First Time After My Divorce.

TW: death

Between the two of us, my husband, Jamie, was the life of the party.

Everywhere we went, he would light up a room. Cheers would follow him from room to room, dying down only to rekindle moments later when he reappeared.

I never understood how he did it, how he was able to take a simple gathering, and turn it into something wild and unforgettable.

I guess that was just his personality.

And what made me fall in love with him.

Of course, after six years together, that wasn't enough for him.

It was like...he got addicted to the attention. At first, he'd drag me to a party every two weeks or so, and then it was once a week. Then it became every night. But that's when I began ditching him, letting him go off on his own.

That was a huge mistake on my part.

He claims he got drunk, so wasted he couldn't even think straight. And that the girl he ended up in bed with was thought to have been me.

Of course, I didn't believe that excuse.

I could tell we were drifting away. I wanted a future with us, a family. He just wanted the attention.

So, the husband became the ex-husband, and I've been on my own ever since. Three years.

Three years of focusing on work, staying late as much as possible, avoiding co-worker gatherings, working my ass off for a company that didn't appreciate me.

But it took my mind off of Jamie, and how hurt I was by him.

Of course, with my ex-husband gone, that meant the parties stopped. I don't mind, really. I was there for him, to watch the smile he wore each time someone slapped him on the back and greeted him. To see his best buddies hand him drink after drink. To see how jealous the girls around him got when he'd pull me in to dirty dance.

It was all for him.

But tonight, however, was different.

My sister invited me out, forced me despite my protests. She told me I had no choice, that my social life was at a zero and I couldn't spend my whole life working like a zombie. I had one life, and I needed to live it.

So, lived it I did.

The party was at 10pm. Drinks, some finger food, and loud music. Typical television show cliché party, really. Something Jamie would have loved.

Being there felt...strange, to say the least. I was so used to being attached to the center of attention. But now I felt invisible, like no one even cared that I was there. A sadness swept over me, even if I did manage to fake a smile for all the guests to see.

I had my drink, I chatted with a few friends who were more than happy to keep in touch despite my working lifestyle, and I bopped along to the music, denying a dance with my sister. She was already drunk and I didn't want to embarrass myself dancing next to a swaying body, swinging arms.

So, I let her be and began exploring the house, hoping to find a nice corner that I could spend the rest of the party in.

As I was leaving the kitchen, someone knocked into me, making my spill my beer on the ground.

"What the---" I said, ready to chew the guy out. Until I realized who it was.

Jamie.

I was suddenly lost for words. My hands began to shake as old feelings began swelling up my heart. I could feel my eyes begin to water, but I held back confusing, not-wanted tears.

I faked another smile, and we began chatting.

I don't even remember what we talked about, probably small talk. Unimportant conversation that we both forgot about.

But I was nervous. I couldn't tell why. Maybe because this was Jamie's scene, not mine. I felt so out of place, but he seemed to be as comfortable as I left him all those years back.

His confidence made me more nervous, and it felt like every bone in my body was shaking.

And then he was gone into a different room, the same old cheers followed.

I couldn't take it anymore. I ran. I left the party without my sister, but it was a quick moment decision. She'd understand if she knew how I felt. How I wanted to rip my eyeballs out of my head so I'd never have to accidentally run into him again. How I wish I could go deaf so his name wouldn't be spoken. How my heart ached for him, for his touch. But also how it hated him for everything he's done to me. How he hurt me, how I wish I was brave enough to hurt him.

But I didn't hurt him.

I was outside now, the cold night air hitting my face, and I began to calm down. My chest - which was rising and falling quickly - slowed down. I wish I had more drinks in me, the warmth giving me strength to go back inside.

But I couldn't do it.

It didn't matter, though. I heard my name being called by a familiar voice. A voice that said my name a million times.

"Leave me alone," I managed to say, walking away from him fast. He followed. I kept going.

He wouldn't stop. told me how much he missed me, how stupid he was for what he did. How he never stopped thinking about me.

And my aching heart wanted to believe him, wanted to hold him and cry from happiness that I finally had my true love back.

But I couldn't.

He hurt me badly, and I couldn't forgive him.

So, I walked faster, away from the party.

Up the street.

And he followed the entire time.

I should have stopped, I should have given him the chance to talk, like adults would, instead of running off like a child.

But I didn't want to feel nervous. I didn't want to feel sad or hurt. I just wanted him to go away.

"What happened next?" the judge asked.

My eyes darted around the courtroom, settling on the jury to my left.

"That's when the car hit him. That's when he died."