Broken

My "Normal" Life

I would like to start this story by telling you about my “normal life.”

                I grew up in Beaufort, North Carolina. All of my relatives lived in Europe, scattered around the U.K. and Italy and France. My parents had moved to the states when my mom was pregnant with me. I always would ask her why she moved. Europe fascinated me and I had begged them to move back, but they told me there were some complications that prevented them from going home. I didn’t understand considering I was still a child, but I decided not to question it any further as the subject made my parents tense.

                So for seventeen years, I lived as an only child in a quaint little home right on the sea. School was fun for me. I worked hard and earned good grades, even skipping a grade in middle school. I dated here and there, but nothing ever got serious. I never experienced anything like love. But I was okay with that. I was carefree and living my life.

                My parents were my world. They helped me through so much and we rarely had arguments. Even if we did, they lasted about five minutes until we were all apologizing to each other. They were my best friends and I was theirs.

                If you want to know true love, just look at how my parents act around each other. Even after seventeen years of marriage, they still looked at each other with the most burning, passionate love I had ever seen. Not once had they gotten into any serious arguments. Their life was perfect and I was a part of it.   

                However, I came to the decision when I was sixteen, that instead of heading off to college just yet, I wanted to go to England. More specifically, London. My parents had shown me pictures of London and Paris and Rome and many other cities within those countries. But for some odd reason, I was drawn to London. Maybe it was because I loved the rain. Maybe it was because I loved the city life. But I knew that I just had to go there. It was like it was calling me, begging me to come and stay. I knew that when I graduated I would only be seventeen but I was ready to be on my own. I explained this to my parents one night. My mom wasn’t the biggest fan of the idea of letting me go to London when I graduated. That’s when they both explained to me the reasoning of them leaving. They grew up in an old fashioned lifestyle. People married at a younger age which explained why my parents married when they were twenty and twenty-one. The expectations that fell on them to live life how everyone else wanted was getting too much so they decided to move far away and live life the way they wanted. That’s why she was reluctant; for fear that I would bump into some relatives. But my dad smiled and said if my heart was in it, then I may go.  

Eventually my mom agreed, so I eagerly awaited the day I would graduate high school. In the meantime, I spent more time than ever with my friends and my parents. All of my friends were over 24/7 at my house even before I made the decision. My parents made jokes on how they were practically their kids because of how often they were over. But out of all of my friends, there was one who I had been friends with since the womb. My parents had become close friends with a couple down the street from us when they first came to North Carolina. Sandra, the woman, was pregnant as well. Sandra and my mother were only a few months pregnant at the time. They became extremely close as they went further into their pregnancies. I remember my mom telling me how one night, when a huge storm hit causing all of the electricity to go out, Sandra and her husband had come over and that was when they all decided on our names. Sandra’s daughter would be named Rikki and my name would Neri.

                And so we were born and Rikki and I grew up together to become the closest of friends.  I broke it to her one day that once we graduated I would be going to London. She was upset with me for a while since we had always planned on venturing out into the world together. I felt awful, but London never left my head and with each and every day that passed, the need to go there became stronger and stronger. And since I was a grade ahead of her it wouldn’t make sense for me to stay and wait another year for her to finish school. Eventually Rikki settled down. Graduation was upon me, and my excitement to go grew. I didn’t want to leave Rikki. She was like my sister, but I promised her that I would come home to visit and her parents even said that they could fly her out to stay with me for a bit. Graduation came and went and it was time for me to go. I had packed everything I owned, my furniture already being sent to the flat I had bought. The week before I left, I had spent every waking moment with Rikki’s family and my parents. We all went out frequently, going on picnics or just laying around and reminiscing over funny memories.  

                After a tearful goodbye, I left. I left and began my journey in life. I was awestruck with the wonder of London. It was amazing. My flat was a decent size and already had all of my furniture strategically placed in a tasteful fashion. Everything about London fascinated me. Every day I ventured out and explored the busy city. I found a job at a pub close by that was pretty popular at night so the tips were awesome. My life seemed absolutely perfect. I made new friends at work and after a month of living in London, I found myself a boyfriend. His name was Tristan. He was incredibly handsome with his dark brown hair that he spiked up in the front and his electric blue eyes that matched mine. He was perfect. And I loved him. Yes, I fell in love. He was mine and I was his. He promised me so many things. He promised he would spend the rest of his life with me, that we would get married and have kids and we would live “happily ever after.” And I believed him. He was everything I could hope for. I knew we had only been together for not even a year, but we were just so in love. At least, I was. My parents and Rikki had met him when they came to visit and grew extremely fond of Tristan. I felt as though nothing could ever come between us. We would be together forever.

                But one cold December, Tristan had traveled back to his home town to spend Christmas with his family. I had gone back to North Carolina to spend the holidays with my family as well. It was a week before Christmas, and I realized that I hadn’t heard from Tristan in a few days. So I called him and there was no answer. I called him again, no answer. I set my phone aside thinking he was just busy and he would call me back when he got the chance. But as the week came to a close, he still never called back. Christmas came, and still no word from Tristan. I was beginning to worry, so when the time came for me to go home, I eagerly rushed to my flat to see if he had called the landline. I had no missed calls. The next day, I went over to his flat. He had answered the door with a surprised expression on his face which confused me. I questioned him as to why he never called me back over the holidays. Tristan apologized and told me he was really busy. I believed him. I’m not sure why I did, but I just wasn’t rational enough to raise any suspicion over it. But throughout the next several weeks, I noticed that Tristan had become very distant. He called less. We didn’t meet up with each other as much as we did. I was slowly tearing apart, trying to understand what was going on. I began to cry a lot, not knowing why he was being this way. I loved him so much and I didn’t want to lose him. He couldn’t see the fact that I was breaking at the seams. My faith in him was slowly dwindling as he gradually broke away from me.

                It wasn’t until two days after my eighteenth birthday that I figured out why. This is where the real story begins. This is where I begin the tale that led me to be sitting in my living room on a rainy and gloomy day, with an emptiness that will never be replaced. This is where I lost all faith in love and in myself.