like he lost her. I didn’t tell her about his difficult relationship with his dad. I trust Aunt Jenny implicitly, but that’s West’s private business and not mine to share. I only told her about his mum dying because it’s public knowledge. You can literally Google him, and it’s there in detail.
And I get what she’s saying, but who the hell doesn’t have issues? My dad died when I was a baby, and my mother screwed my fiancé. You don’t get any more messed up than that! And I was there, ready to be with West.
But whatever.
Actually, no. Screw him!
So, I think I might have reached the anger stage of my grieving over our breakup.
Aunt Jenny says there are five stages to a breakup—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. They’re supposed to go in that order, but mine have been all over the place, and I skipped a couple. I haven’t had denial—probably because my relationship with West wasn’t conventional. Weirdly, acceptance that it was over came first. I didn’t try bargaining with him because I knew it was a lost cause and that his mind was made up. I’ve been dealing with the depression since I left his apartment, and now, apparently, I’m angry.
Thank God Aunt Jenny has gone to the shops to get us some more Prosecco because I could really do with a drink right now. She’s also grabbing takeaway while she’s out because she says I haven’t been eating enough, and she’s right. Maybe now that I’m feeling angry with West instead of just sad, I might feel like eating more.
I’m staying at Aunt Jenny’s until I can get a job and a place sorted—you know, because of the whole having nowhere to live due to giving up my apartment to move in with the prick I was supposed to marry. Now, that definitely feels like eons ago. So much has happened since then. I can’t believe I even considered marrying the prick. What was I thinking? Clearly, I wasn’t.
I hear a knock on the front door. Jenny might have forgotten her key, but she hasn’t been gone that long either, and we’re not expecting anyone else.
I’ve been hiding myself away here. I’ve not even told my friends that I’m home yet. I’m just not up for peopling quite yet. Aunt Jenny told me that I made it into the local newspaper and that there was also a small segment in the nationals. I guess an unknown girl from Hull being seen with the American president’s son would make news. Thankfully, people don’t seem to know that I’m home, or if they do, they haven’t figured out where I’m staying, and as I’m not going to be seen with West anymore, the story should die a quick death.
If only my heart would. At first, I did wonder if a heart was irreparable after being broken twice in a short period of time, but it’s hanging in there, feeling all the hurt and pain and loneliness of missing West and the general shittiness that is my life. I’m just hoping this newfound anger will sort me out.
I get up from the sofa and make my way into the hallway and to the front door.
On my way there, I have these few seconds of stupidness where I think it might be West. That he’s come to see me. Even though, deep down, I know it won’t be him, my stupid heart still reaches for that notion, even with knowing I’ll be left disappointed when I find out that it’s not him.
I reach the door, push up onto my tiptoes, and look through the peephole. It’s not West.
Pain and anger hit my chest like a punch—not because of the disappointment, but because of who’s standing on the other side of the door.
I yank the door open and stare at the woman who gave me life. “What are you doing here?” I snap.
She smiles. “It’s nice to see you too, darling.”
“I know you’re not here to see Jenny, so I’m guessing you’re here to see me. How’d you know I was here?”
“I bumped into Phil at the pub last night. He said you were here. Said he saw you arriving the other day.”
Phil is Aunt Jenny’s next-door neighbor and someone my mother used to see years ago, before she got bored and tossed him aside for someone else. I should have considered that he might have seen me getting here the other day and told her. She has her fucking