Beep! Beep! Beep!
The sound of heart monitors bombarded the air. I refused to leave her side, even as my muscles quaked and I slowly lost consciousness on the chair beside her, I remained steadfast. Twelve hours it had been since I last saw her beautiful smile, her short round posture embracing my tall, skinny frame.
Why did her dad have to upset her on their phone call like that? She would not have rushed off in a daze into the busy road, and the taxi would not have hit her, leaving her in this half-dead state. Still, her father wasn’t the only one to blame. Our love had caused a terrible rift between them. She’d sacrificed so much for a cheating bastard like me.
As I stepped into my apartment, my head was pounding from exhaustion. I looked around and all I saw were remnants of her, surrounding me. From the shimmery bangles and hair-bands strewn carelessly on the kitchen counter, to the aprons, bras, dresses, roll-ons and skincare products all around the house. Our house. Sarah had become my everything and losing her meant that I lost my very reason for living.
My name is Johnathan Parks. I am a Journalist and husband to Sarah Sullivan-Parks, Editor of Jinxed Love magazine.
Sarah and I met at University. I was a player, only focussed on chasing skirts and partying and Sarah was my sensible best friend. I loved her dearly always, but at the time, my affection for her was only in a friendship capacity.
Every day, I’d sit beside my round crazy-haired friend in class, telling her about the newest girl in my life as she rolled her eyes affectionately trying to get me to pay attention in class.
Sarah was very different from any of the girls I hung around with. Aside from the fact that she walked around fully clothed, she was also incredibly short, with a chubby frame to match. She fit right under my armpit and wouldn’t hesitate to tell me when I smelled a bit gamey and needed a wash.
With her face covered in splashes of tiny freckles on her naturally beautiful, un-made-up face, she had an innocence about her that I’d never seen in a woman of twenty before. Her huge brown eyes shone brightly as she frowned at me for clowning around, reminding me that, at the age of twenty-five, I should have already been done with Varsity, chosen a wife and home. The typical white-picket fenced life that indicates ‘success’ to the bourgeoisie.
Our friendship was an unlikely one: the playboy on campus, besties with the nerdish bookworm who always chided him for not being serious about his future. Nevertheless, we were an inseparable duo, and although I was an arrogant jerk towards all the ‘girlies’ I dated, I’d always drop any and everything I was doing for her. She had my respect, friendship and before I knew it, I had fallen head-over-heels.
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