I roll to my side, eyes wide open and I know I have to live through the pain again. I check the time and it is 6:30 PM. Three hours of sleep. That is a good thing, I reckon as I make my way down to the kitchen. I feel sort of better now, though there is the debris of the earlier emotions poking me. But I don't regard it. I want to be free from it. I want to be able to remember her and not feel this overpowering pain. I want to remember her and smile as I used to in the early days of our relationship. But it never works. Memories of her shouldn't hurt. Never. Yet, it does and I don't know how to make it stop.

My ordeal, three hours ago, has made me doubt all that I have come to believe this past year. I thought I grieved properly. That I gave the past all the considerations I could give it and had moved on. That I did all I needed to do. But it appears I did the opposite. Nothing. I did nothing but plant a seed of misery deep within me and it had gradually ripened with every passing day. I didn't notice it at first. I had myself believing that I was fine. But I was only watering this seed every day, so it just grew stronger. It grew taller, plaguing my heart—a slow poison. And now that I have noticed that I am, in fact, wounded, it's too late—way too late. But I can't blame myself for thinking I had moved on. It wasn't particularly easy to let her go, to let everything I felt for her go down there with her, buried. Never to be unearthed. She deserved better. And now, as I make my way to the kitchen, I can't help but think about her.

About how we met.

About how she entrapped my heart with her beauty and personality.

About how I was always ready to give her the world, to die for her.

About how I used to wake to the morning sun feeling like the luckiest guy to ever live.

About how I never dreamt of the day I would have to wake up to an empty bed, without her.

Without her beauty gazing at me, giving me the essence of life, giving me a purpose to smile.

I know it will sound cliche when I say Nova was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Almost every man says it to (or about) their girlfriends and wives. I assume we don't just say it because it is the most convenient thing to say or that we want to score a point with our love interests. No. We mean it when we say it. And it does bring the adage "beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder" to life because when you are in love, when you have your beloved in your arms, they become a manifestation of all the beauty that the world has to offer. Their smiles are as radiant as the glistening moonstone. It makes your heart flutter. Their eyes have all the treasures of the world hidden in them that when you stare too long, get lost in their mystery. They make every second spent with them feel like an eternity, the good kind of eternity that you never want to end. Nova made me feel all that and more, a lot more that I still can't come up with words to describe yet.

Going back to when I first stepped onto campus at the University of Texas at Dallas, I was quite excited to meet and interact with all of my new batch mates. Or maybe some. I wasn't so sure seeing how huge the campus was but I was ready to try. I had never been thrilled as I was on that day and you will get to know why. Later. For now, I would rather not stray from the storyline. So that day was as perfect and dreamlike as I had, days and months before, imagined it. Exactly as I always dreamt it. Well, until I met her. Or should I say soiled her dress? It was a mistake. A mistake she objected to and never accepted. It makes me smile now as I think about the number of times I had explained that day to her. Up until the last days, she still thought it wasn't a mistake. She still thought I did it out of malignancy. For whatever reason, I don't know. That day, I bumped into her while I had the view of the campus in my fixation while still moving.

"Fuck!" She said and that, somehow, took me out of my daze. I hastily turned to offer my apology then I was all of a sudden rendered speechless. It was dreamlike. No. She was dreamlike. It didn't last for a minute but that was all the time I needed to take her in, to have every bit of her beauty ingrained in my mind. To have my heart decide that: This is the woman I want.

"Damn!" was the only word I could utter for that less-than-a-minute she spent waiting for an apology or for me to do something. When she realised nothing was going to come, she pushed me aside, her dress drenched in coffee or whatever she held in her hand when I bumped into her. I didn't quite see as every part of my being was under the spell of her beauty. I know this is something you read in a fairytale. It never really happened in reality but it did happen to me. Love at first sight. That shit is real. It exists and it is magical. Fast forward to the day classes begin. Ok, no. I think I want to stop here. I am not ready to go down that road. The return of all that memory is going to do me more harm than good. I close my eyes for a few seconds, take in a deep breath, open my eyes again and stride forward. The kitchen is the destination. Get the food. Head back. Don't think about her.

I am in the kitchen now and I don't know what to eat. Not that there are many options. After minutes of contemplating, I go with the only available option —Vodka. Something strong to thaw or numb the pain. At this point, I don't care which it does—get rid of the pain permanently or just make me forget it exists. I want some kind of closure and I believe a bottle of Absolut Vodka can offer just that. I go to the little home bar I have and pick up a bottle. Adding my everyday rum glass to the equation, I pour myself a glass full. I connect my home theatre to my Spotify, ready to soak my already damp soul in alcohol and music. A perfect combination doesn't exist!

When the first song, I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor, starts to play, I feel I am ready for the night. Bring it on!

At first I was afraid, I was petrified

Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side

But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong

And I grew strong

And I learned how to get along

And so you're back

The music continues its magic. I take a seat on the multi-piece sofa in the living room just staring at the TV screen in front of me, though switched off. I want to take one glass. Just one. But it never works that way. You always go beyond just one glass. After some minutes, before I know it, I am one glass away from emptying the full bottle. I want more. I get up, swinging, almost missing my step. I stand still, steadying my step. I am drunk. Very drunk. I sometimes forget I have a low alcohol tolerance. Even a 1% alcoholic drink would induce me to intoxication.. I kid you not.

We Weren't Born To Follow by Bon Jovi begins playing just when I take another step. Eyes focused on the goal—another bottle of Vodka—I make my way towards the bar.

The song fills me with a deep sense of rebellion when it sways past my ears. The kind of rebellion that makes me want to fight all my troubles with all my strength, to fight with everything that hurts me, every nib of pain. That is when I start dancing and giggling. I don't know but I think in that moment of intoxication, the definition of rebellion changes to goofiness. I am dancing and laughing so hard. I can't believe what I see myself doing and that cracks me even harder. I am not really good at dancing but that doesn't stop me this time. I feel like I have the rest of the world as my audience and I am the star. I feel like everything has stopped for me. Like everyone is here for me. Time is my companion and so is the ecstasy of the world. All eyes are on me and I am eager to impress. I dance. And dance. And dance. Wobbling that way, swinging this way, my sense of reality lost to me. That is when I see her. Or is it them? I see two people but it can be just one person. I blink once, twice and it seems to be one person but with two heads. And they...she...(it?) is walking towards my front door. Who could that be? And how did they make it past my remote-operated wrought iron gate?

I swing my door open and I am sure I see a familiar face. It is the rude neighbour. Is she here to—

"I am sorry but do you mind? I don't know which wilderness you have been living in but you do realise you have moved among humans now, right? And spoiler alert, we do things differently here among humans!" I go poker face, not sure if it is the alcohol playing tricks on me or I am really being insulted. For nothing...

She continues, gaining momentum when I think she is done.

"Since your self-serving brain isn't profound enough to notice that you have neighbours around who, unlike you, have actual jobs and brains that need to rest in the night and they can't do that over this loud noise, I want to be the one to tell you. Tone this down! Seriously?"

I have my mouth open as she turns around to leave.

"I am sorry wha—" I choke on my words then I decide to address this whole fiasco when sober. Now is a bad time. So I stand there and watch her walk out through the main gate to the street. I watch her open her gate and enter it. I watch her unlock her front door. I watch her enter her house. And I conclude that there is more to her anger than my stupid song. I can feel it. There is something about her. I don't know what yet but I want to dig deep and excavate whatever it is. Or it is just the vodka talking now. I don't know.

Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen starts playing by the time I am back in the room.

Tone this down! Seriously?

I smile to myself as I search for my phone to put the music off. When I eventually find it somewhere tucked away under my sofa and turn the music off, I make true of my earlier promise by getting another bottle of Vodka and retiring to my bedroom. The rest of the party continues there.

I had expected the meeting to not be between just Stanley and me when I arrived at the Plaza thirty minutes ago. But ten minutes into my waiting at the boardroom, Stanley walked in (in all his glory) and told me there had been some changes in the plan. Not that that bothered me but Stanley didn't seem pleased when he made that announcement. I only hoped everything was alright and smiled.

"It doesn't matter. Not much has changed," I said, taking my seat.

He also took his seat at the top chair of the boardroom seating and signalled the commencement of our most anticipated meeting.

Now, twenty minutes into my presentation and I can see he is excited about the prospect. It is obvious from the way he shifts in his chair like an excited child would when they are waiting for their parents to give them a gift they had brought from town. He is eager. He is curious to know more. He wants to see the way forward, the strategic plan. In my line of work, this is good. It means I am doing something good with the presentation. I should feel excited but I don't. I want to but I can't. Not when there is this constant buzzing and aching in my skull driving me insane. I understand why they call it a hangover, for it feels as if the most raven-black clouds are hanging over my head with no intention of clearing until late afternoon.

A hangover isn't exactly a funny game. I shouldn't have gotten drunk last night.

Yet, I did and here I am dreading every twitch I make, dreading my existence anytime Stanley's chair squeaks from his constant shifting.

I adjust the dark shades I wear to cover my reddened eyes before saying, "So that is the plan. I don't think anyone would argue with the fact that the fashion industry is problematic. But for fat people, it is way difficult. The industry isn't particularly body positive. So if you want to have a campaign that targets everyone, know that means everyone."

Stanley is on his feet by the time I take a breath on my last word. He is clapping. The sound hurts. I want to shout at him to stop making noise but I don't. Instead, I force a smile and tell him I have to use the washroom.

"Are you alright, Frank?"

I nod.

"I just have this mild headache. Maybe I should—"

My phone vibrates, distracting me. I pull it out of my pocket then my eyes meet something disturbing and horrific.

One Year Anniversary.

My forehead creases, my legs get powerless. I pull a chair and sit. I don't see or hear anything for God knows how long until I feel Stanley's hand on my shoulders, tapping me.

"Are you alright? Frank? Frank?"

I shake my head, embracing the vulnerability.

"I...I...I will be fine. So-sorry," I say sharply before getting up on my feet and scampering out of the office. But the momentum with which I dash out is slowed when I run into someone.

I don't see them. I just bump into them.

I see things scattered around.

I hear tantrums being thrown.

Yet...I don't stop moving. I don't stop to see if they are fine. I don't say anything.

Before I know it, I am in my car, my breathing erratic, unsteady. My heart is heavy. So are my eyes. Heavy with uncried tears. A tear escapes when I blink. I won't hold back the tears this time. No one is here to see me cry anyway. I let the tears fall. And as they fall, I feel my walls fall too. All these months of hiding, of dismissing the hurt. I feel the barely-healed wound in my heart slit open. I bang my head against the steering wheel wishing time would just turn for me. Wishing that things would have been different. Wishing there was something I could have done to save her. Wishing death was more considerate.