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The only thing that Julian Wheal was 100% sure about, in his twenty-seven years of life, was that he loved Callie Fachnan with every ounce of his being. And prior to two months ago, he thought Callie Fachnan loved him as well.
Clearly, that has all been a lie, because Callie Fachnan had taken his love for her, ripped it to pieces, and threw it on the floor.
Julian Wheal was 16 years old when he met the love of his life.
He sat next to her in his physics class. They never talked until they had a group project. But Julian had seen her. He watched her in that class, talking to her friend, writing notes, answering questions. That was all he ever did. Observe her.
He thought she was interesting.
On that project, he had been partnered with her, another girl whose name he thought might’ve been Luciana (He couldn’t be sure, it was years ago), and the boy with the highest grades in that class, who was named Greg. He didn’t remember what grade they got, but he remembered how nice Callie had been to him during that project, and how beautiful her smile had been when he made her laugh. And they kept talking, after the project, and over their breaks, and they texted in the car and when they had different classes, and he was so happy that he had met such an amazing person, and that he was able to befriend such an amazing person.
The next year, Julian heard a rumor that Callie liked him the same way he liked her.
Whenever people asked him if they were dating, he’d deny it. Rumors and his own feelings aside, he didn’t want to lie, and he didn’t want to tell them “No, we’re not dating, but I do like her.” because he didn’t want the rumors to increase, and because he didn’t want her to feel pressured.
Julian Wheal was 17 years old when he decided to ask Callie Fachnan out on a date.
She had said yes, happily, and he had smiled like a child at a candy store when she did. They both stumbled over their words as they said goodbye, rushing to their next class.
Their date went well. He took her to her favorite restaurant, then they went to watch a movie. He offered to let her pick, but she had insisted he have the choice. He enjoyed it. She enjoyed it.
As if out of a corny romance movie, their hands accidentally touched while they went to grab from their shared bucket of popcorn. They had both giggled (he was embarrassed to refer to his actions as such a silly, immature word, but there was no other perfect word for it) and had pulled their hands away, facing the other way and blushing, trying not to laugh in the middle of the horror movie. He remembered that moment in perfect detail. The strands of hair that were framing her face, the glimmer of her brown eyes as the light from the large screen reflected off them, the smeared lip gloss.
If you had asked him then, and you still asked him now, he would with no hesitation say that she was the most beautiful person in the world.
Julian Wheal was 22 years old when his friend told him that she didn’t like his girlfriend.
He had thought; “It isn’t up to them to judge whether or not she’s good for me.” Callie had done nothing to him. He had done nothing to her. And the friend that had told him that had many people who disliked her and many people she disliked, so he ignored the difference in that friend’s tone, where rather than hatred or dislike, she expressed caution and worry.
Months later, another friend asked him why he picked Callie “of all people” to date. Julian was offended. Callie was perfect, loyal, and kind to him. He didn’t understand why he acted as if she was a questionable person to like.
A year later, one of Callie’s roommates asked him why he liked her.
Eyes bright, Julian gladly explained all of Callie’s majestic, gorgeous qualities, every ounce of her being and her soul, and when her roommate said that he knew a lot about Callie and excused herself, Julian sat there, beaming over how well he understood the love of his life that his girlfriend’s roommate, who lived with her, said he knew her perfectly.
Julian was so blissfully describing the holder of his heart that he did not notice the sad smile that Callie’s roommate made before she left the table.
Julian Wheal was 23 years old when he saw the bruise on Callie’s neck.
He didn’t remember making it, but the only thing he was ever thinking about was how beautiful she was, so he ignored it.
He didn’t know until later that he wasn’t the one to leave it on her.
Julian Wheal was 27 years old when Callie Fachnan stopped talking to him.
The night before was normal. He had spent the night talking and laughing with her. He was confused when, after a month, she had not responded to any of his text messages, and had unfollowed him on social media.
Julian did not realize something was wrong until he was blocked.
He called her friends; nothing. The only one that responded said that she didn’t want to talk to him. He asked her why. She told him she couldn’t say.
Julian Wheal was 27 when he saw a photo posted on Callie’s instagram of her and another man.
He didn’t cry.
Julian found the man, by complete coincidence. His name was Jacob Maddox. When Julian found him, he asked him, “Why are you in this photo with my girlfriend?” He was still clinging onto the few connections he could to her. They hadn’t formally broken up.
Jacob looked at him, confused, and said “Your girlfriend? I’ve been dating her for a year.”
Julian left him and apologized to Jacob for bothering him.
He didn’t cry.
Julian was failing.
He had nothing to do with his spare time, no longer was Callie there to text him and call him and make him smile as if she had personally given him everything in the whole universe he could possibly ever want or need. Because she was the only thing in the whole universe he could possibly ever want or need.
His only thoughts were him scrambling his brain to figure out what he had done wrong that was bad enough she left him.
He couldn’t think of anything.
Julian realized a few similarities between him and Jacob.
They both had names that started with J. They both had blue eyes. They both had light hair that didn’t really reach into blond, both light brown that felt dirty blond depending on the light. They were both tall, although Jacob was 6’2” while Julian was only 6’0”.
Julian found a second account that belonged to Callie. There were photos of Jacob there, dating back almost a year, of them holding hands and hugging and being happy, and a few months between those more romantic posts, groups of Callie with her friends, Jacob usually in the background of those.
Another thing was that Jacob was following that account and not the one that had the photos of Julian on them. Both accounts had the same photos, except the account Julian followed had no photos of Jacob, and the account Jacob followed had no photos of Julian.
He wondered if she had done this before.
He didn’t cry.
Julian Wheal was 27 years old when he saw a post from Callie on her Jacob account.
He was walking home from work. He checked his phone. The notification appeared. Out of curiosity and his want to still be hers.
“I’m getting married to the love of my life.”
Callie Fachnan was getting married to the love of her life.
Julian was not that love of her life.
He rushed home, and laid on his bed facedown, trying his best to block out the noises of the city and of his own labored breathing.
Frustrated, Julian got up, grabbed the small box on the table next to him, and threw it at the wall. A small sparkling gemstone on a silver band fell out of the box.
Julian looked at it, then fell to the floor.
He finally cried.