Cross the Line

Chapter One

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I never believed myself to be a girl susceptible to such heartache.

The type of heartache that left you in bed, for days, restless and on the urge of pitiful tears. You tried to wash out any of  the harsh realities you found yourself in by rewatching your comfort shows and movies, but it seemed the characters' dilemma was too meticulously related to your own. Or perhaps you sought out those details subconsciously to hurt yourself even more so that you could cast out all the tears you tried to keep placid.

In recent weeks, I found myself immersed within that cycle after prevailing through the denial phase. Now, I am profoundly desolate and engulfed in self-doubt as if the wrongdoing were on my part. I had recollected every conversation, every text, trying greatly to diagnose a reality in which I was the problem. The truth of the matter is that I needed to accept that I was not the issue which would take considerable time and a satisfying closure. The time was a given, however, the closure for which I was not as hopeful. 

Burrowing myself within the soft fleece, I had pulled the blankets up a little past my shoulders so only my head could be visible, and I could continue watching the screen. With the blinds closed and the bedroom light turned off the only thing that illuminated the room was my television. As of late I considered the darkness a comfort and being shielded in blankets a form of protection or security. 

Neither of those things, however, drowned out the sound of my phone pinging or the vibration it created when a message came through. I had been mid schoolwork when my phone rang the first time and since then the rings had become more constant. The third time I tossed my phone at the end of my bed and set my schoolbooks to the side and turned on the television. The fifth time I had a strong urge to respond and the sixth time I turned the volume on the tv significantly higher. I should have turned it off or even set it too silent, but I feared that if I picked it up now, I would surely reply. 

I had been allured by the possibility of getting answers which I so desperately wanted and deserved. I wanted to hear his voice twined with guilt so that I could take it as a sign that it was all his fault. On the other hand, I think if I had not gotten what I wanted from him then I would be utterly disappointed. I refused to go back, I was already having a troubling time pushing forward so why put myself in that position, to go through torment, I refused. 

Sitting up from my otherwise comfortable spot on my bed I dug through the bundled blankets and found my phone and turned it completely off, not before seeing missed calls and their voicemails. Anxiety had created a fullness in my chest and though I could breathe none had been entirely sufficient breaths. The tears that built up in my eyes never seemed to escape as I had been too emotionally exhausted to do so. 

With another hour that had gone by Netflix had asked me if I was still watching the show. The answer to that was the latter. My eyes were set on the screen consuming all that had played, my brain was entirely somewhere else. Somewhere else being on whether I should turn on my phone again and divulge in whatever he had to say. An apology I hoped.

Finn and I dated for eleven months. Initially, when he asked me out it came as a surprise. He never gave any indication that he had feelings for me. What also came as a surprise was me agreeing to let him take me out. I could not deny that at the time I carried no feelings for him and that I also had a challenging time saying no. Though with one good date came a few more and then he asked me to be his girlfriend. Looking back now everything seemed a bit rushed and I rested a bit uneasy thinking that while my feelings for him only grew, his feelings for me began to wither, especially in the last few months of the relationship.

I remember the night of the breakup vividly. I remember him showing up late to my house for a movie date we had planned days prior. His demeanor aloof and he seemed to be in disarray. I had brushed off the caution that surged within me. Instead, I allowed him to choose the movie while I went to the kitchen to grab the food, I made for us. Besides the quick kiss from when he showed up and his hasty hello no other words had been spoken between us.