The Budding Roses

Unbreak my heart

Sunday 2nd January
I'm clinging to the toilet bowl, staring at the remnants of the sticky toffee pudding I had devoured with pleasure only yesterday evening. It's 5am now, and the retch of my last supper, swimming amongst the toilet water, only serves to remind me of the retch of my stinking, rotten life.
I can't believe that this is happening to me again, that once more I'm studying the outfacing expression of my emotions, amongst the murky waters of a u-bend. I need to find a more constructive method of making my feelings known. I hate this toilet and I hate why I've got my head in it, but most of all I hate myself.
Harry has dumped me. He says that the spark has gone; a candle whose flame has been blown out with a poof. How can our years of friendship and more recently love, just disappear in the passing of a few weeks?
I could have punched him in the jaw; he's such a cow to say such a thing. That's right, smack, bam, I want to break your jaw, or your nose, your big fat bulbous nose. I want to see it bleed and I want to see you wail in agony, just as I am doing now.
The whole evening was terrible, just awful. Barely able to grant me the graciousness of a hug, I had greeted him so merrily, foolishly. I had thought it strange that he wanted to meet me at the cinema rather than picking me up from home. Where have your manners gone Harry Styles? And the film, it was two hours of torture. Oh how it dragged whilst Harry just sat there like an expressionless corpse. His whole personality seems to have died; his soul has left his body. What has happened to him to make him return like this?
At least he had the decency to drive me home, but he need not have done, for as we sat there, parked outside my house, he delivered the news. Such a turnip I am, I had thought that he was about to tell me how much he loved me, how much he had missed me, and how although we were both very young, he'd realised whilst he was away that it was with me that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.
'I don't think its working.'
'What's not working?' I looked around, expecting to see that he was referring to part of the car that had broken.
'Me and you,' he paused and I noticed the sweat droplets which lined his upper lip, 'us'.
'Well I'm not going to force you to do something that's obviously so painful.' He was silent. 'I'll see you later then.'

Tuesday 4th January
I can't stop listening to that most desperate Spice Girls song, over and over again, "I need some love like I never needed love before," if only to remind me of Harry; to feel close to him again. It's as if 2 Become 1 was written for us. But if I listen to it one more time then the snot which is dangling from the end of my nose is going to drip in to the boiled egg I've just made, and then it will mix in with the yoke. Such an apt metaphor for the recipe of my life.

Thursday 13th January
As I walked up the hill towards Sixth Form I realised that something was dragging behind me. I turned around but there was nothing to see. Again it persisted. That's when I realised; it was my heart, smashed to pieces, weighted and shackled to my ankle by a rusty old chain. Now that I've noticed it I can't get rid of it, maybe it's been there all along but I never noticed because it wasn't broken before? I imagine that other people have vibrant hearts, filled with helium and which are forever bouncing upwards. If only I could find a way to piece my heart back together so that one day it too may float free towards the skies.

Saturday 22nd January
I'm having a baby; Harry's baby. I'm sure of it, I felt so sick this morning. God, what am I going to do? I'm going to be a teenage mother, and a single parent teenage mother at that. I'm going to have to scrape my hair back in to a ponytail and let the wild wind blow in my face as I walk to town day after day, pushing a pram...a pram with a baby in it! My baby! And all the time I'll be chasing Harry for his unpaid child support payments, and then he'll hate me even more than he does now.

Monday 24th January
'I've lost the baby,' I sobbed.
'What baby?' Natasha was unsympathetic, 'and what do you mean lost it? Since when were you even pregnant?'
'It was Harry's baby.'
'Well how do you know that you've lost it?'
'Because I'm bleeding!!'
'From where?'
'My vagina!'
'Are you sure that you're not just on the blob?' Since when has Natasha been so rational?
'Of course it's not my period. If it was my period I would have been bleeding two days ago, but when that didn't happen I just knew that I was carrying Harry's child. I've had morning sickness and everything, but now it's gone as quickly as it arrived. Our baby; gone. I don't know what to do.'
'I didn't even know that you'd done it?' God I wish she'd stop with all this logiccal thinking.
'Yeah, well that doesn't mean I'm not having his baby. It could have been the next Messiah?'
'You're right, it could have been, but hey at least you're not going to be a teenage mum. I mean it would never have suited you; just imagine having to wear elasticised trousers, how awful.' She does have a point.