Chapter 3

It’s only been a day since I left him, but it feels like an eternity. The apartment is eerily quiet while Sarah and her boyfriend, Marcus, visit his family for the next six days. I have all technology switched off, so Jake can’t contact me, and I’m slowly dying inside. It doesn’t feel like I belong back here, in this apartment. Queens isn’t where I should be anymore either.

The anger sweeps through me, followed closely by grief, then mourning. I can’t seem to be still. Every part of me cycles through emotions over and over. I feel like I’m caught in a nightmare I can’t wake up from, and everything around me is surreal. My palms are cold, and my body trembles, but I feel hot and sick. I’ve tried to do something other than lie on the bed and sob, but I’ve lost all my capabilities.

The years I was hurt and abused at the hands of men used to somehow give me the strength to fight back. No matter what they did, my anger fueled me to be better. But Jake has left me barren and empty. There’s nothing in me but an agonizing pit of despair and hopelessness as I lie crumpled and useless on a bed.

Food doesn’t tempt me, I can’t swallow water, and the thought of getting up is abhorrent to me. I’ve thrown up so many times since I got here. Maybe a reaction to the emotional trauma.

Thoughts of Jake and Marissa run over and over through my head. My imagination is taking hold, running wild, seeing them kissing passionately, hands running up and down her body pushing things further. I can’t shake it; every new visualization becomes more detailed and more excruciating than the last. I’m literally torturing myself into insanity.

I’ve no idea how far things went or how they even started, but my mind is slowly tormenting me. I know if I stay here like this, I’ll slowly go insane or die from starvation. I need to get up and shower, get up and eat. Just get up and not lie, falling into oblivion. I need to start rationalizing my thoughts to help process what has happened.

You need to pick up the pieces and file them into the back of your head. You are better than this!

I finally drag myself up, sitting and watching the rain fall down the window from my padded, silver-gray headboard. The dark gray sky brings a dull light to everything around me in my stark modern room. It seems to echo how I feel inside. I’ve no idea what time it is; it ceased to exist the moment he told me what he did.

I pull myself to standing, ashamed that I’m still in his T-shirt and running pants, acknowledging the mess of me. I don’t want his smell around me or the memory of him so close. I must pull myself together and look like I’m coping with life. Maybe by doing this, I’ll find my old resolve.

I force myself into the small shower of my apartment. The confines of the cheerful pink bathroom Sarah insisted on decorating brings me a little comfort, a minor spark of happiness amid a sea of darkness. A touch of Sarah with her bright, happy face pushes Marissa aside for a moment, giving my head respite.

***

I’m a little saner from the harsh jets of hot water drilling into my skull, distracting me from my reality, and I stand that way until my legs go numb, like a mindless drone on autopilot.

I dress in fresh clothes and brush out my hair before moving to unpack my things into the empty wardrobe.

The doorbell ringing snaps my focus around, and I hesitate, stomach lurching in panic. Sarah won’t be back for a few days, and I’m not expecting anyone I can think of. Experiencing a moment of fear as my gut tells me it might be him, that maybe he doesn’t want to give me space to think, but I can’t see him so soon. My insides go weak, turning to liquid mush, my legs become rubber, and my hands start sweating. I’m close to fainting when sense steps in.

Wait!

My brain snaps into focus, telling me it’ll be Mathews with my belongings! I asked him to bring them to me sooner rather than later, wanting the pain of the task out of the way quickly. I feel ridiculous and try to regain some stability in my legs.

Get a grip, Emma. Breathe… Count… Breathe.

I stumble to the door through the open-plan lounge opening it hesitantly without checking the spy hole, willing myself to find the courage and poise to hide the internal disaster that I am.

I’m right, and Mathews stands with another man dressed in matching black, holding cases, a serious expression on his face. I know he’s taking me in, trying to ascertain how I am without asking. It’s what he does. He appraises people instantly, analyzing me at a glance.

“Miss. Anderson, shall I have everything brought in?” His deep gravelly voice is comforting. I smile emptily, moving out of the way, gesturing they should, finding PA Emma, pushing her out in front to take control of my lifeless body for a while.

It doesn’t take long to bring the cases and boxes in; my head and heart hurt a little more each time. I didn’t realize how much I accumulated moving in with Jake; ever generous, always flourishing me with clothes via Donna or little surprise things among my jewelry or shoes, even down to books I read. Always finding a new one beside my bed when I was nearing the end of the one I had.

He never ceased to anticipate my needs knowing exactly what I’d like. He never made a big thing of it, though. No large dancing gesture, presenting me with gifts he knew I’d feel embarrassed about accepting… so he’d slot them in with my things to find while alone. I never refused anything that way, always warmed by the thoughtful touches he left for me.

God, I miss him so much. He always knew what I needed.