Heartbreak's A Bitch!

by S. M Phillips

  “I’m just going to get straight to the point with you Emily. I don’t see any point in messing around. Don’t think the work you do here goes unrecognised,” Woah, what? Did Cruella just compliment me? Has she had a personality transplant in the last 24 hours or did I drink too much that I fell and seriously banged my head? “but don’t think for a second you can flit in and out of here when you want. I’m pretty sure you didn’t do that when my Father was here, so I don’t expect you to do it now. Is that understood?”

  Okay, definitely didn’t have a personality transplant. “This is the first time that I’ve been late in years. Real life happens to us normal people sometimes you know.” I argue back with her. I know I shouldn’t, but she’s just… ugh, I really don’t have any words in my vocabulary that sum her up.

  Her devil eyes move slowly from her monitor and she looks right at me, probably casting some kind of voodoo spell over me. “If you want to keep your job, then I expect you to do it properly and that means arriving on time.”

  “Not a problem, Amanda.” Her voice tastes disgusting on my tongue and I think I could hurl up again. “I’ll make sure I’m here on time and I’ll be making sure that I leave on time too. Was there anything else?”

  “No. That’s all, for now. Just so you know, I’ll be keeping a close eye on you from now on. My Daddy may have been okay with you taking the piss, but now that I’m in charge things are going to be changing around here.” Now it could just be me feeling a little worse for wear, but I’m sure there was a threat hiding somewhere behind her words.

  “Well the feelings mutual Cruella. I’ll be keeping a bloody close eye on you, too.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “She’s lucky she’s still wearing her cheap tacky eyelashes. Who does she think she is? She’s what, five years younger than me and she’s speaking to me like a child?” It’s bloody ridiculous is what it is.

  “She’s the boss’ daughter, who just so happens to be overtaking the business, which in turn, whether you like it or not, makes her your boss. Plus, age means nothing, not unless you want to be done for discrimination.”

  “She’s so far up her own arse. How can you be so calm around her? How can you even like her enough to sit here in front of me and try to defend her behaviour? You know I thought I knew who you were Matthew, obviously not.”

  “She’s never really bothered all that much with me, to be honest. I quite like it that way. See no evil, hear no evil and all that.”

  “Of course she hasn’t. What about when she comes strolling over to your desk, pulls one leg up so you get a quick flash of her flesh? That’s really not bothering with you, isn’t it? Why are men so blind when it comes to women?”

  “Huh?”

  “Okay, I’ll say this once and I’ll say it slowly for you. She’s only nice to you because she wants to get fully acquainted with your knob.”

  “It’s so easy to use. I don’t know how I didn’t come across this sooner. You really need to get on here Emily. It’s like my new addiction. Forget bloody candy crush. This shit is the bomb.”

  I’ve been sat at Rachel’s, silently nursing my extra-large coffee, pretending to listen to her harp on about this and that for about an hour.

  I won’t lie, it’s true that I feel like such a shit friend, and even though I want to hear all about her new find, I’m really struggling to stay focused. Not just with Rachel, but with everything. I’m going to take a wild guess as to thinking this is what people feel like when they’re stoned or on some super high strength pain meds.

  “You swipe right if you like them, to left if you want to pass and then if they like you back you can start sexting. It’s amazing. I’ve set you one up too. You’re going to love it.”

  “What?” Her words suddenly pull me out of my hazy thoughts and into the here and now. She’s set me what up, now?

  “This new app that I found. Well, it’s not new really, but it’s new to me, so it’s all the same. Tinder, it’s amazeballs.”

  “I’m not too sure that I want to be focusing my attention on that right now Rach.”

  “Oh, give over. You’re just hungover. Don’t get me wrong, there are some right munters on here, but there are some hotties too. I’m already chatting to a few. You’ve just got to mull yourself through the slush pile.”

  “I thought you were busy shagging Doug?” At least she was the last time that I’d checked in with her. She seemed pretty keen on him too, but maybe he wasn’t pulling out all the stops in the bedroom department. Rachel isn’t half fussy and she gets bored pretty fast. I’d go as far to say that an action-packed episode of Game of Thrones lasts longer that Rachel’s attention span.

  “Variety is the spice of life Emily.” She states firmly while giving me her serious look. “Why settle for one man when you can have three? That’s the whole fun of dating. No commitments.”

  If she’d told me this yesterday I probably would have been up for it, but now I’m not so sure. I feel emotional and a little lost and I hate feeling this way. I’ve not felt like this for a while, but now all of my emotions and hurt that I have been trying to hide and forget about for so long begin to ebb back in, festering in my delicate shattered little heart.

  “I got a package yesterday.” I blurt out, unable to stop myself. The pressure of keeping it to myself is making my hangover feel a million times worse. I’d love to have another bottle of wine, or five, but I know that it’s not big or clever. Plus, I really need a clear head to deal with this situation.

  “Has June been on a Christmas binge already?” She asks, not bothering to take her eyes away from her phone.

  “I wish.” Life would seem so much simpler if my Mum was sending me tatty novelty gifts.“ As much as I liked to take the piss out of them, I loved them really. It’s always been her little way of showing that she cares. I guess it could be worse though, at least I’m not my Dad. I don’t know how he does it. He allows her to go out and spend a shit load of money on crap and all he says is, “oh, that’s nice, love.” Anything my Mum wants to do, there he is supporting the hell out of her. Whether it’s purely out of love, or just for a quiet life, I’ll never know. Whatever it is, it works bloody wonders for them both.

  It would be nice to have a little piece of that. Someone to love me and make me whole like my Mum and Dad do with each other. All I’ve got is my Prosecco, a secret stash of Galaxy and Netflix to keep me warm at night. Oh, how rock and roll. Life just doesn’t get any better than this.

  “So, who was it from? Did it sparkle?” Her eyes light up, full of suspense.

  “Not so much.” I’ve got no idea why I would have anything sparkly posted through my letter box. To be fair, the only thing that I get is my depressing credit card bill and my beautiful beauty subscription boxes. Maybe my credit card bill wouldn’t be so depressing if I didn’t get said subscription boxes, but then I’d never know what beauty must haves are out there just waiting for me to rehome them. “It was from Tyler.” I say, numb, completely emotionless.

  Rachel doesn’t say anything to begin with and that makes me feel really nervous. Any minute now, she’s going to go all ninja warrior on my arse. Why did I just spit his name out? Why, oh why? Earlier, I’d decided that if I didn’t acknowledge it out loud then I didn’t need to acknowledge anything about it, yet now, here I am and I can’t take those words back. I could quite possibly kick myself, down an entire bottle of vodka and then drunkenly try and kick myself some more.

  “Tyler?” Finally, she makes a noise. It’s not really much of a coherent noise, but I know her well enough to know what she said. With a quick flick of her hair, Rachel clears her throat a little and says, “Tyler, Tyler?”

  “Yes, Tyler, Tyler.” How many other Tyler’s do we know? Not many, unless she’s keeping stuff from me. I so wish I hadn’t said anything about it now, but I know that if I didn’t, I’d only end up being sectioned or being admitted for a drastic chocolate overdose. What can I say? I like to eat my emotions. It ma
kes me feel good at the time, then I feel like a fat walrus and then I eat some more to make myself feel better.

  Vicious circle.

  “What was it? What’s he even doing sending you anything to begin with?”

  “I don’t know, do I? I don’t even know what’s inside it. I just saw his note and then backed away as if it was about to explode at any given moment.” Just thinking about the memory sends my head all funny.

  “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that it didn’t blow up, then? I know he’s a twat, but I don’t think killing you was ever really on his agenda.”

  “No, you sure about that, Rach? Because he did a pretty good job of killing my heart.” I say glumly and straight to the point. I guess there’s no point in trying to sugar coat the facts, is there?

  Tyler. My Tyler. The only man that I ever loved; really loved. I mean, I actually loved him more than wine, not as much as coffee, but as close as anyone was ever going to get anyway, and what did he do? He fucking destroyed my soul and my whole life as I knew it. After him, the world tilted and everything changed. Now he thinks that it’s perfectly acceptable to send me stuff, to my home address of all places, acting like he still lives there, or like he even has a place left in my life. Who knows, maybe this is the last Christmas present he ever bought me before running off into the open, gaping legs of Susan slag face Jones. Only I don’t know why he’d be sending it to me now.

  “I do miss him, you now.” I confess. Me and my flaming mouth, it’s always running way ahead of my brain. One of these days, I might just learn to keep it shut.

  “No. No, no, no. You don’t miss him at all. How on earth can you miss someone like that? After everything he put you through, too.” Her lips form a perfect pout, but she’s not for breaking eye contact with me. “Don’t let some stupid little parcel undo all your hard work. You’ve been so strong this past year, you know.”

  “I have?” Bloody hell, it’s not felt like it. I’ve spent the past twelve months heartbroken, only to pretend that I’m perfectly fine and life goes on, blah, blah, blah. But that’s the good thing about alcohol and having a lush for a best friend. All these things can go by unnoticed if you’re both shit faced all the time.

  “Yes, you have. I don’t tell you this often, or as often as I should, but I’m super proud of you. I just wish that you would have opened it.” Rachel throws me a concerned look and I know that she’ll have her phone attached to her hip as soon as I get home so that she can find out what was in it. I feel physically sick just thinking about it.

  “A house white, please. Oh, and make it a large one.” I add, my voice small and weak. I briefly look around and even though this fancy, swag bar is almost empty, even though I’m rocking my favourite dress which hugs my figure in all the right places, creating curves that I never knew I had, and even though my make-up and eyebrows are completely on point, I can’t help but feel way out of my comfort zone. I’ve even got tights on to protect my pins from the chill of the cold December air, and I feel bare; stark bloody naked. On show for everyone to see.

  Looking down at my super-duper, brand new shiny smart watch I note that its 7:15 pm. Isn’t it supposed to be the girls that are always fashionably late? Wait, no. Maybe that’s just for weddings. Actually, scrap that, chicks are definitely supposed to be late all the time.

  “Sure you don’t want the whole bottle? No offence, but you look like you need it.” The lady behind the bar asks. She’s quite a petite little thing, wild messy black curls framing her pixie like face, emphasising her lip and nose piercings. Wow, either I look like absolute shite, or she can sense the nerves oozing out of my body. “A bit of Dutch courage?” she continues. Oh, my God, she can tell that I’m one of those Tinder trollops. I bet she’s thinking all sorts about me right now. Yet, her smile remains warm and friendly as she waits for my response. Even though she’s just insulted the shit out of me, intentionally or not, I can’t help but think that the two of us would make awesome friends.

  “Sod it. I’ll take the bottle.”

  “That’s my girl.” She smiles, displaying a beautiful set of white teeth. She’d be fabulous on one of those adverts. Maybe I should tell her? Maybe she already does it. Oh, bloody hell Emily, now your floundering. “Go take a seat and I’ll bring it over for you.”

  After thanking my new Pixie-ish friend, I look around the empty bar and quickly weigh up my options. Should I take a window seat so it’s easier for a quick getaway, but then at the same time I’d be allowing the whole of Soho to witness how pathetic I am once I’ve been stood up, or should I take the cosy, romantic booth, where I run a high risk of being hidden away by some crazed psycho, unable to cry out for help?

  Deciding that I’d rather not embarrass myself by allowing the lovely folks of London to witness me drinking alone, whilst swiping through my possible matches on Tinder to pass the time, I take the plunge with fate, hoping and praying that this Noah guy isn’t some mass serial killer.

  My phone chimes to life just as I wiggle my arse into a cosy corner booth. I take another look around me before rummaging in my bag and quickly pull out my phone and see that it’s a message from Rachel.

  So, how’s the date going? Told you he was edible, didn’t I? You jumped his bones yet? Have you at least licked his face? God, I so wish I was you, you lucky cow.

  What date? I tap out hastily. He isn’t even here yet.

  Oh, God. I hope this isn’t some practical joke on my part. What if Rachel’s set me up? I feel like I’m about to be punked. Is this the reason why the place is dead? I can just imagine all the hidden cameras zooming in at me from every possible unsightly angle right now. I’d like to think that Rachel wouldn’t stoop so low, because that would be down, right evil, but then everyone’s got an evil streak in them somewhere, haven’t they? I’ll admit that I’m yet to find mine. If this is the case, then I’m afraid to say that Rachel’s going to need to find a new best friend and fast. Oh, and she’ll also need to hire some pretty good security too.

  “Erm… excuse me Miss, are you Emily?” A deep, rustic voice pulls my eyes away from my phone, Tinder still open. I really have no shame. I look up slowly, dreading that a massive camera will be planted in my face.

  “Holy fucking shit.” I blink a few times and I know that my mouth is hanging wide open, but jeez Louise. A seriously hot, fine specimen of a man is leaning over and looking right at me. Shit, I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe? He’s like some mythical creature who’s removed my ability to carry out any human functions. “ummm…” I just about manage as he extends his hand out to mine.

  “I’m Noah.”

  Everything happens so quickly. One minute my hand is protectively holding my phone, the next my palm becomes quite clammy and as I lift my hand out to shake his, my brain forgets that my phone exists and it goes flying across the table, only to land with a huge thud, I hear the shatter of glass and we both look towards my poor, innocent, now broken phone, and what can this God of all sins see? My flaming Tinder app, wide open inviting the whole world to take a little look, acting like the little slut face it really is.

  “Ouch.” He says, his plump bottom lip protruding.

  Bloody ouch is right. I don’t know what to be more pissed off about, the fact that my phone’s broken or the fact that I didn’t have enough bloody brain cells to close out of that app, before hot stuff saw it. I told Rachel I didn’t want to be on Tinder. I told her that nothing good could ever come from it, apart from my right thumb becoming a swipe whore. But would she listen? Would she bloody hell as like.

  I hate to admit that as soon as I took a quick look, my curious mind getting the better of me and had my first swipe, that was it. It was game over for me. I was addicted and it wasn’t my fault. It was Rachel’s, all Rachel’s. And now, because she’s set me up with this hottie, I’m going to lay the blame on her too for my broken phone. The bitch needs to know that she owes me a new iPhone 7 and a whole new identity.

  “Nah, don’t wor
ry about it. Happens all the time.” I reply quickly, my mouth shooting off before I can stop it.

  “Good to know.” He half smiles. I don’t know this guy from Adam, oh, how I’d like to, but my instincts are telling me that he’s feeling a little uncomfortable. “Mind if I take a seat?”

  “Sure. I don’t mean that,” I say, pointing to some random guy’s face lit up on my screen, just about hidden from the shattered glass. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m some cock hungry little hussy. No, that would be Susan and the rest of the plastics that go out to devour the cock. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be able to tell you if he was worth a like, the screens that shattered he looks like he’s been stuck inside one of those kaleidoscope thingy-majigs. “I’m pretty clumsy when it comes to my belongings.” Correction, I’m clumsy when something knocks me off guard and this beauty has definitely done that.

  To be fair to Rachel, she wasn’t lying when she said he looked like Chris Hemsworth. This guy’s his doppelganger for sure, from the heavy set of his broad shoulders, Thor style, right down to his thick main of dirty blonde hair. I’ve got to be dreaming, there’s no way that I’m out on a date with Thor. Hell, he might not be the real deal, but trust me when I tell you it’s the closest to a Hemsworth that anyone’s going to get. Sticking the two of them together, even Liam would start demanding a DNA test.

  “So I can see. Myself and Apple don’t see eye to eye. Too much of their shit has messed up on me in the past.”

  Oh no, please don’t say that. Please stop talking. He’s only been here for what, less than five minutes and already we have differences of opinion. Now it’s off to bad start.

  Even though he’s just gone down a notch in my book, well, you really can’t say things like that to an apple whore and expect them to like you, even if what they’re saying is true. It just doesn’t happen. Saying that though, I still can’t pull my eyes away from him. He’s just so… manly. He’s oozing pure testosterone. Biting down on my lower lip, I have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. Purely just to see what he feels like. This is fucking crazy. “Can I get you a drink?” He asks, bringing me back to my senses.