Chapter One: Closer to the End

This is my very first draft of the very beginning to my very first book.

The idea of finding a hobby was overwhelming. Who has time for hobbies? It’s already felt like a hobby just trying to decide on a hobby, and quite honestly, it was making me anxious. New state, no friends, no life, just work. I need a hobby. I stared at the computer screen staring back at me. Nothing seemed like something I’d be interested in. Drinking, now that’s something I really got a hang of.

                I closed my lap top and let out a big sigh, sitting back on my uncomfortable couch. Staring up at the ceiling, I admitted defeat and grabbed the TV remote. Maybe I could learn to relax. Relaxation can be my new hobby. Two minutes into a program, I was up and pacing the living room. This is going to be impossible.

                I looked over at the picture of us that still sat on the end table. Why couldn’t I bring myself to throw away all this s**t? It just sits around mocking me. I can’t stand those smug blue eyes looking back at me. That cocky half smirk of his. This is torture, but I guess I’ve always been a glutton for punishment. I rolled my eyes at myself; picked my computer back up, go back to staring blankly at Pintrest.

                The next day was Sunday, which meant another dreadfully long, lonely day. I could grab the bus to Manitou, but what would I do there? Eat lunch by myself? Look at an endless amount of Tibetan prayer flags? The thought of spending the day there by myself made me feel queasy. I looked at the empty pillow next to me and closed my eyes. The tears just keep on comin’ and it’s since been a week that he left. Why do I still feel the same ache? I manage to talk myself out of bed and sluggishly make my way to the kitchen to make coffee. He was always the one to make coffee in the morning, and although he made it too weak for my liking, it was just one of those little things I missed most.

                After sitting on my patio, staring blankly at the hustle of the dirty street corner I lived on while absent mindedly sipping my coffee, which was perfectly strong, I walked back over to my laptop. I typed in a website Mar told me about. I had called her a few days prior about not knowing anyone. She said this website had different groups for different people with different interests, and since I actually lived in a city now, I should have no problem finding a group that would fit my interest. I put in my zip code and a screen listing off these specific groups loaded. “SECULAR HIKERS. For Atheists, humanists, spiritualists who like to hike.” I stared at it for about five minutes before deciding to join the group. I wasn’t necessarily an atheist; I was definitely a humanist, except, of course, for the fact that I couldn’t care less for most humans, and at one point in my life I was a spiritualist. After joining, I clicked the option to “view next meeting.” I saw that there was one the following Saturday, and luckily enough for me, the meet up spot wasn’t far from a bus stop. I promised myself that I would make the honest effort of going, and making new friends. Plus a little hike wouldn’t hurt, considering the few pounds I’ve put on in the past few months. I stared in the mirror at my newly acquired weight. Anyone else, you wouldn’t have noticed, on me, it was horrible and ugly. No wonder he stopped loving me.

                By noon I had picked up my phone for what could quite possibly be the 100^th time, thankfully, for the 100^th time that day, I decided against calling him, and instead called a different ex. The one I used to silently refer to as my “great white buffalo”. At least I considered him that until 7 days ago. That’s when I realized Mike wasn’t my great white buffalo, the man I lost 7 days ago was. On the 3^rd ring he answered, “Hey. What’s going on? I saw on Facebook that you’re a little broken hearted. How are you doing?”

                “Not good,” why was I so whiny? “I’m sorry I called, I just… I just don’t… Am I just such a terrible girlfriend?” I can’t believe I blurted that out.

                Mike nervously laughed before answering. “You’re not a terrible girlfriend, come on Hun, you were young when we were together, of course you made mistakes with us. But you were 21, I was 31. That’s ten years of growing up I’ve had over you. There was bound to be some issues.”

                “Is that a yes?” I was crying by that point.

                “No, no, you were perfect. We were just in different worlds by the end. You had to have your heart broken a few more times, I was ready to settle down…again…” He stopped after that, of course, considering he was married when he and I had met. I never meant to be the home wrecker, I didn’t even know I was, until months after he left his wife and kids and we were already blissfully living together. His brother let me in on that shocker during his first visit with us. “Look, you’re 28 now. That’s YEARS of growing up. I’ve seen it on your Facebook, I’ve been told by your dad,” (the fact that him and my father were still buddy buddy still bothered the s**t out of me); “I hear it in your voice. You’re great. You’re a great person, and I’m sure you were a great girlfriend. Wasn’t he young? What, 24, right? Come on, it was bound to end. Just like with us. I grew, you didn’t catch up, and the exact opposite happened this time around, that’s all.”

                I sniffled, “Yeah…” I realized speaking with him wasn’t helping, not that I could have thought it would have, but who knew what I was thinking when I decided to call him. “I’m gonna get off the phone now. I just want to lie around and feel sorry for myself.”

                “Aww, don’t do that, Hun,” That would have made my knees weak a year earlier, him calling me “Hun,” with that slight drawl of his, but now it had no effect. Mike promised he’d call later in the week to see how I was holding up. I agreed that would be nice, hung up the phone and spent the rest of the night crying into my pillow.

                By 11 pm, I realized that I still had an hour before the liquor store closed. 6 months of sobriety, be damned. I was going to get drunk. The consequence of working with a hangover the next day was a petty threat. I dried my eyes and threw my hair in a loose bun. I looked in my full length mirror before deciding the sweats stay on as well as the baggy t-shirt. It was his t-shirt. I threw on a hoody and made my way across the street to buy the biggest bottle of vodka I could find. I was only stopped once, by a man obviously high on crack, asking for a cigarette. I didn’t bring my pack so I just shrugged and quickened my step to the store.

                15 minutes later I was back home with a half-gallon of the cheapest vodka and a bottle of cranberry juice. 3 hours later I finally passed out, too drunk to remember my name, and too drunk to remember why I was drinking in the first place.

 

 

                Monday morning. How many times must I smash the snooze button before the damn clock gets the point? Apparently, 20. I overslept by two hours. I quickly texted my boss and prayed he’d have another ounce of forgiveness.  After taking 3 days PTO last week and a slight break down last Friday, I was pretty sure there was no doubt I was reaching the end of his patience. Relief flooded when I received his reply: “Get your a*s here.” Well, it’s better than a text saying I was fired. My head was pounding. I looked at the half empty bottle of vodka on my night stand. Oh god, foggy memories started stabbing their way into my head. I called him…oh god, I called him. Did I talk to him? No, no I remember I called multiple times, there was no answer. I’m pretty sure he hater buttoned me every time. That hurts even more. Why didn’t he answer? Who was he with? Who’s bed was he keeping warm last night, since it wasn’t the one we bought together. I can’t think of this right now, I have to get ready for work.

                The day dragged on and I had to excuse myself to the bathroom more than once to try, and fail, at keeping back the tears. Every time I thought of him, I pictured him with someone else. I thought for sure he must be flirting, hugging, kissing some other woman. I wasn’t enough and he had to find more. He was a great person, no doubt he’d have no trouble finding more very quickly. My stomach was in knots all day. The end of the day wasn’t much of a relief; it just meant going home alone, again. He took the dog, so I didn’t have her to at least be happy when I got home. All I had was silence. Silence, loneliness, and a fridge full of food that I had bought for us. I had a nice dinner planned out for every item of food I bought. The chicken for his favorite Italian meal I make. The curry because it always reminds us of when we first got together. The hot sauce, that hot sauce was for him. I didn’t even like hot sauce.

                I kept my phone on silent while I took a long shower. The water was scolding hot and the shower was pointless besides being a distraction. I didn’t have the energy to wash my now greasy hair; I didn’t even feel like smelling the floral of the soap. It smelt too happy for how I was feeling. I lay on my bed still wet and naked; I hadn’t done laundry during the weekend so I had no clean towels. Honestly, it didn’t faze me. I grabbed my phone out of habit and saw I had a missed call. It was from him. My heart raced its way to my throat. Should I call him back? No, I’d seem desperate. F**k it, I was. I called him back immediately.

                “Hey,” God, his voice.

                “Hey, you called? Sorry about last night. I was… I drank a bit.”

                “Yeah, I was pretty drunk too.”

                “Oh yeah? Where are you staying?” Why did I ask that? Did I really want to know?

                “I’m staying with some friends. We had a pretty crazy party last night.”

                “Oh,” Who did he get drunk and fall in love with last night? Why am I torturing myself with that thought? Because it’s probably true. “You still have some things here.”

                “Yeah, I’m not too worried about it. I guess you can throw it away, or bring it to my dad’s or something. I don’t think it’s a good idea if I go over there.” He’s already accepted that it’s done. There’s no going back.

                I felt tears rushing to my eyes, “I should go.” I hung up the phone, and once again spent the rest of the night crying.

                Tuesday morning I woke up, the mornings were getting harder and harder. The more days that passed the more I gave up hope we’d end up back together. I should’ve let my walls down. I should have said yes when he asked me to marry him. I should have been okay that the apartment sometimes got messy and we didn’t have a lot of money. I shouldn’t have been so demanding, so picky. I should have showed him how much I loved him, but instead I just kept pushing him away. What the hell is wrong with me?

                I looked at the clock. I was actually up early enough to make myself look half way decent. I jumped in the shower, washing my hair this time, as well as scrubbing my body with the loofa until I felt raw and red. I spent twenty minutes on my hair and makeup, each. I looked decent, the best I had in a week and a half by far. Now it’s just a matter of finding something to wear. Most of my clothes I had sent from back home fit a little too snuggly. I would have to wear a thrift store outfit I bought here. I found a cute skirt, knee length and pleated brown, and paired it with a white halter and a brown sweater to match the skirt. I cringed as I looked at the only pair of shoes that would match. Knee high brown high heeled boots. I hate heels. My confidence was instantly boosted to a 20%, which was 19% more than it had been.

                I walked into work and the instant attention I received, although flattering, was almost intolerable. I wanted to hide. It felt nice to hear I look nice, but there was still that sympathetic look in the eyes of the coworkers who knew what I was going through. Pity compliments, I’d rather hang myself. I made it through the day without having to run to the bathroom to cry. I got home still feeling the little bit of confidence I acquired from taking time on my appearance that morning. I wanted to go out. I wanted to do something. I ran to my lap top and typed in the address to a well-known dating site. I had never been on one of these before, but I desperately needed to do something other than come home every night and cry.

                I stared at the “join” option and remembered I had half a bottle of vodka left. This was going to take some liquid courage. I made myself a mix drink, disappointed in how easily the vodka went down. I didn’t realize it would still have the same effect on me six months later. Last night I just had the goal to get drunk, so I didn’t pay attention to how it went down. This time I couldn’t help but savor every second.

                About me….. I stared at the portion for about fifteen minutes before deciding what to write. “About me? Well, I’m 28. I’m not from here, in fact I’ve only lived here for about 6 months. I don’t know anyone out here. I have no friends or family out here,” perfect ad for all the serial killers out there… I deleted it right away. “About me: I’m 28 and have only been in Colorado Springs for about 6 months. I moved out here from Arizona for a boy. I know, lamest reason in the book.” Did that make me sound like I have a good sense of humor? Or did it just make me sound pathetic? 3^rd try, “About me. I’m 28 years old and I am new to Colorado Springs. I haven’t lived here long and I don’t know many people around here. I’m not looking for a relationship, a date, or a hookup. I’m on here to meet cool people to do cool things with. I’d like to get out there and go hiking and camping, and to check out the best this town has to offer, so mostly I’m looking for a friend and a tour guide. I’m from a small town in Arizona so as you can imagine, the scenery is a little different.” Another gulp of vodka aaaaand SUBMIT. 

Reviews

[MFrano1]

You're too repetitive in your wording. Everything you say you echo in the next line. You could cut back on that a bit- a little is okay to make certain lines stand out, but you're a bit excessive. As this is a rough draft that's understandable, it's just something to watch out for :) Aside from that you seem to be a pretty good writer, though you should also double space any paragraphs that jump from one day to the next, or any significant amount of time. You put the two seperate paragraphs so that they touch, and that'll make readers think they're in the same time period. Aside from that the story is interesting and draws you in. You want to know if she heals and how she does it. Good luck in writing it, I hope you get published :)