EVA
PAIN.
Broken.
Confused.
Alone.
Guilty.
There wasn’t a word for what I felt.
What just happened?
So many emotions swirled through the pit of my stomach, taking turns punching me in the gut. I had known Blake was hurting, but I hadn’t understood how much until that point. So much had changed since our moment at Bertha. An unspoken wall of distrust stood immovable between us.
I hung my head. I’d never intended to become the enemy. If time was what he wanted, time was what I’d give him. It was the least I could do, but I wouldn’t let up. He was going to know that I wasn’t going anywhere. If I had to deliver my heart on a silver platter, I’d hand it over to him. As much as this hurt, I wouldn’t let it break me.
That fact was an eye-opener.
It proved how much stronger I was now. I was a survivor. But I was also hurting. And so was he. Together we could be each other’s salve. I just didn’t know how to convince him of that. Funny how the tables had turned. Blake had spent months trying to persuade me of the same thing last semester.
I drifted through the streets on my journey home, feeling lost and uncertain. Without stopping, I kept walking to the back of my apartment in the same dream-state, depositing my bag and jean jacket as I went.
Am I supposed to prove my love or let my love be?
Something called to me, pulling me forward, but I was unsure what it was as I dropped to my bed and put my head in my hands. My hair fell around my shoulders in a blanket while my mind and my subconscious warred. The most ironic part of all of this was that I was finally becoming the woman Blake deserved. I was put together better than I had ever been, which was what I had been holding out for, and now that it was here, he wouldn’t have me. My subconscious scoffed at me.
I pushed play on the dock beside my bed, hoping for a sign. Sliding my back down the side of the mattress, I landed on my behind with a thump as Christina Perri’s, Distance began. Her words were bittersweet as she spoke of a love not returned. Unheard I love you’s as she kept her distance. But the distance was kept to protect him.
How did we get here? After all that we had. Because in my quest to get better, I lost sight of what we had. Of our love and our connection that was stronger than anything. Of the Blake and Angel.
Of the Blake and Angel.
I gripped my shirt in a clump over my chest, the weight of it feeling like a heavy blanket as she sang of her trouble breathing. The realization that I may have pushed him away for the last time was too much to bear. I pictured Blake beside me, knowing I’d already given him all of my broken heartbeats, wondering why I waited so long in the first place.
Recalling a day from months ago, when I’d stood in this room a very broken girl, I lowered my head to peer under my bed. There lay the journal Blake had given me, which I’d tossed aside in my desperation to rid myself of any reminders of him.
Sprawled on my belly, I stretched my arm until I could reach the place where it had been discarded. Feeling the supple leather in my hand again brought with it a wave of emotion as I remembered the day he had given it to me, and the love that had radiated from his eyes. That day I was sure we would last forever. I never would have thought that I was days away from losing him.
A tear splattered onto the leather as I swiped my forearm along my cheek and peeled the book open, each memory coming at me like a slap in the face. All of the pictures he had put there, the notes he’d left me on the trails he’d set out for our first date, the page which held my necklace. I fingered my bare neckline and pulled the book to my chest, crumbling at the reminder that I’d broken that gift and tossed it aside, along with him.
How did I let this happen?
My heart broke around that book. The book that was intended to be the happy one. The one meant to be kept separate from the original, which held only heartache. I squeezed it to me, allowing it to absorb some of the pain bleeding from me.
Then, frantic, I pulled it away, not wanting it to be tainted by any of my negative energy. I left the room in as much of a dream-state as I’d entered it, my eyes a bit more sore on the way out. I placed the journal on the floor where I could see it, then secured my hair in a ponytail, and jabbed my finger into the play button. My workout playlist came on with a blast through the speakers surrounding my gym nook, and I jumped with a start. Grabbing my chest, I dialed it back a drop. The blood pumping in my veins was the wakeup call I needed to snap me back to reality.
Standing, I stared at myself in the mirror. My shoulders appeared squarer lately, though at the moment they were drooping around the edges. My legs were tighter, defined around my calves and thighs. Arms that used to be slightly boney now wore a bump around the bicep and lines defining muscles twining to my wrists. Physically I was strong, tight, unbreakable.
I stared into the green depths of my eyes as though I could show myself inside. Though heartbroken, a confidence showed through my irises that had once been so hollow, so guarded. That was the biggest difference. There was a sense of freedom that showed there. Along the way, I’d begun to let go of the past, and the weight of it was missing there, the gates that never invited anyone in were almost gone.
I ground my fist into my chest, the callouses on my palms making themselves known on my fingertips. I was still missing one more piece. A solid body, a strong mind . . .
And a broken heart.
The other two could never operate at full capacity without the latter.
I scooped up my free weights and curled up, repeating countless repetitions as I mulled over all of these thoughts. Over and over again, I had begged Blake for more time, and each time he’d given it to me. How could I not give him the same courtesy?
Because you’re scared the time has passed and he won’t be back.
I threw the dumbbells down and grabbed my gloves, needing to pound on something. The speed bag would bear the brunt of the torture I felt in my heart. My mind kept reeling through the barra-ta-ta, barra-ta-ta, of the bag as it jolted from each whack of my fist. My playlist switched to Fight Song, by Rachel Platten, the slow piano not really matching the strength in my strides. I punched one final blow with the side of my fist before discarding the gloves and dropping to the mat.
Crunch after crunch, my abs burned each time I would rise up and punch the air.
One—Two.
My fight song.
I was a fighter now.
Crunch. One—Two—Three—Four.
Can you hear my voice . . .
My lip curled over my teeth, sweat dropping through them as I pushed harder.
One—Two.
Take back my life . . .
I popped to my feet and threw punches toward the mirror, watching my form as I danced around with myself, shadow boxing.
She sang about not caring if nobody else believed, and it hit me how done I was. I was done caring, too. The truth was the truth, and I needed to be rid of it to feel clean again.
I returned to the floor to do burpees, while the song picked up the pace. Each drop brought me eye-level with Blake’s journal. So close my nose was practically touching it.
My fight song.
Hop up. Down.
Take back my life.
Journal.
Forget not . . . you’re a strong and incredible person.
Another of his forget me nots. I was strong now.
I was a fighter, the burn in my veins reminded me. So why not fight for the thing that mattered most—the war of my heart. A sweat-soaked grin split my face as I lowered to the floor on my last rep. With my weight on my wrists, I leaned forward on my toes and placed a kiss on the top of the journal before bouncing back to my feet.
Game on.