Resisting Rosaleen (18+)

43

Tomorrow is graduation and regardless of my internal situation, I want to enjoy the milestone. My dress for tomorrow wouldn't be seen under the toga but it's pretty for after the event. It was hanging by the TV.

Living by my name, its color is red. Like a rose.

I wouldn't say that Bianca's pregnancy hurts less when it's only been a week. In fact, at this point, it hurts more since I've had time to think about the what ifs.

As I lay in my overly large bed remembering the first time I had Nikolas on it, the pain came right away.

For the first few days, I tried not to think of Mr. Camillo and boy, did I fail terribly.

Then, after some time, I realized that I shouldn't push it away and instead let the pain pass because once it passes, I'll be okay. Right? Right, I hoped.

Not thinking of him would've been impossible anyway because quite literally, everything I saw reminded me of the man. I did not know what I signed up for until it's right in front of me. I said I was ready for the hurt. Guess who's the biggest clown of the year.

My bathroom reminded me of that one time we had sex in the shower so if you think that I've been crying while showering, then you're absolutely right.

Even bacon reminded me of him since I remembered him telling me that he loves the fatty parts as much as I did. Now I cry when I eat my favorite honey bacon.

The kitchen also slipped in memories of the night when he and I made dinner at his house. Now I can't look at a frying pan and not tear up. If I ever thought that I was a mess before, I'm surely a mess now.

I was tearing up again and it's all because the second thing in Char's list said 'Read a Nicholas Sparks novel.'

Nicholas. Nikolas. I rolled my eyes, wondering if all men named Nikolas, Nicholas or however you want to spell it, were heartbreakers.

I laughed at myself maniacally as I reached for the remote and opted for a comedy movie that might just make me smile even for a little bit. I surfed for a good film, but deep down I knew that not even Jim Carrey could brighten my mood.

"You are Rosaleen Martin and you don't need a man," I muttered in front of the mirror. My long black hair was up in a messy bun and I started debating on whether or not I should get a haircut.

Maybe I should dye it.

I have never tried dyeing my hair, but I've always been curious with how I'd look with pastel colors on my head. I debated on it, I really did. I let my hair down, noticing how it fell like soft black waves down to my waist. I can't even remember the last time I got it trimmed.

Since I'm blabbering about change, this might be a nice time to bring up that I've always wanted a tattoo.

Do I really want to change my appearance or is this the post-heartbreak syndrome that everyone's talking about?As I combed my fingers through my hair, there was a knock on the door. On my bare feet, I traveled to open it, revealing Charlotte with a paper bag.

"Char? I thought you were at work," I said as I let the woman in.

"I was, but then Wyatt wanted me to bring this to you. He said it's your favorite," and he's right because in Charlotte's hands was a bag from one of my favorite restaurants.

"Thanks," I smiled shyly and let Charlotte unpack the food. Then, I faced my vanity again.

"Char," I began as I ruffled my hair, "Should I get a haircut?"

There was a pregnant moment before Charlotte answered. "Oh, honey, no," her voice sounded apologetic, as if changing my look was a punishment. She stood beside me and we looked at each other in the mirror, "You don't have to change yourself for anyone. Next thing you know, you'll be wanting a tattoo."