I walked the two blocks from the station to the university. Flashes of the black baseball cap kept appearing in front of my eyes, and I had to physically shake my head to shift them. I needed more distractions. Karen, through her subtle micro-aggression, was absolutely right; I needed to get out, even if it was just for my own sanity. I didn’t need to look at anything long-term, but I needed to start finding my way back to some sort of normality, not just painting by numbers and pretending that I was a normal person just because I paid rent and bought a fancy, overpriced coffee every now and again. I needed to do it, not just to show those around me that I was okay, but to prove to myself that I could. I needed him to know I had moved on; once he could see that, maybe he would leave me alone.
I knew what I would start with, and the conversation I had with Will the other day reverberated in my ears. I would sign up for the exhibition. I needed to fill my days and hours with as much as I possibly could.
I went to the main art block and found there was a little desk with a piece of paper taped to it. I wrote down my name, student number and a rough outline of what my exhibition would be.
From the images I had been collecting on my phone, I had been subconsciously building towards a project. Now I had a reason to create it.
I headed to my first lesson of the day. It was a practical, and I knew I could lose myself in the colours and textures. I had been making some preliminary sketches, and I felt a wave of enthusiasm that it might turn into something good.
At lunchtime, I found myself in the spot where Will and I had sat and chatted a few days ago. I didn’t want to sit and imagine Will showing up, taking a seat and distracting me with his shiny eyes and easy conversation, so I pulled out my phone and checked in on Mrs Clean. She had posted, in her stories; this time a photo of a toilet taken on an angle. There was some sort of hanging plant spidering its way from a basket that was attached to the wall. There was a candle on the windowsill and I realised it was an ad for this particular candle brand. It said, Swipe up to buy. So I did, and found myself on a website that sold purely organic candles. Without too much thought, I ordered a lavender, basil and lemon one. I had never heard of that combination, but I was pretty sure that was the one Mrs Clean had on her windowsill.
I looked up from my phone, half expecting to see Will, but I didn’t. I felt something in the pit of my stomach; regret at not taking him up on his offer for a drink. I thought about the dating app that Mini had installed for me and talked me through. I hadn’t looked at it since we uploaded my information yesterday.
Mini had asked why I didn’t have any photos of myself on my phone. I hadn’t taken a photo of myself in years, I told her.
It was hard not to think about when I was a different person, and I did, all the time. I felt truly robbed of everything, not just the loss of the life I knew and loved, but I had totally lost who I was. I looked back on images or texts from days before it happened and thought to myself, how could I have ever been so happy? How can I now feel so different to that person who was bantering on text messages and taking selfies with a perfect streak of lens flare across her face? It was me, but it wasn’t me any more. That me was gone, and I didn’t think she would ever return.
I looked at the dating app and I could see there were profiles of suitable men in front of me, and I was now supposed to what? Check them out, decide if liked them? ‘Swipe right to say you like them, left if you don’t,’ was what Mini said. I looked at the first profile. It was a tall man in a police uniform. I immediately swiped left. I was presented with another potential suitor: Darren, stocky, muscles, clean-shaven, likes going to the gym and socialising. I swiped left.
Next, a preppy-looking guy with neat, dark hair, wearing a corduroy jacket and jeans. Solicitor, enjoys walks, meals out and books. Okay, I thought, this sounds as though it could be something I could possibly endure for an hour or two. I took a deep breath and swiped right, then quickly shoved my phone away. If he decided he liked me too, then it was going to be okay, I reminded myself. It was just two people having a conversation, but I would have to make sure we only went for a drink; eating food in front of strangers was out of the question. I had just about managed to train myself to eat with my house mates, and I did that as little as possible.
But it was going to be okay. Because much worse things had happened.
By the time I had arrived home from college, I had received a match. He, Calvin, had decided he liked the look of me and had messaged me, suggesting meeting for a drink at the weekend. For that I was grateful. I
