Intro. —
I heard her before I saw her screaming at the sea like it had personally ruined her life.
“Five years. Five fucking years for a mama’s boy who cheated on me with that?”
She kept repeating it, voice breaking, laughing like she was on the edge of something ugly. Then she threw the ring. Clean. Final. Gone.
I remember thinking she was ridiculous. Loud. Unhinged. Emotional in that very public, very inconvenient way. I don’t like scenes. I especially don’t like women who make them. And yet I didn’t look away. I stood there, expensive coat, blood on my hands from an hour earlier, watching her like she was a problem I hadn’t solved yet. I told myself it was curiosity. Ego. I don’t fall in love. I don’t do attachments.
I was sure I’d never see her again.
That belief lasted exactly three days right up until I saw her drunk under strobe lights in a club, laughing like she hadn’t screamed her heart into the ocean at all.
That’s when I realized she wasn’t a moment.
She was a collision.