And After All This Time, I'm Still Into You

I curse silently to myself as I open to door to my apartment, my fingers groping the wall as I struggle to find the light switch. The contents in my arms are ready to fall over, a reminder that now may be the time to invest in some sort of briefcase now that my workload is doubling. A recent loss to our company has divided their work to the remaining 4 planners, making the last few weeks even busier than they have been. I'm starting to get the last of everything out of the way but that doesn't necessarily mean the workload will lessen any more.

My fingers finally find the switch and I flick it, the light instantly brightening the semi empty place. In the past 3 years of living here, I never spent the time to make it my own. In a way, it never seemed like it was. I was always at work anyways.

I take in the couch, the coffee table, the small shelf against the wall with a decent sized tv on it. The walls are barren, no pictures, painting or anything hanging from them. Against the wall by the only window in the living area, is a small table, and although no one has ever came over, there are four chairs at each end. It makes me sigh out in frustration as I realize how sad my life out of work is.

I walk over to the sofa, instantly dropping myself onto it after I dump everything in my arms onto the small coffee table beside it. I let out another sigh, feeling the emotions of today draining me. My mind wanders over to the events of this morning, the manila folder on the coffee table sticking out amongst the various other crap it's piled under. It's contents are taunting me, though I am unable to see through the folder itself. I know it's there though. Those papers. They're all signed, waiting to be mailed. Technically, I'm not divorced. Not yet. Once I mail them though, that's it.

My body reacts involuntary and I'm off the couch, gripping the folder in my hand. I stare at his name, the way he's signed. The e curves smoothly into the x, something I always liked about his writing. I'm so used to seeing him sign Alex that seeing his full name brings a small smile to my face. I can hear my teenage self, the way the name comes off my tongue. Alexander. I can see his smile. Not a smirk, not a half smile. A real genuine smile. It's bittersweet and I shake the thought, focusing on his signature. He always had better writing than me. I chuckle to myself. Most boys had crappy handwriting, but Alex, his writing was perfect. Everything about him was perfect, to be honest.

We, on the other hand, were not perfect though. We were far from it. In the beginning we were. Or so we thought. But that last year...that's where it all went downhill.

I throw the folder back onto the coffee table and it falls onto the floor, my aim a little off. I leave it there, wanting to forget about it for a while as I head into the kitchen, taking out a container of leftover lasagna. Turning on the oven, I set it at a low degree, placing a single serving of the pasta onto a baking sheet before putting it in the oven and setting a time. It should be warm enough by the time I come out of a much needed shower.

The warm water is a welcome to my aching muscles. It relaxes me, relaxes me enough to let my thoughts wander over to the boy that I had thought about for almost every day of the past three years. I can see his face, exactly as I remember it from so long ago. I've seen pictures of him from most recently. But to me, he will always look like he did in my memories. I think back to when I first met him, the water softly hitting me in a steady rhythm.

The first few days of 9th grade were a blur until I met Alex. New schools are always intimidating. More so though because I was a freshman, coming in from middle school and being at the top of the food chain, to now being at the bottom as older kids surrounded me. It seemed that all of my friends had went to the other high school in our district, separating us. I was alone.

When I met Alex, we were both at P.E., trailing behind the other students as we did our first dress out. My shirt was baggy, a hand me down from my older brother. The shorts at least were new, so I didn't have to worry about them falling off. The shirt was only temporary though. They had run out of smalls and were ordering more. So for the time being, I was Matt Hoult, according to my shirt.

"Your shirt has a hole." A voice said behind me as I walked slowly to where the rest of the class was partnering up to play handball.

I turned, face to face with a boy a few inches taller than me.

"I guess I should wear it to church then, huh?" I said and chuckled. He looked at me funny until a smile formed on his face.

"Holy shirt. Ha. Yeah." He laughed and we continued to walk. "I'm Alex, by the way."

"I'm Jenna. Though my shirt would suggest otherwise." I said.

"You're funny." He said and shook his head.

When we got to the handball court, nearly everyone had paired up.

"Partners?" Alex suggested and I shrugged, not really caring. Phys Ed was never my strong subject. I was more of a watch from the sidelines type. I wasn't athletic. But of course this class was mandatory. Damn school system.

We halfheartedly played, mostly talking as we hit the ball against the wall. We talked about music, about movies. We talked about this new school.

When the teachers signaled that it was time to go change, we were more than thrilled. Once I was done, I waited by the water vending machines, taking out change to buy one.

"So, do you have lunch after this?" I looked up from grabbing my water to see Alex standing over me. I nodded. "Want to eat lunch with me and my friends?" I shrugged, not giving away that I was happy to have someone to eat with unlike the past week.

"Cool." Was all he said.

It seemed like the rest was history after that. He introduced me to Jack and Rian, who he let slip that he was starting a band with. We ate lunch together everyday. A few weeks after, we started hanging out outside of school and I met his other friend, Zack, who I recognized from my middle school. I went to band practices, went to shows. I even went on the mini tours with them. We started dating the summer before junior year. Everyone always asked why it took us so long when we were obviously meant for each other. But that was then. And we weren't meant for each other. Not anymore.

The timer on the oven beeps loudly and I turn off the water, hurrying to get out. Quickly I grab a towel and wrap it around my body as I rush to the kitchen, turning off the oven. I come back a few minutes later, changed into a fresh pair of pajamas, ready to eat.

Bringing my plate with me to the living room, I settle on the couch, turning on the TV to reruns of How I Met Your Mother. Once I'm done eating, I decide to go over some details from an upcoming wedding I'm doing. Shuffling through my papers, I find the things I'm looking for before my eyes land to the divorce papers on the floor. I sigh as I pick them up, deciding I need to have Trisha mail this out tomorrow. When I drop it onto the coffee table, my eyes notice a scrap of paper that seemed to have fallen out of the folder. Curious, I bend down to pick it up, my eyes focusing on the words written down.

I think we need to talk.
- Alex