Dahlia
***
The grandfather clock down the hallway chimed loudly four times. I scowled; it was already half past six according to my phone, but the clock continued to make its inaccurate noise. I needed to fix that.
I needed to fix a lot of things.
But, I couldn't. I sat curled up in my reading nook at my house, waiting for what felt like the end of the world. I'd ruined everything. My career was likely in shambles, my dignity shattered, and my relationship... Well, that was gone. I had nothing, was nothing. Depression like a dark shadow wrapped around me, choking out any chance at looking at the bright side. I pulled my blanket up slightly higher over my body, hiding from the world.
I needed to do something to get out of this funk. I'd spent the last twenty four hours here, unmoving, unable to sleep more than a few minutes at a time - otherwise, I'd see her in my dreams. Dreams that always turned to nightmares. I hadn't even gone to work, calling out with a flimsy excuse of being unwell.
It was so easy to slip back into the depression, so I forced myself to look around at my books. Sure, I studied history and taught it to students, but my personal library was a diverse mix of fiction and nonfiction that spanned nearly every genre.
Nothing stood out to me as I ran my eyes over their spines, though. Upon seeing the neglected collection of romance books shoved in a dark corner, my heart sank a little more. All those girls got their happy endings, whether it was with magical princesses or dashing men. Every story seemed to resolve neatly with conflicts sorted out. So why didn't I get that? Why did I have to suffer? It didn't work with my ex-husband and now it hadn't worked with Kara. I couldn't tell whether time was distorting my feelings or not, but this pain now - having lost Kara - was more intense than I'd felt before. It felt inescapable, like I'd never be free of it.
I was spiraling again, I realized, enough cognizance to pull my head above the dark waters of depression that were trying to drown me. This wasn't working, my answer wasn't going to be in a collection of books that I'd already read. I knew how those stories ended, but mine wasn't done.
That last thought stuck with me, lingering longer than it should. My story wasn't over yet... So what did the heroines of my books do when they were down and their lover seemingly rejected them? My cheeks burned as I realized the answer. They usually would pleasure themselves, get over feeling like shit for themselves, and start fixing their problems.
Suddenly I became acutely aware of the blanket against my bare skin. I'd spent the night trying to sleep, so throughout the night I had discarded my clothes piecemeal, until finally I was naked. I shivered, despite not feeling cold.
Why shouldn't I pleasure myself? After all, it was one of the best ways to deal with a bad break up. I thought for a moment, dwelling on the fact that we hadn't, really, broken up, but I let that thought go. We were as good as done, surely. Despite the crushing urge to wallow in my misery, I could feel my hand navigate the folds of the thick blanket until it finally rested on my chest.