by Jones,Skye
Sick of my train of thought, I moved. I descended the stairs, and Humphry, my Whippet, gave a soft snort of delight when I entered the lounge. The terror inside began to claw at me once more, trying to get out of my chest, where surely it would wreak havoc once out and about in the world. The energy felt too large to be held by someone as frail as me.
I hated the days like this. The ones where agitation stole all my peace, but where I also couldn’t do anything meaningful. Inertia robbed me of any chance of real action. So I lived in limbo. Stuck in this stressed-out, worn-out, tired but wired body that I detested.
The extra rolls of fat dismayed me. The wrinkles around my eyes and the deep frown divot between my eyebrows irritated me. The new gray roots saddened me. It all reminded me that I’d given the best years of my life, the best of myself, to a man who’d waited until the worst possible moment and then walked away.
My stomach clenched, and I gave a soft moan and bent over as fat tears began to spill down my cheeks.
No! I would not do this again. Not another tear would I waste on that bastard. And I shouldn’t spend another night alone in this cottage, listening to the waves and feeling desolate beyond measure. Either I packed up and headed home, or I did something to break the hold this anxiety had over me. I could go to the pub just over the top of the dunes. Screw up my bravery and take Humphrey for companionship. A glass of liquid courage should make an hour in company bearable. And frankly, right now, the four walls and the blue sea were scarier than the idea of having to be in company.
Mind made up, I swiped at my eyes and went in search of my handbag. A quick brush of my tangled hair, a sweep of blusher and mascara, and some clear lip gloss, and I was as ready as I’d ever be. No one in the pub would guess I used to be a supposed great beauty. I’d been modeling when I’d met my former future husband, John. Doing quite well, too. Then married life happened, and I’d gained weight and lost my cheekbones, and somewhere along the way, the sparkle in my eyes, too. I’d grown plain. Plump. Middle-aged. Now when I walked down the street, heads didn’t turn. Men didn’t look at me with hunger or desire. John couldn’t have timed it better. He’d waited until I’d turned, like a fruit going off, and he’d left. Taken up with someone younger, slimmer, and sexier.
An age-old story, really, but mine stood out with the callousness with which my ex had cut me out of his life.
“Oh, for God’s sake, stop dwelling on him! He doesn’t deserve this space in your head.” Humphry gave a low whine as if he agreed, and it made me smile. Something it seemed I could still do on occasion.
I grabbed my windproof jacket, bright pink as if the shock of color might once more make me attractive, and I hooked Humphry’s lead around his slender neck before opening the door.
The sun was beginning to set. I glanced at my watch. Only eight, so plenty of time to grab a drink and some crisps and find a corner to hide away in.