Isla gives it three weeks.
She tells herself that it's only fair, that she can't just throw a year and a half long relationship out the window because of one phone call from her ex. She tells herself that the goal of this is not to get back with Niall, or to be single for whenever he comes around again—the goal of it is to be fair to Jack, to not waste his time when she's nowhere near as committed as she once was. She owes him that, at the very least.
But she knows, less than a week in, that the decision she's working herself up to is the right one.
And when the time comes, she can't do it fast enough.
First, Isla Googles it. The thought of doing just about anything, but especially something this risky and testy, without proper research makes her skin itch like she's breaking out in hives, so she arms herself the best way she knows how: with knowledge, research, and slightly detached critical thinking. She hunches over her phone on the tube on a Tuesday morning after looking up "how to break up with live-in boyfriend," paranoid that someone she knows is randomly going to walk into their car and catch a glimpse of her phone. She takes mental notes as she reads, preparing herself for every possible scenario, every potential twist and turn.
Then, Isla gets her things in order: she tells Mia what she's doing and makes sure she can sleep at her's for a few days to give Jack time to move out. She packs a few bags while he's at the gym, brings them round to Mia's for safekeeping, and she finishes all her readings for class ahead of time, so she won't have to worry about those either. She writes a draft of the things she wants to say to Jack during her lunch break, sitting in a Pret around the corner from King's College, and then she reads it over so many times that she can recite it backwards, forwards, upside down, and, if she tries really hard, in French. She prepares herself so intensely that she feels, when she's sitting across from Jack at the kitchen table on Saturday morning, she kind of feels like she's already done this.
'Everything alright?' Jack asks, placing a warm mug of tea in front of Isla. She'd told him she wanted to talk and he'd made them both tea, like he always does before settling down with a task. He's made Isla's perfectly, of course, just the way she likes it, and taking a sip of it makes her eyes sting a little with preemptive tears.
'Sort of,' Isla wraps her hands around the mug. It's scalding, but she likes it. It's a distraction, helps her focus on something other than how unpleasant the task at hand is. 'Jack, I—I don't think this is working.'
'What?' Jack looks around the kitchen instinctively, searching for a broken light, or a busted electronic. 'What's broken?'
'No,' Isla takes a deep breath. She can do this. She's prepared. 'Nothing's broken, sorry, I meant this. Us.'
She watches it dawn on Jack slowly. It's confusion, first, and she can't blame him—she wouldn't have expected this either, if she were him. But she can see the moment when it clicks for him, when he understands what she's actually saying. What she's actually doing.
'Us,' Jack says, pressing his lips together. 'Okay. What's not working?'
'I guess it's less us,' says Isla, watching the steam from her mug curl in the air, 'and more me. Not to be cliche, but this isn't really about you. It's not your fault or anything like that. It's me. I'm the one who's changed.'
'I don't feel like you've changed,' Jack's quiet, and when Isla meets his eyes he looks sad, a little lost. 'I still feel like you're Isla.'
'Yeah,' Isla nods. 'I am. I'm just, like, not your Isla anymore.'
'So you're breaking up with me, then?'
'I am,' Isla says it confidently, so she can't turn back. 'Yes. I'm sorry.'
'And,' Jack takes a shaky breath. 'There's nothing I can say to change your mind? You don't want to work on anything, or talk it out?'
'I'm sorry, Jack,' Isla says, and she means it. Even as emotionally detached as she's made herself, she means it. It's hard not to think of everything when she looks at him: to trace her eyes over the freckles on his face and think about all the times she laid next to him in bed counting them, mapping them to her memory. It's hard not to glance at his lips and think about how they felt pressed to her own, to her neck, to her forehead, between her legs. It's impossible to look at his large, safe, warm body and think about all the times he held her until she fell asleep, all the times he laid out under her, or above her, his body bare and vulnerable and hers. Isla feels a tightening in her throat, a prickling behind her eyes, and she has to breathe deep to dislodge it, to remind herself that she's doing the right thing.
'Did Niall call you again?'
'Did—what?' Isla snaps out of her moment of self pity, furrowing her brow. 'Why?'
'He's coming back to London, isn't he?'
'He? What? I don't think so, I have no clue where he is now.'
'So you breaking up with me,' Jack scoffs, rolling his eyes. 'Has nothing to do with Niall calling the other night?'
'No,' it's a half lie, Isla knows that, but Jack doesn't need to. 'It doesn't.'
'I find that hard to believe.'
'I am my own person, Jack. Believe it or not.'
'Tell yourself whatever you want,' Jack stands up, leaving his mug of tea on the table and filling up a glass of water at the sink instead. Leaning back against the counter, he carries on, 'but you and I both know that he still holds too much power over you.'
'What the fuck is that supposed to mean?' Isla feels herself heating up uncomfortably, pushing her mug of tea away before she overheats.
'Oh, come off it,' Jack rolls his eyes again. 'Don't act like you don't know that you'd fucking drop everything for him. He calls at four in the morning, you pick up. He hurts his knee and you text every day to make sure he's okay, Isla, you're still a sucker for the twat and you know it. He's always come first for you and he always will, and, honestly, I don't really want to listen to you sit here and pretend you're sorry when I know for a fact that the only person you're thinking about right now is Niall fucking Horan.'
'Jack,' Isla stands up too, now, even though she's not sure why. Her body is buzzing—with anger, with energy, with shame. 'When you and I were together, you always came first. I'm sorry that I made you feel otherwise and I wish you'd told me but—'
'Fuck's sake, Isla, get off your high horse. I shouldn't have had to tell you, it should've been fucking obvious. You know I don't like the wanker and—'
'He's not a wanker.'
Jack coughs out a dry, unamused laugh, shaking his head as he does. 'You're even defending him right now. You can't go two seconds without it.'
'I'm not defending him,' Isla feels her face flush and she's embarrassed about it, furious at herself for giving her away like this. 'I'm just saying he's not a wanker.'
'You'll be a shite barrister if that's how you construct your arguments.'
'That's not fair.'
'You wasting years of my life while still being in love with your ex isn't fair, Isla.'
'It was a waste?' Isla feels angrier than she expected, and less hurt than she thought. 'Being with me was a waste?'
'You can't love me the way I love you. You can't love anyone the way you love him. It's not fair, Isla, to anyone. It's not fair to the people who love you, and it's not fair to yourself.'
'You have no fucking clue how I love,' Isla's shaking, her heart pounding, but she manages to keep her voice steady. 'And it's not up to you to say what is or isn't fair to me.'
Jack looks resigned when he shakes his head this time, less angry than before. Isla feels them both losing steam, winding down, and she knows this is the end. They're done. 'Believe whatever you want, I can't change your mind,' Jack says, voice back to its regular volume. 'But you deserve better than to wait around for some kid you dated in secondary school. I know he's your first love and all, but he's not good for you. He doesn't deserve you. And you don't deserve to put your life on hold for him.'
'I'm not—'
'Forget it, Isla. I'm gonna call my brother and ask him to come round with the car. Me and all my shit can be gone by tonight.'
'It's okay,' Isla feels quiet now, exhausted. 'I told Mia to expect me, I can stay there for a few days. Take your time.'
'I'd rather not take my time, honestly.'
'Right,' that reality leaves Isla feeling more lonely than she'd expected. 'Okay. Well, I'm going to Mia's anyway. I'm sorry, Jack. I really did love you, and I loved every second of being with you.'
'Yeah,' Jack turns around now, to refill his cup at the sink. Isla watches the way his shoulder blades flex when he turns on the faucet, thinks about how it felt to be wrapped up in him. All of a sudden, all she wants to do is call Niall. 'I did too.'
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