Heartbreak

Anyone who’s been in love can tell you what it’s like to feel heartbreak.

Some describe it as an ache in the chest, ranging from dull to severe depending on how in love you were. Others say it feels like your heart has split in two (despite the fact that it’s physically impossible). But, for those who were truly, head-over-heels in love, they describe the pain as if the very organ itself was ripped from their chests, leaving them empty, vulnerable, alone. 

Of course, I thought those descriptions were all rather dramatic. I mean, the heart was a valuable and precious organ. And, scientifically speaking, yes, it was proven that severe physical or emotional trauma could lead to physical health problems and “broken heart syndrome,” but love wasn’t like that. It was a trivial emotion for those who were too desperate and simple to be alone. Love was a waste of time. At least, I used to believe that was true.

I had begun to see them rather often. We frequented the same coffee shop and they were usually in line in front of me just as I arrived for my lunch break. We had never talked, I didn’t even know their name, but for some reason or another they had caught my attention. And, before I knew it, I was always watching them. The way they squinted at the menu in contemplation before inevitably ordering their usual cup of coffee (3 creams, 2 sugars), the way they preferred to pay with cash over card (most likely due to the fact that they enjoyed tipping the workers with their spare change as well as an extra dollar or two), the way they grabbed their coffee when their name was called and sat at the same table on the same side of the coffee shop and took approximately 30 minutes (which was mostly spent on their phone) to finish their coffee, throw away their garbage, and promptly leave. 

It was a routine, a rather common one that almost everyone had. They were no different than any of the other billion humans on the planet. So why did this one stick out so much? Eventually I found myself watching them more and more, and before I knew it a week had passed and I realized my feelings were more than just common intrigue and had evolved into something I had very little experience with. 

I had fallen in love…

…how dreadful.

I thought everything was perfect then. We would meet at the same time, everyday. They would order their usual coffee and we’d sit together for a while, basking in the cafe’s stale air while laughing at the middle schoolers who ordered sugary frappuccinos because they didn’t like the bitter taste of coffee, before leaving promptly at the same time as they normally did. We had a routine them and I. For months we did our little song and dance, skirting around our feelings because I thought that they would finally realize what I meant to them, and it was as perfect as I could have ever imagined…

…until it wasn’t.

It seemed as though my love for them went far deeper than their love for me. And, when they ended up cheating on me (right in front of my eyes nonetheless), that’s when I began to understand. That sense of longing, that ache in the chest that neve dulled no matter how much Tylenol I took to make it go away. 

This was heartbreak. 

But what people fail to mention when they discuss heartbreak is that there’s also an anger that comes with it. A deep, boiling anger that leaves one unable to even see straight, the edges of my vision constantly steeped in a vibrant, volatile red. And as I felt desolate and empty, they were just fine. As if nothing was even going on. And that just wouldn’t do. I wanted them to know how I was feeling.

I needed them to know how I was feeling.

Placing my glass down on my kitchen table, I made my way down to the basement, flicking the lights on as I descended the stairs. The noise my feet made against the old, creaky wood caused my guest to shuffle a bit anxiously. Honestly, there was no need for such anxiety, I just wanted to talk a bit. When I finally reached the bottom I realized that they looked rather scared, eyes blown wide with fear as they flicked between where I stood and the wall off to my right, the one that was littered with pictures of them. Not in a single one were they aware of the photo being taken.

They were all for research purposes of course.

They began to struggle more aggressively, trying to escape from the chair I had them in, but the ropes I had tied them up with were supposedly the best one’s the hardware store had to offer, so I didn’t worry much. 

I sighed deeply as they tried screaming for help, but the duct tape over their mouth made it sound rather muffled.

“No one else is here, darling,” I said with exhaustion, beginning to move closer. “Even if you scream no one will hear you.”

They finally stopped making noise when I made it to them, placing my hands on the back of the wooden chair and looming forward, my face only inches from theirs.

“And as if you have the right to be afraid. Acting the way you did knowing how I felt about you, how we felt about each other. And you bring another person to our place. Blushing like some lovestruck school girl while you flaunt it right in front of me? Does our relationship mean nothing to you? Do I mean nothing to you!”

I reached forward, quickly yanking the tape from their mouth as they shook in fear, looking at me as if they weren’t sure what I was talking about. But I knew, they couldn’t lie to me, not anymore.

“Who-” they stuttered, sounding as if they were trying very hard not to cry (as if crying would make me let them off easily), “Who even are you?”

Love was a useless thing, heartbreak even more so. But they had caused it to blossom in my chest before mercilessly stomping on the flower that they helped grow. 

And now, it was time for them to take responsibility.