It has been five days since he last sent me a text message. My fingers were itching to type another message but I knew it wasn’t the best course of action. I have always been the first one to send the first message, to call, and to apologize—even if it wasn’t my fault. I tried to keep my mind clear of anything that involved him.
I stared at the blank page before me. I couldn’t think of a good way to start my new story. I haven’t heard anything from the publishing house, where I sent one of my novels, and the only thing I could think of that would distract me was to write a new story.
When you realize your worth, you find it hard to be with people who don’t.
Just as I was about to type more words, my phone rang. I almost fell off of my chair, thinking it was the publishing house. I was wrong. It was just my sister.
“Demi! Mom sold your remaining books!”
“What? I said I was going to get the rest this weekend? Can’t she wait? Is she really that excited to turn my old room into a sewing room?” I grunted. I had about fifteen books left in the house and my mom just had to sell those.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t stop her, Dem.”
I sighed. “It’s okay. Thanks for telling me though.”
I wanted to throw my phone across the room but that would be a stupid move and I couldn’t afford to buy a new one. I looked at the monitor. I only had one line typed in and yet I already felt like punching a wall.
Ignoring the fact that my mother sold my books, I continued to type my new story. I was in the middle of the third chapter when my phone rang.
When I opened my phone, the digital clock was huge enough to remind me that I have been sitting in front of my computer for almost four hours. Also, the number of the publishing house was calling.
The phone call felt like it took hours, but it was just a few minutes. It wouldn’t take hours for them to tell me that my novel was rejected. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that when I open my eyes, everything that happened was just a dream. Of course when I opened my eyes, nothing has changed.
My phone beeped again. It was my boyfriend.
Dave: I’m sorry for not texting. I have been thinking and I think it’s better if we end it.
My jaw almost dropped. That was it? He wouldn’t even tell me the main reason? I called him, hoping to get an explanation, but we couldn’t have everything we want.
“What was that about, Dave? You were out of the radar for almost a week and now you’re dropping this on me?” I figured that my voice was booming at the other end, but I really didn’t care.
“I’m sorry. I have to go, Demi.” Then he hung up.
My heart was pounding. I wanted to flip the table, scream, and then fade. As much as I wanted to continue typing my story, I couldn’t.
My mother sold my books. The fourth publishing house, where I sent my manuscript to, rejected my novel. My boyfriend dumped me with no proper explanation, and I doubt I would get one.
I pulled out the USB from my drawer and plugged it in my computer. I opened the playlist and the speakers boomed sad songs. I sat on the floor and cried for hours. It probably seemed stupid for some but not for me.
As much as I wanted to drown myself in alcohol or make myself bleed, I just had to remind myself of what was happening.
It’s just a bad day, not a bad life.