As the date loomed for my 22nd birthday I felt a strange sadness wash over me. I felt a somewhat premature nostalgia for what had been my 21st year of life, the greatest I had known. The year I had taken control of my career, gone ahead and got a boob job - something that may appear frivilous on the surface, but really if you think about it is quite a big thing, dumped my posessive boyfriend, dated a footballer, partied in Ibiza, went skinny dipping, sold various stories, began writing this, the journal of my life, passed my driving test, got a car, learnt to pole dance, moved house, lived in a multi million pound apartment on Park Lane, became a Sugar Baby and so much more. It also of course, marked the 1 year since I had met The Footballer. The man that had dominated my thoughts day and night for 12 long months. It was time to do something about it.
Just as I was having this thought the universe worked it's magic and as can sometimes happen, something will hit you out of the blue which you think is the worst thing imaginable to happen - only for it to turn out well.
A national newspaper called me on my lunch break and told me they had pictures, numbers and messages from my phone (all from The Footballer obviously) that a 'source' (aka a backstabbing friend) had given them. My hands were tied. Either I contribute to the story and get to have my say (and of course a portion of the fee) or I can leave it and they will run the story with the (hideous and mainly untrue) account they have. It was tough one and I went back to my office and cried in front of my boss at the unfairness of it all. Then it suddenly dawned on me. God does indeed work in mysterious ways. I had been emotionally trapped by The Footballer for the last year, and counting. I had turned down dates, not put my all into relationships, and wasted too many nights texting him. And all for what? In the words of Lucie Silvas 'it's not much to ask for, to get back what I put in.' and I wasn't getting ANY returns on my emotions!
It has to end. It's been a year now. When I met him I was a shy 21 year old and now, one year on I've changed so much. Whereas in the beginning he almost gave me confidence in my life to try things, now I felt like he was just mentally holding me back. It sounds ridiculous to say it and I bet he doesn't have a CLUE how he is affecting me - but he is.
I decide to meet the reporter from the paper and see what he has to say. I tell him I want this... thing I have with him to end. It's been going on way too long and as much as I don't want to let him go I know I have to. It's ruling a part of my brain 24/7. Ok so in the last few months it's been smaller and almost subconcious - but it's still there. I go ahead and sell my soul for the sum of..... as if I am going to tell you!
As I hand over the messages in my phone, pictures and numbers I have the strangest sense of release. These things I have been guarding for the last year are finally out of my hands. On nights out I needn't leave behind my phone for fear of getting drunk, losing it and someone else finding his details. We talk for hours and I try to make myself not sound like too much of a slut. (almost impossible in these circumstances)
Soon the week is over. The interviews and photos have been done. All that's left is for the story to break on Sunday. I realise this needs real closure and my first pang of panic sets in. I need to see The Footballer one last time. If I leave him, high on his pedastal in my mind I will forever regret this and never forget him. And so - off I go to meet him for the last time feeling something like Thelma and Louise - only because I am setting out on a journey in my car. Realisticly it was probably more similar to an episode of Lassie. A mangey old dog who travels miles to see the man she adores.
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