She was right, of course. We all put so much pressure on ourselves to be perfect and be everything others expect of us. Perfect is impossible, I was a glowing example of that.
“Yes!” I said, throwing my free hand up. “I’m Nell and I’m imperfect but I’ve never committed murder so get over it.”
Chloe laughed. “You can’t compare not wanting a relationship to murder.”
“Yes, I can. Murder is worse.”
“Not denying that but–”
“Ah ah! Don’t mess with my mojo here. I got this, Chlo.”
“Alright, fine. As long as you’re back to your old self I don’t care what ridiculous methods you use to justify things.”
Neither did I, because I was human and everyone else could fuck off. For the first time since Damon cut me out of his life I felt relatively hopeful. I still missed him much more than I even thought possible but, in time, I’d be okay. That was how it went, right? You had someone, you lost them, and you moved on. All I had to do was focus on other things until it didn’t hurt to think about him. I could do that.
“I’ll speak to you later, Chlo,” I said, pushing the door to KFC open. I wasn’t okay enough to swap greasy chicken with a healthy wrap or sandwich.
“Bye,” she said, still laughing a little.
My perky mood lasted until I got back to work and Reg started to be a prick. All afternoon I spent running around after him, usually making coffee, and booking dinner reservations. Dinner. That wasn’t work related so why did the lazy shit think it was okay to get me to do it? I hated him more than normal and I knew it was because of the whole he-who-I-didn’t-want-to-think-of situation.
When I got home, I walked out of my shoes, dropped my bag and jacket onto the floor and headed to my bedroom to change into some pyjamas. I was done with the day and just wanted to do nothing but lounge on the sofa and eat.
I slumped down with a share size packet of crisps when I was in my fairisle onesie and flicked the TV on. There was just shit on but that was okay because I didn’t want to be engrossed with anything. For a while I just wanted to exist.
Ten minutes in I decided, against my better judgement, to Facebook stalk Damon. I would just check my newsfeed and if he was on it I would allow myself to visit his profile. Yeah, that was perfectly reasonable. Yeah.
I scrolled down the list of people sharing random shit, a few unexplained rants, two people letting the world know what they were eating and Chloe checking in at some restaurant Logan took her to.
Nothing from Damon. Had he deleted me? I wanted to check. I shouldn’t break my own only-if-he-was-in-the-feed rule and check. But who was I kidding. I typed his name in and clicked his profile.
What had I become?
We were still friends. I scrolled down and noticed his last activity was being tagged in Steph’s photos. He was standing too close to her, looking buzzed on alcohol. His dark hair was messy and I didn’t want to know why.
The post was dated the night after he ended things with us. He’d gone out the night after he’d told me he loved me. What the fuck was that?
I was angry. Real, pure, steaming coming from ears, irrationally angry. I tried to suppress it but I couldn’t and felt like crying. He wasn’t mine, never had been but if he could move on so quickly after confessing love then what did that say about me?
Of course I was being absolutely idiotic right now. So he went out. He was hurt and letting off steam. But I never wanted to hurt him and I knew he wouldn’t want to fuck someone else yet. Well, I hoped he wouldn’t.
Flicking through the photos extinguished some of my anger but filled the void with guilt. He looked miserable.
Why can’t I be normal?
The last picture made my stomach roll. I wanted to hurl my phone at the wall. In the background of Steph and some other girl’s selfie was Damon with his tongue down another woman’s throat.
I swallowed what felt like a fucking rugby ball and scalding pain spread through my entire body. He was under no obligation to be faithful to me, never had, but I expected more from him I guess. I hated that that was the last picture too. What happened after? Did he take her home?
Curling into a ball, I stared at the picture, unable to stop punishing myself and look away. Did she wake up in his bed wrapped in his naked body? I scrubbed my eyes and took a few deep, shaky breaths.
Because I was hurt and angry and not at all thinking like a normal person right now, I dialled his number. There was no doubt that I would regret this tomorrow but right now I needed to tell him how I felt.
“Nell,” he said, greeting me like and old acquaintance.
“Did you fuck her?”
Oh, way to go, Nell.
“Excuse me?”
“The girl you were trying to swallow in the club, did you take her home?” Somewhere between losing my clearly tiny mind and calling him in the first place and snapping the word ‘fuck’ I started to cry. It felt like an explosion of emotion that I’d never experienced before and didn’t fully understand, all I knew was that it had to come out or I’d combust.
“What girl?” He snapped back.