Where You Are

Moncton

Birgitta

I was both physically and emotionally exhausted. The last two weeks had been hell.

What had I done? Jesse had apologized at least a dozen times for what had happened. Why did I have to go and be all proud about it? Why couldn't I have just accepted his apology and moved on? Maybe it was unreasonable for me to even expect him to fully trust me. How many people did anyone even fully trust in their lives? One? Maybe two? Likely zero. Jesse was the only person in my life I fully trusted. Even now that he'd broken my heart. What was wrong with me?

I knew I was driving him away. I'd picked up my phone hundreds of times in the last few days, ready to type out a long, remorseful message to him, or else call him, and beg him to forgive me and take me back.

I felt a bit better after talking to Petra about it all, and reassured that apparently all men did stupid things, no matter how old they were. At this point, I didn't care about the fight, I just wanted Jesse back.

How long was this supposed to last? I'd said a few weeks but regretted that the second he'd closed the driver's door in his rental car when he left. I'd hardly hear a word from him anyway. Just 'have a nice day at work,' or 'goodnight'. That was it.

For two damn weeks.

I kicked off my shoes as soon as I shut the front door of my apartment behind me. I slumped back against the door. The flowers Jesse had sent were definitely dead now, most of the petals and leaves had dropped onto the coffee table and the stems were all drooping and turning brown. But I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them.

I was better off alone. Relationships were so hard. My head hurt. My heart hurt. I wasn't too proud to admit that I needed Jesse. He just made everything better, he made the sun shine brighter and colours more vivid. He was the only thing that had ever felt anything like home. The only thing that made me feel settled, like I could stay a while and everything would be alright.

My socks went next. I tossed them towards the washing machine and missed. I sighed and then pulled my uniform top and pants off, actually throwing them in the washing machine and then bending over to get the socks.

If this was the end of Jesse and I, maybe I'd move up north and work there for a while. I'd always wanted to do that, but it was so far from anywhere and it would be extremely difficult and inconvenient to travel within Canada, let alone the rest of the world. But I would be isolated. Alone. I wouldn't have to deal with anyone I wasn't paid to deal with. And I would be paid well.

Yeah, maybe I'd do that for a few years. Save up some money and finally buy a house somewhere. But the thought of putting down roots made me feel sick. Nowhere had ever felt enough like home to settle down.

Apart from wherever Jesse happened to be.

I will fight for you.

What did that even mean anyway? There hadn't been any fighting in the last few weeks. There hadn't been anything at all. Didn't he miss me?

I really should shower. But I didn't feel like it. I'd been on my feet for the last twelve hours and my brain had been whirling, trying to focus on looking after my patients while also trying to craft the perfect message to send to Jesse at the same time. I didn't have any energy left. I'd have a quick one. I pulled my hair into a messy bun, heavy emphasis on the messy part, and had a quick shower, really just soaping the sweat from my body.

Once I'd dried myself off, I pulled a clean pair underwear, some old sweatpants and a tank top then reached for my phone to order food. I didn't feel like cooking either, but that wasn't anything new.