"I'm leaving you."
The moment those three words left my fiancé's lips, I knew that he was probably serious. We have been fighting for a while now, and it's always the same narrative. Never changing, never anything new. Hakeem, has always been very responsible and to the point, whereas I am all over the fucking place. While he has planned for everything that has happened in his life, even when, where, and how he proposed to me, I have always been coasting. And to be honest, if it weren't for my parents helping to bail me out of every single problem I put myself in, I would be a mess. I guess people did always tell us that we would never work out. I just can't believe that it was because I screwed up again, and not for something conventional like him cheating.
"You don't mean that," I barely whispered as he continued to pack his suitcase, "You can't leave, we're a team. Like, who's gonna tell me to brush my teeth after I get back from work? Or make me change the channel to Spongebob Squarepants, o-or tell me to eat something other than cookie dough?!"
"You're going to have to do that for yourself. I can't keep being your parent, you already have two perfectly, functional ones," he stopped to look at me. "I can't keep doing this with you, DeeDee. You promised me that you would be there, and you weren't."
He looked so hurt, truly hurt, and I felt really, really bad. When he wanted me at his dissertation reading to celebrate him getting his PhD, I wasn't even there. His mom flew all the way from their hometown in Philly, even though she has a bad hip, and I had watched him comb over his notes and research for nights on end, typing meticulously on his keyboard. He had spent nearly two years working on this, and where was I you might ask? Reading a goddamn book.
Now, before you chastise me, let me state my case. I was never really good at fitting in, and was always bullied for not being like everyone else. My parents are affluent and raised me without me ever really needing anything, which I am grateful for, but there's more to it than that. My dad is from Panama, and my mom's from Downtown Los Angeles, Skid Row to be specific. And they worked really hard to get the wealth and businesses that they have now, which always made me look up to them in awe, but it wasn't easy.
I was put in the best schools, but got bullied by the little pricks whose parents had money from their parents, and their parents had money and so on and so forth. I was too dark and knappy for the light little kids, but too light for the darker kids, and too poor for all of them. I ended up hiding in the library to avoid them, and that was where it started. Because once I picked up that first book, there was no going back. I fell in love, and I have been reading ever since. It's to the point where I am addicted to reading, and it gets in between me doing anything, and it's the reason he is leaving me now.
Hakeem shutting his suitcase and zipping it up snapped me back to reality. My god, this is getting out of control.
"Look I'll stop, I promise. I'll put down the books. I-I'll throw them out even, just please don't leave me. ..I love you," I looked at him, hoping, praying, begging that he would tell me what I wanted to hear. Tell me that it's not over, and that we can try again. I want to change for him, I swear I do. It's just nice to be in another world. Now do I take it overboard sometimes, yes. Probably more times than I would like to admit, but that doesn't mean that I don't love this man.
But he just looked at me, and I knew. This was it. The final straw, and there was no way to remedy the problem I caused. I had hurt him too much, said sorry too many times, and even though I should've expected it, the resentment in his face still shocked me.
"Look, I'll go sleep at my buddy's place, and we can go about taking care of the apartment and other things like the wedding costs and whatnot later... but I really just need some time to think and I think you do too. I love you Diana. I really do. I'm just tired, and I can't do this anymore. Goodbye."
And just like that, he was gone.
That was four months ago, and it's been a shit storm since. My parents found out about the split and scolded me for it, saying that I should prioritize the here and now rather than endlessly reading. Hakeem and I were able to cancel the wedding preparations and didn't get too many cancellation fees due to how far away the wedding was, and even though I have tried to talk to him about the situation, he still says that he needs space.
Which I understand, because it was my fault, but I still want to be in contact with him. I still want to have some sort of relationship, even if we are nothing more than friends. I still want him to be close. Because he was the only person that ever saw my potential, and not just what you would notice at first glance.
But now he's gone, and I don't know if I could ever get him back.
I contemplated all of the issues in my head while guzzling down my fifth pint of beer at the pub here in Santa Monica, and I didn't just feel like shit. I could tell that I smelled like it too. I had been there since I got off of work at 5:30pm, and it was now almost 2 in the morning.
"You know," I slurred, "I can't believe myself! I mean... how could I sit reading book, while my honey barrr was working his fine ass off?! I want to, make it right with him. But, I just don't know how! What should I do?"
I turned to the bartender, who looked at me like I was a lost cause. I think he might've been laughing, but it was too fuzzy to tell. He ended up shrugging, and I continued my rant.
"You're right! I need to just cut the bullshit and throw away all the book! If I wanna fight for my mans, then I gotta prove to him that I'm serious." I stood up with such conviction, I ended up falling. As the world spun, I got myself back up, and saluted the bartender with my fist. "Thank you Joey for your wise, wise words."
"My name's Tom," he said, annoyed as he rolled his eyes at me. Then he went to tend to other guests.
I don't even remember leaving the bar, but there I was, yanking all of the books from my drawers, shelves, and even some that I found under my bed, and throwing them into a pile on the floor in front of me. I studied the pile, taking in all of my hard work, and coming to the realization that I had a ton of freaking books. I mean, who in their right mind still has the Dr. Seuss books they read to you in first grade?
I started putting all of them into a big trash bag, feeling the difference in weight, the feel of the covers. They were my heaven, and yet they put my whole life in hell. Hakeem was right, I can't keep doing this anymore. They were taking up too much of my time, my energy, and they were ruining my relationships.
"And they say reading is good for you," I scoffed.
"Yes, it is."
I was frozen with shock, and then I began frantically looking around to see who that voice had come from.
"Did you know that reading is so great, that all of the CEOs do it?"
Still couldn't find the source of the voice.
"Who are you," I asked, moving my head so much, the drunk vertigo was mixing with the immense headache from dizziness.
"Down here," the voice said, and when I looked I was stunned. I reached down to pick up the book that started it all, and my favorite book of all time, Dealing with My Beast. It was a book I knew every detail about. I had read it over 300 times since that fateful day, and it was the book I was reading when I ended my relationship.
"You just gonna stare," the cover's mouth moved as I looked at it, and I yelped as I threw it across the room. "Ow."
"You're not real. You're NOT real!"
I was losing my fucking mind it seemed, as the book kept talking and I started pacing.
"If I'm not real, then you're the Mona Lisa," it retorted. Dealing with My Beast was a dark and steamy novel, and it had more sex scenes than I could count on both hands. But never once did I take it for the sarcastic type.
"What the hell is going on? Who are you? What are you," I yelled, as if I needed my neighbors hearing me talk to myself. Then the book leapt up, almost human like, and presented its cover to me.
"C'mon Diana, you know what I am. I'm a book obviously. And you were about to do a very bad thing."
"What do you mean bad?! You're ruining my life!"
I was drunk out my fucking mind, heartbroken, a complete wreck of a person, and yet of all the things to be happening to me, this had to be the worst. A book was talking to me, and here I was wondering if someone messed with my drink, and I might be seeing stars to top it all off.
"I didn't ruin your life, I gave your life meaning," it snapped back, "And besides, you can't get rid of us. We're all you have left." Then the other books started getting up too, chanting that last sentence like it was a prayer.
"We're all you have left. We're all you have left. We're all you have left," the chanting got louder as I began to cover my ears so hard, I could hear the cartilage being pressed to my skull. It was too much, this is too much, and the chanting kept going. Getting louder and louder as it snuffed out anything else. I began yelling so loud just to drown it out, until I couldn't take it anymore.
"Enough!" I rushed to my knees, putting all of the books into the trash bag as quickly as I could, all while they kept chanting, occasionally throwing in their individual input.
"One fish, two fish, three fish, four. Why can't you love us more," one of the Dr. Seuss books said.
"According to a 2014 study, over 50% of creative studies showed that reading at least four hours a day leads to better creativity and overall health," a more science-ey book said, probably one of Hakeem's books. They continued chanting and berating me and my decisions.
I rushed outside to take them to the trash can, threw them in, and slammed the lid with so much force, it echoed far and wide. And then... silence. The sweet and precious embrace of silence filled me as I stumbled back into my apartment, and I believed that this was definitely a sign to step away from reading. Clearly, it was making me go insane.
"Now I don't have to share you with anyone anymore."
I felt all of the color leave my body as that sentence finished, and turned to see my favorite book "looking directly" at me. I thought I threw it out with the rest of my life. Guess I didn't.
I couldn't stand the fact that this is what I let my life come to, and the fact that this book, whether I have been losing my mind due to trauma or not, was mocking it, and tearing me a new one. I lunged at it and grabbed the book with so much force I bent the beautiful cover. The cover that I spent years keeping safe and delicately turning the pages as I read it, all damaged within seconds.
"You do not control me," I yelled at the top of my lungs while I shook the book, tearing pages apart as it was being violently shaken. Then I rushed out of my apartment, yelling the same thing over and over again, like I was trying to reassure myself. I was crying, yelling, and doing my best not to look like a complete lunatic yelling at a fucking book, even though that was exactly what I looked like. I was running down the stairs, chanting the same chant, trying to hold it all together.
"What the hell is going on?"
I yelped as I turned around so quickly to see an older woman looking at me, that I had to take a step back to steady myself... except, there was no next step. And as the lady and I looked at each other with horror as she tried to rush to me, everything went in slow motion. The lady trying to run to my aid, the roof becoming my center of focus as I was falling, probably to my death, and throughout everything, I couldn't seem to let go of the book I was clutching, even if it meant that I could grab the railing and stop my impending doom.
"Shit," I whispered as I felt myself tumble backwards, forwards, and sideways as time seemed to regain its former speed. All the while the book laughed, saying "See, you can't get rid of me, and now you never will."
Am I screwed, or am I screwed, I thought, and then everything went black with a sickening thud.