ran down my body, the memories flooded in once more.

My life felt stuck in time, reliving moments that no longer existed.

Since the last time I saw Michael, I hadn’t opened the café at home. And the other one… I had sold it.

The house was a mess. I had let go of the cleaning lady—I didn’t want anyone around. But looking at the chaos surrounding me, I changed my mind. Still wrapped in my towel, I called Margot and asked her to come the next day.

Then, I picked out some clothes. I grabbed a pair of dark jeans that seemed bigger than before. Had I lost that much weight?

I threw on a black hoodie, a pair of sneakers so worn out they looked gray, and tied my hair up in a painfully tight ponytail—the kind that makes your forehead shine like a dog just licked your hair back. A little eyeliner, and that was it.

Ashley showed up exactly at seven-thirty.

"Oh my God! Who are you, and what did you do with my friend? Did you eat her?"

"Very funny! I’ve always liked jeans and sneakers."

"Okay, but at least you used to wear new jeans, decent sneakers… and that hoodie? Seriously, it looks like you stole it from a corpse."

"I didn’t even want to go out," I rubbed my eyes, exhausted. "I did what I could. If you're embarrassed to be seen with me, I get it."

"No, Lisy! That’s not what I meant, babe. Come here, give me a hug. Forgive me?"

"There’s nothing to forgive. It’s just me and this terrible mood."

"Everything’s gonna be okay. You’ll see!"

"I know. Thanks."

I was a terrible liar.

***

We went to a bar.

Little Dawson was a lively bar-club, packed on Friday nights. A group of former coworkers joined us—some of them were Michael’s friends.

The place was crowded. It was striking how their lives moved forward so effortlessly while mine had stopped somewhere along the way. I watched them, and when they looked back at me, I’d smile and nod slightly. My way of saying: screw it, I’m fine. But inside, I was a completely shattered vase. No one had any idea how many broken pieces I was trying to put back together.

Each shot of tequila burned down my throat, but not even alcohol could take me somewhere else. My mind stayed locked on him.

Ashley was dancing enthusiastically with one of the guys from our table. One by one, they all moved to the dance floor, while I sat there, lost in my thoughts.

I lost count of how many shots I had.

"One more drink… Another one… Just one more… I said I wanted one more… I want another… This is the last one… Screw you, Ashley, I’m a grown woman…"

I was the very definition of pathetic.

"Do you want to dance?" a guy asked as he approached.

"I don’t know how to dance…" My words came out slurred.

"Come on! I’ll teach you."

I downed the rest of my drink in one go and followed him.

"Nice to meet you, I’m Jered. And you?"

"Does it matter?"

He chuckled, scratching his head awkwardly, and we started dancing.

Every now and then, I lost my balance and laughed at myself. I was visibly drunk, visibly ridiculous. I kept alternating between the bar, my drinks, and the dance floor.

"Are you okay?" Jered asked when I suddenly stopped moving.

"I am! I just… I…"

The air began to vanish. That dark, suffocating pit was pulling me in again.

A slow, painful, endless fall.