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2. The Girl Who Knew She Wasn't Perfect

The sky was a soft grey, clouds mixing with the rain that drizzled at a pace of the cars slowly rolling down her street.

The house hasn't been used since that day; the day the we turned to they.

The clock told the time as it did before, the plants still soaked up the little rays of sun, the dirt on the floors remained the same, but what changed was her; the girl hiding herself from the world under the darkness of her comforter.

He told her his favorite color was orange. He said it was the perfect median of all colors; not too bright, but not too dark. Making it the perfect color to make as your wallpaper and to pick to color on a blank page. He loved the color so much, she decided that was her favorite color too.

But now she knows her true favorite color- black.

The shade that welcomes you in a warm embrace and can hide your secrets from the rest of the world. Black is always there for you, it's the true median of colors. Not orange that can fade or turn lighter or darker, with black it's always the same.

That's why her face is shoved in the darkness of her pillow, hiding her face from the rest of the world, because she needs consistency; someone to be there for her no matter what, and the darkness is the only one who can.

It's been days that she's laid in bed, only leaving to relive herself before crawling back under the warm blankets. She hasn't ate, she hasn't spoken, she's just slept.

Her phone rang nonstop for the first day and then it just stopped. No one came to visit because she was supposed to be on vacation with him; partying with her boyfriend at the beach, but that didn't happen.

She stinks, and she knows she does. When the faint smell of the pillow in her nose dies out, she's left with the sweat of her own body, but she doesn't care.

Why take care of yourself if no one else does?

The pillows hold salty tears long shed from her heartbreak; crinkled from her routine of crying, getting mad, and then crying again. Her blankets hug her sweaty body, hair oily from not being washed. 

Her hope of the future broke with her heart that day. She has nothing to look forward to, nothing to push herself out of bed for.

She always imagined him by her side in her future. He was there when she graduated, when she got her first job; and he was supposed to be there when she got married and had kids.

Now those kids are a lost dream, marriage a stupid thought; all she can do is wonder about him.

Is he in the same state as she? Or does he have another girl falling for his witty jokes, barking laugh, and cute crinkle of the nose?

Does he even feel a bit sorry for her?

For leading her on for all of those months, for a whole year, only to break it off when things got serious. For being there for her when times got tough, holding her body as they slept through the night and her hand when they anxiously awaited the doctor's results.

He must be a very good actor, playing with her heart and head like that.

And just like that, the salty tears start again, the faucet turning on and the pillows beginning to be soaked.

And the darkness is the only thing that holds her as she lets out the tears of her heartbreak.