Blink

Chapter One

I wanted to scream, as loud as possible, but nothing came out. It seemed like the whole world was on mute, moving drudgingly in a slow motion replay.

"I could never love you."

I wanted to die right there on the concrete train station floor, but I couldn't bring myself to even breathe. A gloved hand was extended toward him before time stood still, but I slowly inched it back into my pocket. A shaky exhale brought the world into its normal pace again.

He sighed. "You just aren't good enough for me."

I inhaled again. My body was shutting down. A switch was flicked in my brain and I was going to self destruct.

Exhale. Inhale. Speak.

"How could my heart breaking not be good enough? How could all of me not amount to enough for you?"

Inhale. Exhale.

Blink.

Turn around.

Right foot. Left foot.

A large hand grabbed the forearm of my loose jacket, but I shrugged it off.

Shrug the coat back on.

Right foot. Blink. Inhale.

Blink. Exhale. Left foot. Inhale.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

I made it home at about three thirty half gone. Muscles ached, head pounded, heart wounded. But I made it safely into my secure sheets and safe bed.

I tried to sleep without medication, and a few hours of solitude and a little NyQuil made no difference to my state. It was three in the afternoon when he said no. It was four in the afternoon when I blinked myself into reality again. It was five when I lost my sense of direction. It was six when I lost my barrier of pride and disbelief.

It was seven when I first lost my mind.

Do you ever get the feeling like you won't ever amount to anything? I do. I did that day. I kept mulling over things I didn't say, things that might have actually made a difference.

I tried to remember the feeling I got when I first kissed him. I couldn't. I recalled everything about that day, the toasty April sunshine and the smell of pumpkin pie and aftershave (he always smelled like pumpkin pie and aftershave), but I couldn't remember that feeling. I spent ten months in a relationship with a man and I couldn't remember that feeling. What was I doing?

It was January 4th and I cried until it was so dark I couldn't pretend to see my hand in front of my face. It was about midnight or a little after when I began to think back over the eleven months I'd known him.

His name was Sam. Samuel, really. From Ireland. Moved to North Carolina when he was barely three. Didn't have a cool accent, really, save a few words he'd say to make me laugh. Loved the sound of my laugh. I would laugh more when I was around him, or so my friends would tell me. Don't know when we first met. He always said it was at Mary's house, but I never believed him. I would have remembered his jet black hair and skinny chicken legs. I would have remembered such enticing green eyes, light dancing in them like a flame.

I missed his flame.

He had a tattoo of barbed wire on his left bicep. He claimed it represented his struggles as a child to make something of himself.

As I mulled over everything at midnight that night, the only thing that stupid barbed wire meant was his cold heart and determination to shake me off.