Queen of my Heart

01

EVER HEARD OF SARCASM?

No? Well, here it was:

Rainy was how you should start your Saturday morning. I mean, Ireland might as bloody well be Sahara Desert when it comes to the temperature.

Or maybe it was my temperamental head speaking for me.

Anyway, I wouldn't be starting this story with crappy sarcasm if I hadn't heard a certain song by a certain person from a certain point of my past.

Perhaps I wouldn't have a frown deeper than bloody Pacific Ocean if Swear it Again didn't play off those tiny speakers in this bloody café.

And before you start scolding me about leaving the innocent song alone, let me tell you some of the things I was feeling when I heard the first words: fear, hurt, and anger. The singer—Shane Filan, to be specific—was someone very special to me. Once. Before he bloody broke his promise and left me in the dust. Left me alone with my demons to deal with them myself.

It wasn't like I hadn't forgiven him, you know. It was the mere fact that I haven't heard from him again once in the last two years.

Shane might as well apologize to a ghost.

I pushed my empty mug of coffee away from me. I've had enough of this café's crappy choice of music.

With a low growl, I left the place and walked through the rain, my umbrella barely enough to protect me from the dangers of the world.

Just so you know, I wasn't always this melodramatic and kind of poetic everyday. I'd just started my day on the wrong side of the bed is all.

I wanna know

Who ever told you I was letting go

Of the only joy that I have ever known

Girl, they were lying

I wanna know, Shane. I want to know why you abandoned me. I want to know why I still bloody miss you.

I want to know when would I finally move on from you.

And yes. Like any cliché movie you've watched, any book you've read, I was in love with my best friend.

Pitiful enough? No?

Well, try to imagine experiencing what I did: one moment he was telling you these worthless promises, and next thing you knew he was gone.

But despite of these unpleasant thoughts, I kept walking with my head down, forcing myself not to cry. Eighteen-year-olds like me don't cry anymore unless in unbearable pain. In my case though, it was just a long-buried memory with assurance that would never happen again.

Speaking of assurances, I just bumped into another human being and was shocked of what happened; partly because of the water soaking my buttocks and the other half caused by the person in front of me.

From this day forth, I was officially cursing fate.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet my trashy ex-best friend, Shane Bloody Filan.