As the crashing waves drag me back into the present, they mock me, as if each collapse of water against rock is a cruel reminder of my own foolishness. How stupid, my mind sneers, to have given myself so recklessly, to have believed so fully in emotions that now feel like relics from a bygone era.
That trek, that night, those fleeting days of wild abandon - they had left me convinced I had stumbled into something profound. I had returned home with a renewed vigor, a fire in my chest, believing the time had finally come to go deeper - to settle down, to surrender the fortress I had built and let someone in for good.
The months that followed were a whirlwind, intoxicating and dangerous. He showed up at my office like a scene from a romance I never dared to imagine for myself - leaning casually against the gates just when I was about to leave, turning the monotony of routine into a surprise I secretly craved.
He sent gifts that carried meaning beyond their price - small, thoughtful tokens that made me feel seen in ways I had never allowed myself to be. He listened to me - really listened - absorbing my frustrations and my rants with a patience I had never known. The problems I once drowned alone in food, distraction, or sheer self-discipline now had a softer landing. For the first time in my life, I realized that strength did not have to mean solitude.
And that realization was lethal. Because I - the woman who prided herself on never breaking, never leaning, never needing - gave in. Voluntarily. Completely. I let him in, not just into my bed but into the marrow of my existence.
Nights of passion blurred into hours of conversation - sensible and nonsensical, laughter that turned into tears, practicalities that dissolved into fantasies. Every thread wove into a tapestry that convinced me this was it. That everything I had endured, all the years of resisting, had finally led me to him.
Until that morning.
I woke up nauseated, my body heavy, unrecognizable. A fatigue unlike anything I had ever carried pinned me to the bed. My stomach turned violently, and I barely made it to the bathroom before collapsing against the sink, retching until my throat burned. The dizziness was brutal, my head pounding as though someone was hammering nails into my skull. For a moment, I could barely breathe.
When I stumbled back into the bedroom, his side of the bed was empty - only the crumpled sheets remained, holding the imprint of his absence. The scent of his perfume - once my comfort, once the invisible hug that wrapped me in safety - now betrayed me, thick in the air, sickening, almost accusatory. It mocked me the way the sea does now: look what you've done to yourself.
I dragged myself to the kitchen, each step a war. My body screamed for water, for relief, for strength. I gulped down a glass, popped the first pill my trembling fingers found, praying it would silence the chaos inside me.
My stomach growled angrily, weakness wrapping around me like a noose, and anxiety bled into every thought. For the first time in a long while, I wished he was there - wished he could hold me steady, even if just for a moment.
But I crushed the thought almost instantly. He must've had something urgent, I told myself. Something important. That's why he left early. I hadn't even looked at my phone yet. Surely there was a message waiting, an explanation that would soothe this storm of unease.
Clutching the last shred of rationality, I forced myself back toward the bedroom. My body was failing me, but my mind - still clinging to hope, still desperate for reassurance - reached for the phone like it was salvation.