NOW

His flight wasn’t leaving until Monday morning, and so we had all day Sunday to hang out while we were broken up. Surprisingly, it wasn’t weird. We went out to eat, saw a movie, went to the mall, and didn’t fight once. On Sunday night, he wanted to sleep on the couch, but I wanted him in my bed. We didn’t have sex or anything—we didn’t even kiss. I just wanted him there because it would feel even weirder if he wasn’t.

On Monday morning I took him to the airport and watched him walk toward the gate. He turned around to wave, and I waved back. I know you’re never supposed to look back, that that’s the number one rule of any change, but I was glad he did.

Once he was completely out of sight, I went into the bathroom of that airport and cried for twenty minutes, harder than I’d ever cried before. I used a whole roll of toilet paper. My body was shaking so hard, I was afraid I would break.

I know, I know, I was having feelings for someone else and it was time for Corey and I to end. But that didn’t make it any easier. He had been the biggest part of my life for two years. He was so hard to let go of, and I didn’t know if my heart would ever feel better. If I wasn’t Corey’s Girlfriend, if I didn’t have him, then who was I? I felt completely alone for the first time in a really long time. Maybe ever.

THEN

REACTION TO COREY AND I BREAKING UP (A SUMMARY):

MY DAD: Maybe you guys could try relationship counseling.

MY MOM : Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. But what’s meant to be will always be. Maybe it’s for the best, anyway. You’re so young.

GRANT: I told you. But seriously, Ally, that really sucks. Are you okay? He doesn’t have any, like, naked pictures of you or anything, does he? Because that happened to this one friend of mine, Biscuit. Her ex-boyfriend posted all these pictures of her and her vibrator on the Internet.

MY BROTHER BRIAN: Do you want me to kick his ass?

* * * * * *

I stay in bed for two weeks. I skip school for the first three days, then finally drag myself to my classes, where I struggle to take notes and not throw up. Even though I’m not eating anything, I still constantly feel nauseated. I don’t shower. I wear the same rotation of outfits every four days, which mostly consists of jeans and sweatshirts. I don’t wear makeup. I definitely don’t brush my hair. What’s the point? It’s not clean. I sleep. A lot. I watch TV. A lot.

On day fifteen, at around five o’clock in the afternoon, Jasmine and Simone stage an intervention. I’ve spent the day watching Lifetime movies, looking through my old high school yearbooks, and deciding what I’ll do if I never get married.