Smashed and Shattered

I lay on my bed, facing the ceiling, trying to convince myself that finding shapes in the plaster would make me feel better. My phone buzzed beside me, and I rolled over to look at it. "Are you ok?" asked my best friend Amber over text.

No. I wasn't the slightest bit ok. I felt like I'd been shot. I'd shattered my own heart, let it break into a million pieces. But I couldn't tell Amber that. The last thing I wanted was her pity, her sympathy.

Yeah, I replied quickly. Turned over again, stared at the ceiling. My mind slipped to the conversation I'd had about an hour before. I'd told him exactly how I felt, and though he felt similar, he told me it wouldn't work out. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to force the thoughts out. I wouldn't think about it. I couldn't. I opened them again, forcing myself to at least try to think of something else. Tears threatened to run down my cheeks again.

"Oh, for crying out..." I muttered, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. Crying was like admitting a weakness, and that was certainly not what I wanted to do right now. It was pathetic enough that I was so torn up, now I was crying over some guy.

He wasn't just some guy, my mind mocked. He was a guy I'd foolishly fallen for. I hadn't even looked before I jumped in head-first. The first time I'd dared to even think about love for years, and I'd gone and wasted it all on a chance. God, I was so stupid. So stupid I couldn't stand myself.

I picked up my phone, which had buzzed a little while ago, but I'd left it be. "You're sure?" Amber asked. I typed some random, cheerful-sounding response followed by a smile and sent it. My ability to hide behind words was sickening, even to me. I wanted to throw my phone across the room and break it, but I couldn't find the energy. I fell onto my back again.

I wanted to talk to him, which disgusted me. More than anything, I just wanted to talk to him like we had before. I'd been strung along, hurt, crushed, and now I wanted to go back to that. What a masochist I was.

I couldn't make myself hate him. I couldn't even make myself dislike him. Every time I tried to make myself the slightest bit upset with him, it'd turn into me telling myself that it was my own fault. I couldn't see it any other way. I fell head-first for him, I made the first move, I got my hopes up.

The corner of my bed vibrated. Aggravated with Amber, I snatched it up. "I'm worried about you, Nicole." The words caught me off-guard, and my vision became blurry with tears in almost an instant. This wasn't her problem, so why was she worried about me? She's the one who had told me before that he wasn't a good idea. She should be saying 'I told you so.'

But someone cared. Someone cared enough to go out of their way to say so.

I sat on my bed and cried.