I’d unfollowed him, but that didn’t stop his page being the first to come up when I tapped the search bar. My phone was kind of old （it had all my writing notes on it: I was attached and a luddite）， so sometimes bulky apps made it jam. This meant that, often, when I tapped the search bar, the screen would freeze and black out, and I would be forced to take a second to look at my own frazzled reflection judging me; ‘Really, Tiara? This again?’
Nevertheless, I persisted. I would find my thumb dancing and hovering over a digital mosaic of his life, a life I was once a part of – a life I now observed through a screen – carefully navigating my trail, lest I slip up and like a picture, lest I slip up and let him know I give a shit about what he’s up to. Which, technically, I don’t. It’d been a while since I’d scrolled through the sunny LA life he’d curated for himself since he’d moved. The past year and a half I’d done well to mentally disassociate from him. It was a clean break, a new me. There was no relapse. I was determined to tuck that part of my life in cutely, only untucking it if I needed to access something significant from it; like, who was the person I drunkenly and successfully performed all parts of ‘Aaron Burr, Sir’ to? Oh yeah, him. Sometimes I wanted to access a light memory from those days, but it forced me to untuck the heavy ones too. The memories that included fiery touches and hot breaths on neck. When we hooked up that night after I performed ‘Aaron Burr, Sir’， giddy on cheap wine and each other, I remember it was different from the other times. It was a confirmation that we had transitioned from ‘seeing each other’ to ‘being with each other’。 It was slower, sweeter. We relished each other.
And now he was someone else, relishing someone else. I was three scrolls down on his page when I saw her, smiling next to him in a beaming selfie. Riley Dawn. Riley Dawn didn’t even sound like it was a real name. Riley Dawn was the name of a high-school nemesis in a movie. Riley Dawn had to be called by her first name and surname at all times to maintain a sense of careful detachment lest I attempt to humanise her. Riley Dawn had to remain Riley Dawn to avoid making the mistake of seeing her as more than the woman potentially fucking the only guy who I had ever truly – wait, Riley Dawn was definitely wearing at least BB-cream in that #nomakeupselfie, #naturalbeauty selfie. No one’s skin is that flawless. Her eyebrows are definitely micro-bladed. She did not wake up like dis. I’m not sure anyone ever just wakes up like dis?
Riley Dawn played his love interest in his latest blockbuster summer movie: Rough & Reckless. He and Riley Dawn had sex while he was driving a car at like 150 mph. In the movie. Or maybe even in real life. Who knew? It was all so predictable. Of course he’d start fucking his beautiful co-star. Riley Dawn was working on a lipgloss line. E! News told me that her last public romantic liaison was with Drake.
You know what? Who cares! Clearly, I’d moved on. I was good. I’d learnt the art of the thirst-trap, which had upped my Instagram likes by, like, 20 per cent at least. I mean, I’d turned a Twitter account I had into a book deal. I’d found purpose! I had progressed. It was ridiculous, that I, Tiaraoluwa Ajayi, should be sitting bottomless on my bed at 10 p.m. on a Friday night looking through pictures of him hiking with his adorable dog.
Shit. I love dogs.
Aside from the obvious evisceration of my heart, the break-up wasn’t actually as hard as it could have been, because my guy, the guy, went to LA shortly after we broke up. And when I say shortly, I mean two months after the door slammed and the tears poured. When I say shortly, I mean my stomach hadn’t untwisted itself yet and the branding of his lips on my body could still be traced. Shortly, like I could still run my fingers across my skin and they would dip into the indents his fingertips had left. I would put my hands on my hips and my fingers would slip into the shape of his. The spaces where he had been were still warm.
Tiara’s Top Tips
If you’re going to break up with someone, ensure that you do it right before one of you leaves the country. Distance is key to moving on.
Although, in my case, I guess him leaving was technically the reason we broke up. The memory is imprinted on the lining of my mind and replays every time I’m reminded of him, my own personal movie reel of torment. He’d just got a role in a network TV show filming in LA; it was his big break and I was over the moon for him.
‘Come with me, Tiara,’ he said, brimming over with excitement. He was already there in his mind, eating acai bowls al fresco. ‘It’ll be perfect, TiTi. Think about it: me and you taking on LA. We can pretend to be Idris Elba and Naomi Campbell’s cousins. Nobody will ask questions. Isn’t Hollywood like the perfect place to start your writing career?’