Note: Post "The Parts in the Sum of the Whole". Very angsty. Consider yourself warned.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
The first twenty-four hours are the hardest. After all, a broken heart hurts, even if you did it yourself.
She hadn't realized how many times in a day she called him or sent him a text message or got a teasing e-mail from him until suddenly she couldn't do any of that anymore.
He hadn't told her to stop, but he needed to move on, to find someone who could trust in love – in him – enough to give him her whole heart.
She wants that for him.
She knows that she's not that person, so she hangs up before dialing that last digit. She hits delete instead of send.
All of her colleagues – her friends - have noticed that something has changed. They tiptoe around her as if they're afraid that she'll shatter into a million pieces if they look at her the wrong way. She wants to berate them for this but she knows they love her and, if she's really honest with herself, she's not sure she won't shatter.
She doesn't want to fall apart in front of them.
Work is her salvation – yes, the very air reminds her of him, but without something concrete to focus on, she would go completely mad.
When she gets home and opens the fridge that still contains his favorite beer, she can no longer hold back the sobs. She sinks to the floor in front of the open fridge and cries, her arms wrapped around her knees in what Sweets would call a defensive posture. She wants to blame Sweets for how she feels, but she knows it's not his fault. He was just the catalyst. They have been moving towards this for a long time.
She doesn't let herself cry for long. She picks herself up and forces herself to choke down some leftovers that have lost all taste, then heads off to karate.
By the time she gets home again, she is physically exhausted enough to match her emotional exhaustion. She showers and crawls into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.
At 2:30 a.m. she finds herself wide awake, her metaphorical heart a painful lump in her chest. Every bit of her wants to call the one person who can make her feel better.
She doesn't.
After all, calling him would solve nothing – she still can't give him what he wants.
She wishes she could.
But, as she lies awake, she knows she made the right decision. They're both happier this way.
Well, they will be.
Eventually.
So she lies in bed, counting the minutes until she can get up and go to work, trying not to cry.
Yes, the first twenty-four hours are the hardest.
At least until the second twenty-four hours.