Free Intentional by MK Harkins Page B

enough I can convince myself that this is not happening, that my life hasn’t totally unraveled. I can’t, though. I have to know.
    I walk closer. Jeremy’s expression turns to panic. “Please, no. Please, Mattie. I’m so sorry!” I move closer. The blonde digs under the covers, trying desperately to cover herself. It seems like slow motion as I lift the sheets to reveal the destroyer of my life.
    I see another pair of panicked eyes. These eyes are more familiar to me than Jeremy’s. Sarah. I love her. I love Jeremy. This is not happening. I want this nightmare to be over. Please let me wake up.

Two Months Later

February

Mattie
    I know this has to stop. Something has to give. A person cannot die of a broken heart. Believe me, I know. I’ve been waiting—and it’s just not happening.
    My days are a dreary routine, broken only by gut-wrenching sobs and the occasional bowl of cereal. I don’t know why I even bother with the cereal—it tastes like cardboard.
    I look around my kitchen. Sarah and I rented this house mainly because of its top-of-the-line appliances. I haven’t used them in months. I don’t have the energy to cook.
    All my energy has been taken up by survival, pure and simple. Why, though, I don’t know. Why do I bother? I know I’m in a deep depression, because my will to live has faded. Can I live without Jeremy? Do I want to live without him? I don’t even want to think about Sarah yet. Why would she do this? How could she do this? She knew how much I loved Jeremy.
    The pain and betrayal consume me. I am starting to doubt if I will ever feel better. It feels like I’ve been sucked under by wave after wave of grief and misery. I can barely breathe, let alone function. I thought I had experienced heartbreak before, but I was wrong. This is so much worst than anything I could have imagined. It’s been two months, and I haven’t improved, not even a little. I miss Jeremy so much. I want his arms around me; I want all of this to go away.
    Tears spring into my eyes once again. I know I’m wishing for something that will never be. Jeremy and I will never be together again. Here it comes: another bout of crying. I grab the tissues and prepare myself for another long day.
    I glance around my kitchen again. I used to love to cook. Cooking to me was an expression of love and creativity that I really enjoyed. Every week, I would search through my cookbooks, go online, or go through my mother’s recipe cards to find something new and exciting to prepare for Jeremy. He was the most appreciative, willing recipient.
    My memories of our lazy, happy, fun-filled cooking days stab through me like the proverbial knife. I look over at the stool where Jeremy would always sit. We would talk and laugh over a few glassesof wine while I cooked for him. It wasn’t so much about the product as about the process.
    We would talk about our day and the things that were most important to us. We had many deep conversations over pasta or whatever else I was cooking. I loved our spontaneous breaks during the evening. Jeremy would jump up off his stool and yell, “Break time!” then grab me and kiss me senseless.
    I look over at his empty stool. I’ve cried every day, almost nonstop, for two months. I will myself not to cry, but my body doesn’t listen. I didn’t think it was possible for the human body to manufacture this much fluid. I reach for the tissues once again.
    I think of my life in two parts: before “the Event” and after. I’m in the after—and it’s endless.
    It doesn’t help that my job allows me to stay in my house day in and day out. The job that once gave me so much pleasure is now allowing me to become a prisoner of my own volition. It’s the computer revolution-although, as of late, I can’t say I have done much work. My graphic-design business will be a thing of the past if I don’t bid out more projects. I love my job, but the thought of creating a web page or anything else isn’t doing it