Something about this place feels so right.
It’s an unshakeable feeling.
Like fate has brought me here for a reason.
Laughing at myself, I resist the lure of the library and the Book of Kells continuing my way to Grafton Street. The pedestrianized street is only a few minutes’ walk from the campus, and it’s bustling with people. I stop outside Bewley’s Café to listen to some of the musicians busking in the street, soaking up the electric atmosphere.
My tired body gains a new lease on life as I explore my new city.
I purchase some warmer clothes in Brown Thomas, organizing delivery direct to my apartment building. Then I spend an enjoyable afternoon strolling through the park at St. Stephen’s Green, feeding the birds, and wandering through quirky little side streets. When my stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten anything since the plane, I step into my first Irish pub.
Bruxelles is just off Grafton Street, and it’s a traditional Irish pub known for its live music and great food. Pulling myself up onto a stool, I examine the menu, ordering the beef stew because I’m fucking freezing and I could use something hot to warm me up. Micheál told me I should sample the black stuff, aka Guinness, but I’m not sure I could stomach it today, so I opt for a glass of wine, purely because I can. In Ireland, the legal drinking age is eighteen, which is an added bonus.
I do some grocery shopping on the return journey, almost collapsing with exhaustion by the time I make it back to my new abode. It’s only seven p.m. and still way too early to sleep. So, I figure out how to use the Nespresso coffee machine and make myself a double espresso before logging on to the Trinity College student portal and downloading my class schedule.
I give up the fight a couple of hours later and crawl into bed, too tired to remember my heartache.
Waking up the following morning, I’m disorientated for a few seconds until I remember where I am. I glance at the clock, surprised to see it’s ten a.m. I slept for a solid thirteen hours, which has got to be a new record for me.
Nausea swims up my throat as I wonder what went down at the premiere last night. Grabbing my cell, I press it against my chest as I try to talk myself out of checking the internet. All the thoughts I’d so successfully blocked yesterday resurface, and I think I might be sick. My mind unhelpfully conjures up images of Reeve and Saffron pawing at one another on the red carpet, dredging up the visual of them kissing that is forever imprinted in my brain, and a sob rips from my chest.
Why did I tell Reeve he was a free agent?
Why did I say he was free to be with her with a clear conscience?
Why did I leave?
Tossing my phone on the bed, I sit up, burying my head in my hands as I cry. Pain rips through me like a tornado, flattening everything in its path. Intense longing washes over me, and I wish Reeve was here. I wish he was experiencing all the wonders of Ireland alongside me. I wish that I wasn’t alone, but I’d better get used to it, because we’re not together anymore. I won’t be sending him any of those pics I took yesterday or sharing details of my first day in a new country, because that’s not who we are to one another anymore.
Losing Reeve impacts my life in so many different ways, and it’s learning how to exist on my own that is my biggest challenge.
One I’m not sure I’m strong enough to accomplish.
Maybe I was too hasty in walking away from him.
Too quick to discount his declarations of love.
“Oh God,” I cry out, rolling into a ball on my side. “Make it stop!” I scream to the empty room. “Please make this pain stop!”
My cell pings, and I snatch it up, desperate for a distraction. It’s a message from Audrey. She must be out partying if she’s still up this late.
You said you didn’t want to know, but I’m your best friend, and I know you’re tearing yourself apart wondering what happened at the premiere. Reeve wasn’t with her. He looked tense in all the photographs, and he kept his distance as much as possible. He left the after-party early, and he was alone. If it helps, he looked utterly miserable. According to reports, she was hanging off Rudy all night. So, dry your tears. Remember I love you and I miss you so much already. Be brave, and go shape your own destiny.
28
My legs are shaking with nervous anticipation as I enter the lecture hall for my very first class at Trinity. Ironically, it’s American literature. Though I will be taking classes in Irish writing, postcolonial literature, Shakespeare, and the Middle Ages too. I am also attending some classes in film studies, because the degree program here is a joint majors course. The syllabus this year has a big focus on screenwriting, so it wasn’t a hard sell.