Send My Love (to your new lover)

Tabloids and Frozen Hell

"God dammit!" I shouted, kicking the trash basket across my office, sending post-it notes, tissues and gum wrappers flying through the air. It crashed into the corner of my bookshelf which dented its aluminum body as it fell to the floor with a loud crash. I took my fresh copy of OK! magazine and whipped that in the same direction.

I had to brace myself on the edge of my desk because my head felt like it may have actually exploded. A staggering range of emotions surged in my body as all of my suspicions were being confirmed. Anger. Fear. Jealousy. Sadness? Yes, there was definitely sadness there and I didn't like it one bit.

I'd called it months before. It was as plain as the nose on my face. I'd called him out when we were still together and he straight up lied to me about his feelings for her. He was my boyfriend, true blue and yet he was easily charmed away by a darling, little thing who was pretty much the polar opposite of me.

It's not like we'd been together for a decade or anything, it was just a couple of years. I did think he was the one though, silly me. My stomach lurched at the thought of all the things he said at the beginning of what I thought was the greatest love I'd ever known.

"We can't let the outside world in. We'll never have any peace," he always told me. He never took me out openly in public...ever. Just after we met, we were inseparable, we spent every moment together that we could. In the end, we couldn't have been further apart. Early on, we talked on the phone, texted, went on lunches. The thing is, they were always very private. He's very private. We never went on vacation or attended movie premieres together. If we were both invited to any events, we attended them separately; he always told me it was to protect what we had.

He told me I was the love of his life yet he kept me a secret. Always. Jennifer Parker may as well have not existed, not if you asked Tom Hiddleston anyway. I, Jennifer Margery Parker was something for him to have all to himself then discard and never have to answer for ever again.

Now, suddenly, Mister Privacy is on every entertainment magazine and website, he's all over Facebook and they're talking about him on every radio station I tune into. I can't escape Tom. He's everywhere I look because of her and it's made me insane. Rumors about his involvement with her, an uber famous chanteuse along with photographic evidence of them together were just a fistful of salt in the wound that I was working on healing.

"I'm guessing you've heard. Maybe if you'd gone to the Met like I told you to, he'd never have met her," my boss said through a minimally cracked open door. He knew damn well with a comment like that if he entered all the way, I'd have hurled something at him. When Tom broke up with me(via text message, might I add) I'd already known he had designs on her. The rags were all saying they'd met each other at the Met, but I know that they'd had a chance meeting long before that. The Met Gala just cemented the fact that he'd mentally said goodbye to me long before he actually said--no, texted me the words.

It's over. I'm sorry -TWH

Tom had put the charity event on his calendar incorrectly and I was unable to attend that particular one. Apparently he met her there at the bar and they chatted eachother up the whole night, seated right next to eachother, pictures of them being tweeted and tagged and posted all over the Internet. Lovely. I got to watch my boyfriend fall out of love with me in real time. Thank you social media, I hate you and yet somehow I still love you.

"Jen? Hello?" my boss poked his head through the door. For having such a handsome face, it really irritated me in that moment.

"I'm busy. What do you want?"

"I heard a bit of commotion and I wanted to make sure you're okay," he asked me carefully as he entered my office, kicking my magazine and trash off to the side.