All Over Me

Illustrated by Maja Kobylak.

I stared back at him on the screen for a moment longer. Looking back, I guess it’s strange that I didn’t want to drink up his face as best I could – but the eyes were cold and I didn’t recognise him. 

“Ok,” he huffed.

I waited half a second longer, the foolish part of me must have thought he’d say he was joking. The proud part of me won quickly, though, and I clicked to end the call. At least I wasn’t crying by the end. My jaw had set and my face turned to stone; I hope his indifferent stare found a cold match in mine. The laptop screen now showed the background of a sunset on a beach I’d never visited. I don’t think I blinked for a while.

All I knew was the ringing in my ears; did this really just happen?

“I guess my feelings have changed.”

I’m not sure how long I sat there staring at the screen which had long turned black, but it must have been a while because the light outside started to change. The sun had set and it felt infinitely colder. My cheeks were hot to touch. I stared at the Valentine’s card and bouquet of red flowers perched on the desk in the corner and I willed them to die. Perhaps if I glared at them long enough they’d catch fire so I wouldn’t have to touch them. Unfortunately they didn’t.

My eyes stung and my head throbbed by the end of that day. I redownloaded Tinder and meticulously combed my wardrobe to make sure all the clothes he’d let me borrow over the years were packed away in a different room. Along with the Valentine’s Day card. And the necklace. And the lighter he’d bought me for my birthday. Christ that’s a lot of t-shirts.

…..

Unfortunately, he starred in more photos on my wall than I’d realised. Stupid. Must remember in future to limit wall decorations to pictures of the dog. My friends suggested we burn them all in a cleansing ritual in the courtyard and I laughed and agreed. Then I hurried to shove the stack of photos in the boot of my car before they could push the subject any further.

That night we drank a lot of wine and listened to Taylor Swift and screamed about how much we hated men. But I still checked the last time he was active on Instagram before I went to sleep that night. I dreamt about the feeling of my arms draped around his neck and how his hair felt in between my fingers. My heart was more hollow when I opened my eyes the next morning.

How stupid and smug love makes you. How silly I feel now.

…..

I noticed that his foot was in the corner of one of the photos still on my wall – I took that one down and threw it in the boot as well.

…

His brother liked my Instagram.

…

I walked past eggs in Tesco. He was truly insufferable in the kitchen. I miss his scrambled eggs.

…

The deodorant I bought smelt like his so I had to go out and get a new one.

…

I thought I saw his car parked outside the house. It was the builders next door.

…

I went on a date with someone and his eyes weren’t the right shade of hazel and his hair wasn’t the right colour and he didn’t laugh at the jokes I know he would’ve found funny.

…

For some reason, this one specific cigarette reminded me of his jacket so I stubbed it out immediately and went back inside. It was my last one.

…

How selfish of him to have bled everywhere. What a mess he’s made, leaving traces of himself all over the place. I found a lock of his hair under my pillow, an eyelash in the kitchen sink, and a toenail outside my bedroom window. My God, is that a tooth in my morning coffee? An incisor to be specific. I had to pull his thumb out of my ponytail, his right ear was clogging the shower. I spotted his belly button down the side of the front seat and I spent the morning trying to fish it out. His right (?) no left, definitely left, eyeball fell out of my coat pocket and everyone waiting at the bus stop stared. How’s he still walking around with only one knee? Because I’m sure it was his that I saw on the M1 hard shoulder, but it flashed by too fast and I didn’t get a chance to check.

I found his big toe in my coin purse.

A bottom lip in my trainer.

A tongue caught on my windscreen wiper.

His shoulder was under the sofa cushion. I was wondering what that lump was.

I nearly choked on the knuckle in my cornflakes.

His palm was stuck to a stranger’s back at the Sainsbury’s self-checkout.

I spotted his eyebrow caught in my friend’s hair and had to untangle it quickly before she noticed.

My God this is getting exhausting. Couldn’t you at least have tidied up before you left?

No matter how many times I throw the parts away, they just keep cropping up somewhere else. The shower’s as hot as I can bear and I’ve scrubbed myself raw but I’m really getting tired out. 

It’s rude to make such a mess without cleaning it up.