A Heartbreak, as Told by My Hands

Chapter 1: More

My index finger traced his collarbone through his soft cotton shirt. More of him, my hands always wanted more. My fingers moved greedily across his sun-kissed skin as if the more they touched, the more of him they could have.

That’s how it was in the beginning. Fingers to skin, always. If my hands were within touching distance of him, they were on him, delighting in the ridges and valleys of muscle on his stomach.

* * *

Chapter 2: Warmth

The foggy San Francisco mornings turned my hands into ice, and his warm stomach was the perfect sanctuary as we walked to get coffee.

“Go ahead, put your hands here”, he’d tell me, lifting his jacket slightly to reveal his torso.

He winced slightly as my knuckles pressed themselves into the luxurious warmth.

I smiled as I spread my fingers out, pilfering his body heat. Maybe it could be like this forever.

* * *

Chapter 3: Love

“Why are you looking at me like that?”, I asked unsuspectingly, as my finger tucked a stray strand of hair behind my right ear.

“I’m looking at you because I love you”.

My hand flew to my mouth. Shock. Exhilaration. Did he mean to say that?

He did. I grabbed his head with both hands and kissed him.

* * *

Chapter 4: Confusion

My temple pressed into my right hand as I lay looking at him, confused.

“What do you mean you don’t let people in?”, I wondered. “It sure seems like you’re letting me in”.

“I know but trust me. I don’t know how to stay close to people”, he said somberly.

My hand tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer to me, as if to disprove what he had just told me. I’m different, I told myself. He’s changing for me, I can feel it. He loves me.

* * *

Chapter 5: Routine

He always held the gate for me as we left his apartment, and then his hand was there, patiently waiting for mine. My fingers interlaced with his. A perfect fit; his hands were just slightly bigger than mine.

We didn’t let go, even as we carried the grocery bags home.

I poured and measured and chopped as we made meals together, night after night. He taught me how to protect my fingers as I was dicing vegetables. Those very same fingers gleefully tickled his ribs in unsuspecting moments.

It felt like home. He felt like home.

* * *

Chapter 6: Next Steps

I clapped as we walked into the sun-lit top-floor apartment.

“This is the one!” I said, eyes wide with excitement. He agreed.

My fingers couldn’t move fast enough as I typed all of our information into the apartment application. We exchanged smiles and my mind ran away with our future together.

* * *

Chapter 7: Hesitation

My knuckles whitened as I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I knew something was wrong, but he was close-lipped as a clam.

“You feel distant”, I said quietly. “Is it about moving in together? Do you still want to?”

“I don’t know. I think so? I just want to make sure it’s right”.

I squeezed the steering wheel again as I grit my teeth in imperceptible frustration.

* * *

Chapter 8: Her

“Why are you texting her while we’re out together?”, I asked, motioning towards his phone with my wine glass. My palms moistened with anxious frustration.

She was his coach at the gym. I had never worried about her before but my hackles went up this time. What kind of emoji was that that I saw?

“She just sent me some music, it’s not a big deal.”

My sweaty palms didn’t believe him.

* * *

Chapter 9: Space

I pressed the phone to my ear shakily with my right hand. I knew what was coming but hoped I was wrong.

“I just need some space to think this over”, he said flatly.

“Okay, how much time?” My voice was meek as I gnawed on my thumbnail.

“A few days I think”.

I agreed reluctantly and let the phone fall from my ear as we hung up. My hand was weak and shaky with despair as I gripped my phone, willing him to call back. I stared at his name in the call log with the purple heart next to it. I gingerly tapped into his contact and hesitated for a moment before deleting the heart.

* * *

Chapter 10: Severing

He handed me a small box of my things. It took a moment for my hands to take the box from his; they didn’t want to hold this box, because it meant the ending was real.

“Don’t you think we can just work on things?” I pleaded as I grabbed lightly onto his wrist.

“No, I just can’t. I don’t know why, but I can’t. I just…I..don’t love you enough”.

Tears streamed torrentially down my cheeks. I tried to wipe them with the heels of my hands, but the saline sadness poured down my wrists. There was no hiding from this. There was no pulling him back close to me again. My hands fell limply by my sides. Defeated.

* * *

Chapter 11: Coping

My right hand furiously scribbled blue ink across the pages of my journal. Pages and pages. The fleshy side of my hand ached because it couldn’t write the words fast enough as they tumbled out of my unsteady heart. Did I want him back? No. No I didn’t. Right?

* * *

Chapter 12: Her, Part 2

My thumbs mechanically tapped the letters of his name into Instagram, as if controlled by some force other than me. It had been months. I don’t know what I expected to find.

There she was, under his tagged photos. They were dressed up, attending a wedding together. She was clearly no longer just his gym coach. My thumb furiously hit back back back until I was no longer looking at his photos.

* * *

Chapter 13: Encounter

“Oh my god, that’s him”, I whispered to my friend. My hands gripped the pole in the train for balance as it grumbled to a stop. My palms felt suddenly moist against the cold metal. We used to take the train to work together, so it was only a matter of time before I ran into him.

We made eye contact as we both approached the stairs to get off the train. My hand darted up in a shy wave before I had time to think.

“I noticed you started crossfit, I knew you’d like it”, he said playfully. He must have been looking at my Instagram. I had a feeling.

“Ugh I know, I’m so annoyed you were so right”, I quipped back, giving him a playful whack on the shoulder. Why did my hand always find its way back to him?

“We should work out together sometime, I bet you’d beat me”, he said with a sly grin.

I was confused, was he still dating her? Was he just being nice to me? We parted ways and my thumbs were immediately flying across my phone as I texted my best friend — Omg guess who I just ran into!!!

* * *

Chapter 14: Mourning

“Why aren’t I over him yet? It’s been like a year”. My fingernails bit into the soft cushion of my therapist’s couch. “I know we weren’t right for each other but I’m still so sad”.

“Sometimes people open up old wounds in us, so it can seem like your pain is about him, but really, it started way before him”, my therapist said calmly.

I unclenched my fists and sighed. She was right. My cheeks flushed as a fresh wave of grief rose in my chest, and for the first time, I could feel that it wasn’t about him at all.

* * *

Chapter 15: Freedom

My wrist flexed as I flicked the throttle of my vespa and flew boldly through his neighborhood on a January evening. It had been a part of town I’d avoided for over a year, white-knuckling my my scooter’s handlebars whenever I got too close to the invisible boundary.

But that evening, the fear was gone and my grip was relaxed. It was so subtle that I almost didn’t notice at first. For the first time ever, my heart didn’t flutter in terror as I rode by his cross-streets. I didn’t react at all. I felt calm. Neutral. Free.

I rolled to a stop and looked to the left up his street. My hands were finally free, no longer controlled by my broken heart. I flicked my wrist again and sped away smiling. Unbound at last.

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Previously published on “Hello, Love”, a Medium publication.

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