And so the journey begins again. That lonely path towards writing my next ‘chick-lit’ novel. I’ve shared in the past excerpts so as to wet the appetite of potential future readers, so I share with you here the start of, “A Beautiful Tragedy; Sam’s Story.” This is still very much a raw, first draft of the first couple of pages, so comments and thoughts are very welcome.
Day five in ‘couldn’t-give-a-fuck-ville’, and once more she had silenced the alarm on her phone in favour of sleeping past mid-day. Work wasn’t an issue, having been signed off with depression and anxiety, but her genuine feeling of ‘cannot be arsed’ was beginning to take its toll.
The whole time she’d cocooned herself under her blanket, refusing to face the world, she had neither showered nor washed her hair. It was as if she had given up, just as her husband had on her.
By her own admission her looks had faded, and the assorted mirrors around the house were brutally honest in backing her up. Lines had begun to form on her face where once it was smooth, and the occasional grey hair would stand out like a neon sign suggesting it was time for yet another hair dye.
Her body had changed too. Time, and its ally Gravity, had wreaked havoc on not only her once amazing boobs, but also the area she used to fondly refer to as her ‘food baby’. Now she looked at it and saw nothing but fatness and another reason to hide herself away under her duvet.
It was a knock on her front door that broke her cycle. Even though she tried to ignore it, even placing a pillow over her head to silence the noise, it was persistent.
“Okay, for fuck’s sake I’m coming!” she said unwillingly dragging herself out of her bed. Still the knocking continued.
Upon opening the door she was greeted by a welcome, familiar sight. One that instantly made her regret having not gotten up hours previously, having not dressed or showered. Instinctively, she played with her hair, putting into some kind of style other than that of ‘just got out of bed’.
The person on the otherside of the threshold was less pleased by their meeting. “Oh my god Sam, you look like shit,” he offered by way of a greeting. She didn’t hear his words.
The emotions that cracked through her thoughts sent shivers of excitement down her back. They caused her to inexplicably shiver, and set the hairs on her arms on end. Her stomach tightened as if it were being pulled into a knot, and yet it was a pleasing pain.
He had walked back into her life for the briefest of moments, and yet the few days apart instantly faded as she basked in his return. There was no hiding her joy at seeing him, and were not etched all over face, then her body language gave definite clues.
She twirled the ends of her hair playfully, whilst standing in such a way as to emphasise her bosom, and so as to appear sultry and available should he be inclined. Flashbacks of the things he did to her, her to him, showed themselves like a montage to their past love life. Sex so amazing it left them panting in a sweaty cuddle unable to move. God she wanted those days back. She wanted him back.
“Hey!” she said, smiling broadly. “I’ve missed you….well us actually. I’ve missed us.”
“Me too,” he said. Her smile broadened further. “I was wondering….”
“Yes!” she interrupted. “Whatever it is, yes!”
She flung her arms around him, burying her head into his chest. Deeply she inhaled his scent taking in the memories of comfort it brought back to her. He held her loosely in return.
“I was wondering…” He paused before gently pushing her away from the sanctuary she had taken within his embrace. “I was wondering if you’d agree to a divorce.”
Once again he had shattered her hopes, her dreams. Tears of sadness replaced the smiles of joy. The knot in her stomach now ached to the point of doubling her over as her cries threatened to rip out her very soul. She slumped to her knees before him, broken and forsaken.
“I’m sorry,” he said turning away. Through pained tear filled eyes she watched as once again he walked away from her leaving her shattered and heartbroken.
Sam slammed the door shut, almost symbolic as to the the state of their now dead relationship, and stood still tears still cascading down her face. The mirror in the hallway was the first thing she saw after closing the door. The reflection that stared back at her pulled no punches, showing her blood red eyes from a journey full of tears. Her washed out tired looking face, framed by hair equally so, just emphasised every negative emotion she felt about herself.
Rage consumed her as she punched it in anger knocking it from the wall. In slow motion she watched as it fell, before then shattering into hundreds of pieces as it hit the floor. Tears once again began falling from her eyes. Not because of the broken mirror, or the seven years of bad luck she’d now bestowed upon herself, but because the shattered shards of glass lay as a physical representation of how her heart was once again feeling. Broken.