Chapter 1: The End
"Have you finished your coffee?" I had asked you this a thousand times before: on a monday morning before work, on a lazy sunday afternoon in a local diner, while writing a research report for homework, as a whisper in your ear after a late night out. This question sounded the same way as all the other times, but we both knew this time was different. This was probably the last time I would ask you something so normal, so mundane.
The after smell of brewed coffee envelops the apartment along with the aroma of vanilla scented candles and lavender incense. I made an effort to make the place homely and warm. I put out new blankets after I donated the ones that we bought together. I took down the picture frames of us on our beach trip to Northern Georgia and our pool party on the Fourth of July. I wonder if you think the fridge looks bare without your love letters hanging from magnets that display pictures of the places we'd been. I wonder if you even notice they're gone.
......
I wasn't made for heartbreak. Even my name, Addie, means fragile. But here I am –sitting amidst the pain with the person who caused it– making small talk about coffee.
Nights are the worst. Even if I listen to the sound of a calming meditation tape, have a warm bath, use enough incense and essential oils to drown my sense of smell, and fall asleep after taking too many melatonin pills, I still wake up in a half-filled bed.
This morning, I woke to Mother Earth storming and clanking her branches against my window, singing along the sound of turmoil. Humming a tune that sounded like "you're not feeling this alone."
I thought about how after we broke up you said we can still be friends. That's a nice thought: somewhere down the line we laugh about how little we know in this moment, but I don't think you have any intention of actually keeping in touch. And you shouldn't send me late night rants or early morning check-ins because I know you will over analyze every word you send and everything you read. And you don't deserve that.
I don't think either of us expected for this "moving out" day to come so quickly; Just a week ago we were meeting for lunch, talking about ways to make this work, studying our schedules to find another time to meet, and trying to sort our feelings out together. Only a few days later I was in the driver's seat of my car crying into a pile of sunflowers you gave me. Telling you that even though I still loved you, I can't do this anymore.
.....
"Yeah, I think I'm done," you say quietly, looking towards the door, then back at me. I know you have something else to say but you are far too in touch with your feelings to make this any harder for the both of us. Meanwhile, all I can think about is yelling every thought that comes into my head, but instead, I just nod.
I pick up my keys and say "I'll drive."
I have an hour car ride with you until we get to your apartment so I can get the rest of my things. This is going to be an interesting ride I think to myself.
