My phone vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket. I see that I’ve missed a couple calls from Laura and while my finger hovers over the send button to call her back, I’m not ready to hear that we are over before we truly started. I guess I chalk last night up to a one-night stand, which is something I never ever thought I’d have with Laura. I almost wish we never had kissed, had sex, or even reconnected because the pain of losing her again is too much to bear.
My hand covers my chest, right over my heart, where a pain like I’ve never felt starts to rise. I set my head down on my desk and inhale deeply, exhaling slowly. I do this repeatedly, but nothing helps the pain subside. I’m having a damn heart attack and I’m too young for one. I take care of myself, eat right, and exercise so this shouldn’t be happening.
The pain changes and I realize it’s not a heart attack but straight up heart break. Laura broke my heart. I didn’t feel like this when she left our friendship though because her departure was gradual. A missed call here or there, a late response on a text, canceled plans. Her actions built up. They went from hours to days, to finally weeks, and then I gave up. The writing was on the wall. Our friendship was over. It was hard to accept, but I did. And when she didn’t return to campus in the fall, I knew then that there was no hope of ever seeing her again. This was, and still is, the only time I’ve been ghosted. It hurt so bad that I made sure to never ever do it to anyone else.
But this pain is different. It moves rapidly through my body, all the way down to my toes. The waves of emotion are too much for me to handle and I let out a groan that starts in my stomach and turns into a scream. The next thing I know, the items on my desk go flying and things crash against the wall. My old-fashioned paperweight shattered and the sprinkling of glass sounds like rain. I can’t be bothered to get up and look at the damage I’ve done because I don’t care. I’m more concerned with the tears coming from my eyes. They’re streaming down my face and into the scruff on my face; the couple days growth that I left purposely for Laura. I wipe angrily at my face, my watch digging into my skin and likely leaving a mark. I don’t care. What I do care about is that I’ve allowed this woman to hurt me again.
My office phone rings. I want to be childish and pick up the receiver and slam it back down because I suspect that it’s Laura on the other end. However, losing my job is not an option because my luck, it would be the President or Dean calling about something—probably the fact that I had sex with a student.
I knew this would come back to bite me in the ass.
The ringing is incessant but there is no way I’m going to answer this call or any that will come after. I yank the phone line from the wall and the ringing stops. The silence is welcomed. But the pain and tears are still there. I hate that I’m crying over her. I didn’t the first time, so it doesn’t make sense as to why I am now.
I finally give up, email my other classes and tell them there isn’t going to be class today. I make sure to add extra homework to the philosophy class because I’m pissed off. As I look around my office, it’s destroyed. Not sure if I can get my mom to come clean this mess for me though. I’ll have to find the energy to pick it up all up because there is no way I can work in a space like this. For the first time in my career as a teacher, not just a professor, I’m going home sick.
On the way to my car, students stop and talk to me. Some complain about the homework, while others ask questions about a problem or what technique would be best to stop a hacker but can clearly see that I’m in no mood to discuss anything. They’re lucky I don’t assign more and the only reason I’m not is because I don’t want to grade a bunch of shit right now.
My day is an epic shit show, but it turns into a fucking diarrhea fest when I see Laura’s husband coming toward me. I turn slightly and walk in a diagonal toward my car, hoping the piece of shit won’t realize I’m not in his line of sight.