chapter 1: Allicia
It was a cold Saturday morning. Rain had poured all night. The sky outside was still cloudy, a bit windy, with tiny droplets trickling down the windowpanes.
I checked the clock. 6:34 a.m.
My head throbbed from last night's partying. I could barely remember how I got into bed. I tried to sit up, to piece together fragments of memory, but the pain only grew worse. All I could do was lie there—helpless, aching, confused.
I muttered something. Maybe a prayer. Not that it mattered. Then it hit me again—the pain, the confusion, the hurt. The hatred. And the reason I had gone out last night.
Then came the questions. Did I deserve this? Am I a bad person? It wasn't my fault, was it? Why does this always happen to me? Was I to blame? But it was never just me, was it? Am I just unlucky?
It dawned on me—I could have dodged this bullet from the start. I remembered those nights I soaked my pillow in tears. Words I couldn't say. Emotions I couldn't express. Pain only I could feel. I cried until sleep took me.
"Life's unfair," I whispered. I had finally found my voice. I decided to move on. Yes, that's what I had to do. Move on. This was the nine-hundredth time I had said it. It made me feel strong every time. But did it really? Had I buried the pain—or just hidden it under a pile of leaves?
None of it mattered, as long as I could feel good, even if just for a while. It took the hurt away temporarily. But then, after a while, it always came back.
This had been the routine for six weeks now. Longer than any heartbreak I had ever experienced. The days dragged on, each darker than the last. I was unproductive at work, distracted, carrying the look of someone who had lost touch with reality. I lost weight. Food lost its taste and meaning.
"You should consider taking therapy," my boss said. He had noticed my absent-mindedness. I nodded, not really hearing him.
My friend Caroline—more like a sister—tried her best to comfort me. "You poor darling," she'd say. "You'll hurt yourself. Look, I made you some cookies. I always eat them when I'm sad, and they help. There's chocolate too. Come on babes, don't give up on me."
She would tease and taunt me playfully, trying to make me laugh. But it was all to no avail. I had no emotions left. I felt blank, like a clean slate or a new notebook. I'd put a few pieces of chocolate in my mouth, but they were tasteless. Or had I forgotten what chocolate tasted like? One time, it even tasted like mud. I really don't know.
But through all this, I understood what my problem was.
I was heartbroken.
Rejected. Hurt. Lost.
I loved someone. So much. So deeply. It felt like my life depended on him.
His name was Nicole.
And I dare say, I loved him with every part of my being.
The thought of his name brought a familiar icky feeling—with a touch of nostalgia.
But it hadn't always been like this. There was a time when thinking of him brought joy. I'd pause in a blissful moment of daydreaming, remembering his soft, deep voice, his kind eyes, his beautiful smile—always showing off perfect teeth. And oh, his smell. Like fresh petals from a flower I never knew, but always recognized.
He was always neat. Hair and beard, well-groomed. He stood at six feet. A perfect gentleman.
But what I admired most? He always had the right answers. Like he could read my mind. His calm baritone voice soothed me, always saying exactly what I needed to hear.
I loved him.
And as I thought of him, I smiled to myself. Yes, he made me smile. Whispered naughty things in my ear that would crack me up in laughter.
But then... the crack.
The fracture that ruined it all.
And that's where it all begins.