Katie Taylor's Guide to Heartbreak

02: last nights and first nights and nothing in between

Jen,

That's better, right? Simple, straightforward, to the point. Screw you and your tough marking schemes, I'm giving myself an A.

It's 2AM, and I miss you. The bed feels too empty without you there to steal all the blankets.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, when it's so dark that I can't tell you're not sleeping beside me, and there's something I want to tell you, so I roll over and start talking and then I remember you're not there. So I decided I'd write it down before I forget again, if only so that I can finally get some sleep. Did you know that when octopi get stressed, they eat themselves?

I'd tell you that not many people know that, and you'd tell me that not many people want to know it, either.

Don't laugh at me. I'll have a headache as punishment tomorrow morning, anyway. And my heart hurts, too. I'm going to sleep.

–Katie

Step (Shot) Two: Drink to remember.

Sub-step: Last nights and first nights and nothing in between.

Example:

The first night you sleep together is innocent and sober and you lie together fully clothed on top of the covers, her head nestled beneath your chin. You've been together a year and a month and haven't regretted a second of it until now. She's never stayed over before tonight.

"I'm sorry," you mutter quietly, blinking hard to keep back tears because god, she matters to you and why is this so hard?

"Hey," Jenna says softly, looking up at you. "It's fine, I told you. We don't have to do anything you don't want to. You know that."

"What happens," you start, then break off and look carefully away from her. "What happens if I never want to?"

Jenna reaches for your jaw and tilts your head towards her again. "Then we don't ever do anything you don't want to." She kisses the corner of your jaw, then trails her mouth in soft presses up to meet yours, until you can feel yourself smiling for the hope of it all.

"Yeah?" you say.

"Yeah," she whispers, and flicks off the light.

The last night you spend together is in your shared apartment. You've got work at seven the next morning and it's a half hour drive, but somehow it's got to two in the morning and you're watching television reruns curled on the couch with your feet in Jenna's lap.

When the credits for the episode start playing, the two of you reach for the remote at the same time. You relinquish it to her and try to steal her hand instead, and she laughs and flicks you off her.

"Are we done?" you ask, yawning.

"Mm," she says, then laughs. "By which I mean no, we're not, but you'll fall asleep on your kids tomorrow if you don't sleep soon. And they're only eight, I don't want a panicked call swearing that my wife has died."

"I keep my phone in the staff room," you tell her, and she raises her eyebrows.

"If you say so. Guess I must be getting those bored texts during your Art periods from a ghost, right?"

"Oh, shut up."

Jenna smiles and throws the blanket off, standing stiffly and wincing. You move to join her, but she pushes your shoulder until you fall back on the couch. "Move over," comes the instruction, and you do as you're told so she can settle into your arms and pull the blanket over both of you.

That night, you fall asleep with your arms around your girlfriend – no, wife, a word which still sends a thrill through you – and your face buried in the crook of her neck. She smells like mint still, and holds onto your hands as she settles into sleep.

"Jen?" you whisper into the darkness. She might be asleep, you think, judging by how even her breathing is.

"Yes?" she says softly. You feel her squeeze your linked hands.

"I love you."

There's a pause. "Idiot," she mutters. "I'm going to get calls from second graders tomorrow. Go to sleep."

She hasn't shot you down, at least, and with that you're content.

There's a longer interval, and her breaths even out again. It's just when you think she's fallen asleep that she whispers, "I love you too."