Free As I Fade (One Breath at a Time: Book 1) by Leilani Bennett

mantra. “What is written makes it so”—I mean according to my grandmother, the universe does not know the difference between fiction and reality.
    After rereading the emotional letter to my ex, I focused on my closing— Break A Leg. I laughed to myself at my closing. It was very apropos because my ex happened to be an aspiring actor. It seemed as if it was the perfect way to end the letter. He would have no idea that I meant it in the literal sense. Then again, in tune with the rest of the letter, I was sure he would figure it out that I definitely meant it literally!
    Then came the most nerve-wracking moment—the time to actually send the letter. I slid the cursor up and over to the little blue send button. After all, hovering over the send button was the easy part; actually clicking it was a different story.
    A gut-wrenching pang oscillated in the pit of my stomach as the cursor blinked in anticipation. That feeling of regret we have all experienced from time to time, swept over me.
    “ Do not send it,” a little voice whispered.
    I had to tell myself to breathe, one breath at a time. Deep breaths—it’s going to be fine. Don’t panic.
    I closed my eyes and tapped my index finger against the mouse pad. It was complete. Within seconds, his phone would alert him that he had an email from me.
    As the moment passed, that feeling of impending doom eased in my chest. With one click of a button, there was no more pressure beating down on me, no more threats of an unknown female scratching her nails across his back, and no more lies bringing me to my knees. It was true; he’d pushed me past the point of breaking, causing me to become pathetic on many levels.
    Stupid girl, I thought, scolding myself. But, of course, it was my own fault for believing in fairytale romances and happy endings.
    “ Good riddance to bad rubbish,” I muttered out loud in a British dialect, quoting the phraseology that was originally coined by Tobias Smollett in The Critical Review, 1805. The quote had special meaning to me. My grandmother often used the expression. She always exhaled a modest little sigh of “ha-ha” after saying it; I found her quote extremely befitting in this case.
    “ Enjoy the shit-eating feast, asshole!” I spat out the pithy words. I tried to laugh, but a lump snagged in my throat.
    ‘ It is over’ rang through the silence of my mind as if to consummate the closure. The quiet void of the room sank around me, a pool of tears swirled in my eyes. The sorrow in my heart was greater than in my mind.
    Fight it...damn it...don’t cry—don’t give in to the heartache.
    I wiped the tears away with the hemline of my shirt.
    The letter was riddled with such anger. Sighing deeply, I stopped second-guessing whether or not I should have sent the letter. More than likely, he probably would not even read it. I tried to convince myself of this. After all, what was the point of reading mean hate mail, right?
    I closed my laptop, and my eyes scanned the vacant apartment, stopping at my six large suitcases that waited by the front door. The suitcases were filled with one year’s worth of carefully selected garments and designer shoes. Each packed meticulously. The insoles were stuffed with the finest tissue paper.
    Everything was in motion, slow motion. The doorman rang my intercom. He was on his way up to my apartment to help with my bags. It was time—too late to turn back now.
    The words “single,” “freedom,” and “adventure!” ran on a ticker-tape through my mind. That’s right, I thought to myself, my future was brighter than all I could have ever imagined. There was no looking back, I convinced myself. And, like the wind, I was off to embark in my new life in Paris!
     
    * * *
     
    To my knowledge, the affirmations did not work on my ex. He more than likely never ate shit, and as far as I knew he was still alive and well. Unfortunately, when you say or wish bad things on others, somehow as Karma has it, your