Another You

The chilly morning air of my bedroom had me awake and freezing. I swung my legs over the side of my bed, my feet touching the cold floor. I stood, my feet frozen cold against the hardwood floor. I slowly walked over to my dresser, and I pulled on some sweats and socks, following those with a hoodie.

His things were still in their respective places; I didn't have the heart to get rid of it. But I knew, deep down, that it couldn't stay here forever.

I sauntered out of the room we used to share, leaving the sheets of the bed barren of any warmth. I didn't even bother to make the bed or change the sheets. They smelled of his cologne and I never wanted that smell to leave.

It was selfish of me to think such things. Why couldn't I just let him go? Let him be free? I loved him, it only made sense, didn't it? Of course, I suppose it had to be this way. Maybe he just wasn't the one for me, and the universe was giving me a sign, telling me that 'The One' was out there. I just had to find him.

But I couldn't. Until one day there was a knock on my front door. I amswered, and she looked up at me. I didn't recognize her.

"Uh... hi. Who are you?" I asked as nicely as I could.

"You must be his sister! I'm his girlfriend," she said. This had me furrowing my brows in confusion.

"I'm sorry, what?" I queried. She too stared at me in confusion.

"He didn't tell you before he passed? I'm his girlfriend. You are his sister, right?" She asked. I was at a loss for words; for emotions. I thought- but of course not! She had to be lying! This was some sort of a sick joke!

"I-I am very sorry but he was my fiancé. We were going to get married," I told her. This girl was wide eyed and looking terrified.

"You mean to tell me... you're not his sister?" She asked. I shook my head.

"How long-"

"Eight months," she answered. Three months before he left. I'd definitely thought he'd loved me. I was, perhaps, blinded by my own love for him and failed to realize he was no good.

"I'm sorry, but you have to leave," I told her, my voice quaking as I was nearly crying. She nodded and scampered off my porch, and I slammed the door shut, feeling as if I might collapse.

--

There was nothing more disturbing than myself that day. I trashed his things; I screamed, I cried. Our room, once so neat and orderly, was now destroyed beyond belief. And there I was, sat in the middle of it all, hurting and suffering.

He was no different. He hadn't changed; our marriage never would have worked out, and I would have wasted much of my time. But I loved him.

I couldn't keep telling myself that. The fact that I loved him didn't change the fact that he never did. It was all a big, fat lie.

I stared down at the ring. It no longer felt like a symbol of love. It didn't belong where it was: nestled snugly on my left finger. I wriggled it off, holding it up in the light before tossing it carelessly onto his nightstand. The only thing I could do with it now was find the receipt and return it. Maybe I could use the money to remodel.

I couldn't think of remodeling now, though. I had to clean this mess up. I sat down on the bed and dialed Austin's number, waiting patiently.

"Hey, Lily," came Austin's cheery voice.

"Could you come over?"

Notes

Summaries can be deceiving.