The morning after our break up began differently than any day before. I woke up, stretched my freckled arms above my head, and realized that for the first time in a long time, i didn't have to reach for the cellphone on my dresser and call you to make sure you were awake.
Unfortunately, as i pressed my hands to my face i also realized that my eyes were swollen to the touch and that my head felt like it had been run over by a bus; the side affects of having literally cried myself to sleep. After gingerly climbing out of my tangled red cotton sheets, i carefully planted my feet on the cold wood floor, feeling a wave of nasuea run through my body almost instantly. I ignored it, and stood up, walking to my already-open closet. As i fingered through the rainbow selection of sweaters and polyester shirts with dangerously low necklines, my eyes fell upon a worn out, gray, long forgotten sweatshirt wadded into a ball at the very back. i keeled down and pulled it out of the corner, shaking the dust and some of the wrinkles out of it before pulling it over my messy head of brown hair. The garment ended neatly above the knees of my pink pajama pants, and conceled my swollen stomach nicely. i avoided meeting my reflection's eyes as i looked into the full length mirror next to my bedroom door, the sturdy line of my lips slowly cracking into a questionable smile. my hair was a tangle of fiery untamed curls, the sweatshirt smelled of mothballs, and yet, i felt strangely liberated, maybe even beautiful. For the first time in three years, i did not have to worry about what i was wearing. Comfortability, not sexuality, i relized, could come first.
So, ladies and gentlemen...there you have it. One of my many, nameless, beginning-less, end-less storys.
Labels: break-up, story, teen pregnancy
