It’s been two years. Two years, 5 months and 17 days to be exact. Two years, 5 months and 17 days since she left you on your fucking weeding and it still hurts like a damn motherfucker. It still feels like it was yesterday that you put your dress on and got your hair and makeup done. That you looked in the mirror and for the first fucking time in your life felt completely and utterly pleased about your appearance, because despite all the looks men and woman threw at you, you always felt self-conscious.

You still walk around with that image of yourself in your head so that you get quite a shock every time you see your reflection now. You gained a shit load of weight in those two and a half years, because all you ever do now is sit in front of the TV and eat junk food. Some take drugs to forget, others fuck the pain away. You deal stuffing great amounts of sweets into your body.

Suddenly you realize how fat you’ve become lately and the old anger flashes up. It’s all her fault! If she hadn’t left… How many fucking times have you said or thought that sentence? The reasonable part of you thinks that maybe things would have turned out just fine, had you returned at least one of her 3 million calls, but the other isn’t willing to take any blame on your misery. It doesn’t matter anyways. Shane has given up on trying to reach you a long time ago and now you have no idea how or where she is, so you wonder. Did she find another woman and got married? Did she have kids? Did go back to her old dating habits? After all that’s what she did after Cherie Jaffe and you can’t help but wish that her heart is still broken over you.

You never returned any of your friends calls either and somewhere along the months they stopped calling too, so it’s quite a shock when you answer the phone and instantly recognize Jenny’s voice.

“Carmen? It’s me Jenny. Please, don’t hang up.”

“Jenny? Wow, it’s been awhile…”

“Listen, I know you don’t want to hear it, but this is very important. Shane got shot. Doctors did everything they could, but she’s in a coma now. They don’t think she’ll wake up.”

Your heart skips a beat, then two. A lump is forming in your throat and you start seeing black spots. That’s when you remember to breath.

“Carmen? Are you still there?”

“Why are you telling me this?” you manage to whisper.

“I really don’t want to talk about this on the phone… How soon do you think you can make it too our place?”

Now you’re really freaking out. Going back to that house, where you lived, argued and fucked with Shane? Where the happiest memories of your life are buried?  No freaking way!

“I’ll be there in an hour!”