Jigsaw (NaNoWriMo13)

Nine

The days after Evans departure seem to melt into one long, monotonous day. I get up, I eat, I drink but I don't live. I don't leave my flat, just sit in the dark and stew in the depression of my own making. I don't go back to work in the end, I just sit at my computer all day, desperately surfing the web in an effort to gain employment elsewhere.

It kills me, absolutely tears me apart to do this. I can't bear to be away from Evan. Even five minutes without him feels like a burning, gut wrenching eternity. But I have to move on. Evan doesn't want to know. Not now that he knows about my messed up past. It's kinder to just let him move on with his life and forget all about me.

Though it brings me great pain, I send applications off for several vacancies on the other side of Clapham. The further away from Evan I am, the better. The first few days after my revelation, I half expected Evan to come knocking on the door, to ring me or even to post letters through the letter box, but I got nothing. Absolutely nothing. All those weeks spent getting closer to him were for absolutely zilch the moment my past was revealed to him. I had been so sure that that night when it all came out. When Evan held me and told me that everything would be okay, that I wasn't alone, that he wouldn't abandon me. For the first time in years, I didn't feel so alone, I had someone I could trust. But as usual, I was wrong.

I sigh and resist the temptation to bang my keyboard as yet another email pings up on my computer telling me that I was unsuccessful in my attempt at employment. Panic starts to set in as my rent deadline looms ever closer. It's not like I spend all the money I earned from working in Evans café, but it wouldn't last forever. If I didn't get a job and soon, I would be up the creek without a paddle.

I groan as I look around my flat and the state it is in. empty plates and cup sits on the coffee table, each in varying states of mould. Dirty clothes are strewn all over the flat. All in all, it looks like a bomb has hit it. And not just a stick of dynamite either, a full on nuclear explosion, complete with the noxious gasses. A quick sniff of my armpits tells me that I'm not exactly fresh either.

“Jesus, Lily. You need to sort your life out.” I mutter.

I lean my head back and allow the warm water to cascade over my skin. I wonder what Evan's doing now? Is he at work? Or is he sulking in his flat? I feel guilty at my last bitter thought and roughly soap myself to delete it from my mind. I wonder if he's thinking of me as much as I am thinking about him. Does he wonder what I'm doing right now?

Probably not. I remind myself. How long is it going to be until I can stop thinking about him? Before the hurt goes away and I can finally move on with my life? It's not like we were even dating, he made it quite plain that he didn't want to know. We were never even friend, not really. The memories of the past two months hit me and I suddenly struggle to breathe.

Walking hand in hand through the snow. Random late night conversations. His arms around me, his heart beating beneath my ear. Crazy golf, subtle flirting, shy glances at the other when we think we aren't looking. Lazy Sunday morning texts. Cups of steaming coffee (hot chocolate for me) on quiet days. Those conversations that leave me buzzing for hours afterwards.

I miss Evan so much that it hurts. As cliché as it sounds, it feels like a huge part of me is missing, a part that I didn't know I had until Evan walked out of my life. I rub my eyes to rid myself of the intrusive thoughts, instantly regretting it as the soap burns them with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. I let out a loud, high pitched scream and reach for the nearest fabric, which so happens to be the shower curtain. I must have misjudged my strength, for as soon as I blindly tug at it, it comes flying off of the wall, taking me with it. I slide down the bathtub with a loud crash, sending water splashing water up the walls.