Breaking Hearts Has Never Looked So Cool

When the lyrics in songs go on and on about being broken hearted and dying inside I used to roll my eyes and scoff. I used to think that people didn’t get that intensity of feeling in real life. Then again, until I met Gerard, I didn’t think people really truly fell in love either. It was like I was numb up until the point when I met him, and then suddenly he induced feeling in me. Only now was I coming to realise that the consequences were mixed. Although he had made me feel better than I had ever felt in my life, now he was making me feel like I was going to die any second.

The shrill sound of my mobile phone ring tone was the only sign of life in the room, along with the faintly blue glow the now flashing screen was giving off.

I had been keeping the curtains drawn so that I could remain shrouded in darkness, and I hadn’t properly left my bed in longer than I cared to remember.

I had also given up on looking at my phone when it rang. It was always either Annabelle, Gerard, or Frank. The others seemed to have come to the conclusion to stay well out of the whole situation. Talking to Annabelle or Gerard would have been like contacting a serial killer from beyond the grave, and when I didn’t answer Frank just came over so there really seemed like no point in answering.

Something irked me though, and I had no idea what time it was so I decided that it might be a good idea to pick up my phone, see that had called, and check the time.

’92 missed calls’ read the message on the little white screen. There were the logos for voicemail and text messages in the corner.

I sighed, and viewed the missed calls in spite of my better judgement.

’26 Missed from Annabelle Cell’

I sighed

’16 Missed from Frank’

’50 Missed from Gerard Cell’

I felt the tears in the back of my eyes but I didn’t let them out, instead trying to find a strength in my core. My phone began to buzz again in my hand, but this time with a text message rather than a call.

‘Hi. I know I have no right to text you or call you so you can ignore this but I have no idea what to do right now and I really need a friend. You’re the only person I can turn to and the best friend I ever had. Sorry for what I did and sorry for bothering you now. Annabelle.’

It hit me at that point that Annabelle was actually carrying a baby that would not go away. I started to wonder what I would feel like in that situation.

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” I whispered out loud to myself. And then curiously, my fingers were working away at the keypad of my phone as if with a life of their own, and suddenly it was pressed to my ear, and I could hear the sound of ringing.

“Hello?” said the fraught female voice at the other end. Annabelle sounded frantic with worry and urgent, but her voice was tinted with a breathlessness that showed me she was both pleased and surprised that I had called.

“Hi,” I muttered, “I don’t know why I’m calling,”

“I guess you don’t want to hear me apologise over and over,” whispered Annabelle,

“No, I don’t,” I replied firmly, “that is the last thing I can stomach,”

“I feel bad asking you for help,” said Annabelle quietly, “but I just don’t know what to do...about this baby,”

“Abstinence,” I stated, “abstinence would have helped you,”

I let out the tiniest of laughs at my own irony, and so did she. It was one small moment, a minute shadow of what we used to have, but it was enough to break the ice.

“Yes,” she said, “but abstinence won’t help me now, it’s too late,”

She sounded petrified,

“How far along does the doctor say you are?” I asked delicately,
“5 weeks,” she answered, “so I’m still eligible for...”

We both paused, “well what do you want?” I asked, “do you want...that?”

The concept of it was almost too horrible to utter out loud.

“I don’t know if I can keep this child,” she said, “I mean...the father situation,”

I bit my lip to keep myself from screaming or crying and tried to think about the Annabelle I loved. “Don’t let that colour your opinion – do you want the baby or not, irrespective of the father?”

Annabelle paused, and I could tell that she was considering her answer carefully.
“No,” she said simply, “I’m not ready to be a mom, I’d be horrible at it! And as for pregnancy...”

| was going to make a slightly inappropriate comment about her inability to give up alcohol, but thought better of it.

“Then there’s your answer,” I said matter-of-factly

“My doctor did make me an appointment for later on today,” confessed Annabelle, still in barely more than a whisper, “I just wasn’t sure if I should go or not,”
“Well now you know that you should go,” I said, “if you really want to,” I didn’t want to sound as though I was pushing an abortion on her just because the love of my life may be the father.

“Should I go by myself?” asked Annabelle pathetically. I could tell that she wanted me to go with her, but felt as though asking would be too much.

I gently turned over the idea in my mind; I was already on the phone to her so it wasn’t as though actually going with her to the clinic would be too much of an imposition.

Deep down I knew that if the tables were turned, I would not want to go alone.

“I’ll go with you,” I volunteered, pursing my lips tightly.

“Really?” Annabelle’s tone was high pitched with shock, “can I meet you there at 2?”

“Yes, of course you can,” I replied sadly.