The Real

But I couldn’t, so my heart bled freely and I ran.

And life wasn’t done with me yet.

No, life was a villainous vampire who refused to let up until I was an empty shell. I spent my days with the dead weight of my heart, holding it tightly to me while I exhausted myself running through Chicago. Every step crushing me while my every racing thought was amplified by the loss of him.

I wandered aimlessly, ignoring my needs, thirsty for only him. I’d convinced myself it was inevitable. I just wasn’t ready for it. And no matter how I tried to cover the wound, it emulated through my whole body. Lost and unable to believe in recovery, I ran, searching for some semblance of order. There were no numbers I could make sense of, no calculations for easy resolve, but numbers never lied.

After a record-breaking six miles downtown, I rode the train without direction, got lost in the reality of others, watching those who I passed and then sinking into myself when I could no longer fathom having a new reality of my own.

The first notes of Hand Me Down by Matchbox Twenty began to filter through my earbuds as I exited the L for another night alone with my tortured thoughts. I hadn’t reached out to Bree, only texting the bare minimum to keep her at bay. I hadn’t reached out to anyone. I wasn’t living, I wasn’t existing, I was paralyzed to those minutes at the foot of my porch.

Forever a fool, I’d thought it was finally my time. I somehow thought I could be the woman to have earned the life of my choosing. But love was a cruel charade of mismatched hearts, and I’d played it long enough. All that was left was the big empty. I welcomed it back like an old friend I secretly despised. At least there, I was safe. At least in that place, I knew where I stood.

The words of the song hit me hard as my face flooded with ironic tears. The rip was too far inside, I couldn’t reach the hemorrhage. It tore wider as I passed Sunny Side. Unable to tamp down my emotion, I was openly crying in the street with my chin tucked in my jacket shouldering the cold and welcoming the numbing chill that kept me running.

A man paused next to me in wait at the crosswalk and I wiped a stray tear away and braved a glance in his direction. Rude as it may have been I nodded as he spoke without a clue as to what he was saying, my earbuds full of the serenade of my demise—Cameron and Abbie’s greatest hits. Desperate to start running, to mask my pain, I took the cue to walk when the man next to me began to move. Out of habit, I looked up and had a previous prayer answered.

You’re a cruel bitch life.

Cameron stood on the other side of the street, his dry-cleaning hooked on his finger at his shoulder, a basketball at his opposite hip, his emerald eyes on me. Blinking furiously, I tried to wash the illusion away and froze mid-step in the middle of the street. Cameron flinched as a cabbie laid on his horn, while the man next to me pounded on the hood screaming that we had

the right of way. Knees weak and heart hammering, I began walking again in Cameron’s direction while he stood in wait, his expression solemn.

You wanted to know if that soul altering love still existed, Abbie. Here’s your proof.

Only a man can make you feel like you have the world one minute and take it away the next. And they only have that power because we give it to them.

Intent on walking past, he reached out and grabbed my coat sleeve in an attempt to stop me, and I rang out a sharp, “no.” His hand instantly retreated, and I met his eyes briefly and my heart plummeted. Unshed tears glistened in his depths and I shook my head.

Tearing myself away—destroyed—I sobbed openly as I sped home. But even behind the safety of my door I was flooded with fresh memories and sank into a puddle behind it. Seconds later Bree appeared from my living room, scorn written all over her features due to my shitty communication. I saw it disappear as she read my face and squat in front of me.

She pulled my earbuds out and gripped the hands resting on top of my knee.

“Abbie, what happened?”

I shook my head, unable to talk. I was too raw, even after so many days of going black. I didn’t have the luxury of being numb.

“Oh, God,” I cried, before she pulled me into her arms and cried with me.

“You look beautiful,” I said to Bree as she traipsed around the hotel dressing room in her vintage wedding dress. A golden butterfly clasp in her hair—a gift from her groom—held up most of her blond locks as the rest flowed in loose curls at the V of her back. It was perfect and perfectly suited for her, just like her groom.

“I’m going to live this bride thing up,” she said as she turned to face me with her hands on her hips. “It’s like prom, but I’m not scared of losing my virginity this time.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“That’s one way of looking at the best day of your life. And you weren’t a virgin at your prom.”

“I was at the one I went to my freshman year, Ms. You’re Judging Me. And I love Anthony. He’s got the best bedside manner of any guy I’ve ever met, a big dick, and today I’m marrying them both. The possibilities are endless.”

I laughed my first full laugh in weeks.

“God, I’m so glad you’re staying in Chicago. I don’t know what I would do if you left.”

She fastened a teardrop diamond earring and spoke to my reflection. “He passed up that job in New York, which would have meant early retirement for me, but I love our life here. He got the shit end of the deal, but he doesn’t care. He’s even living with me in Wicker so I can stay close to you. Thank you for giving him to me.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t give him to you. I introduced you.”

“Same thing. He’s gorgeous and so naughty and perfect. Why didn’t you try for him yourself?”

I plucked a loose rose petal off her bouquet and sniffed it, my eyes threatening to water.