Chapter 1

Maybe the most challenging moments are when you’re alone.

“What do you want me to say Emma? … That I love you? … Well, I don’t.” he stood there at the door way leading from his lounge to the kitchen his eyebrows raised and his hands on his hips.

His words cut deep into me; the pain was like rubbing salt into an open wound, or when the beautician rips the wax off from your bikini line. No, they weren’t painful enough; nothing could really describe how his words made me feel.

My stomach did the worst roller coaster flip-flop I’ve ever felt and my mind raced. I felt like crying, but then felt like not crying too, all at the same time.

I don’t even remember what I said to his blunt, uncaring, declaration of his anti-love to me.

How could he say that to me and be wearing the pendant I had given him?
How could he say that when he had the single rose that I had given him was still above his wine shelves - now dried out, but still he kept it there permanently?
I just can’t understand how he could say that to me and expect me to stick around?
Although the sad thing was, I did, and I did stick around, stupidly.

I had told him the next day it was over - whatever he and I were - but two months later I fell into the same trap of his familiar touch, his hunger and my desire to be with him. I hated myself for loving someone that chose to be with me for convenience; meanwhile he truly didn’t love me. In fact he didn’t even love me at all according to him.

I stayed more so because I wanted him, and more so I wanted him to want me back, it was only a matter of time, right?

**

Monday morning, it seemed to be getting harder every week to get up and get my brain and body into work mode. I study my face in the bathroom mirror and sigh.

Surely I don’t require makeup anymore? I'm pretty sure I’ve caked enough onto my skin over the years to have satisfied my face. I question why society expects women to paint their face daily in order to seem more appealing.

Some say it’s looking after yourself... I somewhat disagree.

You’d think by now some crazy loon would have invented a makeup mask. A clear mask you just place over your face so you don’t need to apply the moisturiser, foundation, powder.....

Sort of like a coloured eye contact but for the face. Ok, am I sounding crazy now? Or has just no one has been able create such a thing that doesn’t appear to look like a clown mask, the type that people dress up in for Halloween or when you’re the psycho killer on those American teen horror slasher flicks.

“Emma.” I hear my name being shrieked from outside the bathroom. I readjust my towel around me and tuck it tightly under my arm pits, grab the hair brush that’s on the sink and search around the basins drawers for my hair dryer.

“Emmaaaaah.” My roommate shrieks a bit louder again.
“What?” I yell back
“Can you hurry up I need to catch the early train today.”

I found my hairdryer and juggled the door to the bathroom open with my free hand. Michelle stood beside the door looking impatient. I smiled at her warmly, to which she return a fake unimpressed smile back to me, as I pass her on my way back to my room.

Michelle was a strange girl. I had lived with her for seven months now and I ready didn’t understand why she was so cranky most of the time, nothing was ever right or good enough for that girl. I wondered if it was down to a bad night’s sleep, she always seemed to look a fright most mornings, hair everywhere, face pale and contorted. Maybe if she got to good night’s sleep for once she wouldn’t be so cranky?

I plug in the hair dryer to my overloaded power board, and begin to dry my long brown hair.
Zoooooosh! Beep? I turn off the dryer for a second. Was that my phone? A new text message? I drop everything and pick up my phone which was hidden under some clothes next to my bed. I press the menu button. No new messages, no new anything, just the cute Labrador pup wallpaper I had downloaded last week starred back at me.
I went back to drying my hair. I hated that, it always happened to me when I was drying my hair or had my stereo up to max – I swear I heard my phone beep but turns out it was my imagination. I guess I just wished for him to be messaging me.

I turned off my hairdryer and dropped it on the floor, for me to trip on later when I got home from work. I ran my finger through my hair and looked in my bedrooms mirror making ‘blue steel’ supermodel faces, trying to figure out what my best side would be for a photo. The information of what was my best side would be irrelevant to anything as there was no way in hell I looked like a supermodel or had a chance that I was going to have my photo taken during the day.

Beeeep! My phone called to me, this time I defiantly hear it. I grab my phone which was tossed back onto the ground. 1 new message.

**

I ran up the steps of the station, well the best I could in heals.
Oh noooowah! The line for the tickets is long, so long in fact that I’m sure I’m going to miss the early train.
Yep, come on baldy, scramble around for your change to make up for eight ninety for your city return ticket. God, there should be a line for people who know how to work the machine and everyone else should go use the guy at the window. The only relief is there is a very cute guy on the line next to me who I see almost every morning at the station. I haven’t talked to him ever but I have given him the nick name of Brad, just because I think he’s almost as cute as Brad Pitt, well back in the Thelma & Louise days anyway.