Never Again in Another Life

I couldn't believe I was dying.

I had no parents and no family, with only a handful of contacts on my phone.

I thought for a moment and decided to call Mateo. He answered instantly but hung up just as fast.

Thinking it was a slip, I dialed again. This time, it rang forever before he answered, sounding pissed.

"What now?"

"Mateo..."

The thought of my diagnosis hit me. Memories of our happy times flooded back.

It pained me that I couldn't be by his side much longer. My voice shook, but the words died in my throat. I didn't know how to bring it up to him.

"It's just a fake breakup, alright? We'll get back together. Why are you acting like this?" he grumbled. "Grow up. If Sophie offs herself, that's on us."

Once, he said that he knew me best, able to read my every thought.

He knew how fragile I was and promised he'd stick by me through anything. He was my therapist and my closest love.

But everything changed when Sophie showed up. Our relationship was reduced to a joke.

The second he suggested splitting, I knew we were done. The double blow wrecked me.

Still, I steadied myself and said flatly, "I've made up my mind. Let's break up for real."

It was time to end this fantasy and my miserable life.

...

Since that day, Mateo hadn't come home.

I boxed up his stuff and shipped it to Sophie's place. Most of my things went to the landlady.

Mary Thompson stared at the pile I hauled over, confused. "Are you guys moving out?"

I forced a smile. "Yeah, I can't take all this stuff. Pick whatever you need."

She saw right through me. "You broke up with that lad, didn't you?"

I laughed bitterly. She caught herself, patting my shoulder.

"I thought you two were solid," she sighed. "Oh well, life is full of curveballs. Just remember that there are other fish in the sea."

Her open-mindedness soothed me a little.

The next day, sorting through the apartment, I felt drained. Even my once-sharp mind became dull.

I tossed and turned all night, stuck between nightmares and waking up.

By the next evening, I finally dragged myself out of bed. In my haze, I kept calling for Mateo.

Back when I had cramps, he'd stumble out of bed, grab me a hot bottle of water, and rub my belly while nodding off.

Maybe I leaned on him too much. When no one answered, I cried.

Then it hit me that we had broken up.

Growing up unloved, I never learned how to love or what it felt like. Mateo was my light, showing me what it meant to be cared for.

It was new and strange, something I couldn't let go of.