Sanja's bed was hard and unwelcoming. She turned, hoping to feel more comfortable and was faced by the emptiness of the other side of the bed. It had been empty for quite a long time, yet it still caught her off guard. Huda's words resonated in her mind and she knew she wouldn't be getting any sleep soon. Sanja got out of her cruel mattress and set off to her office. It was her refuge, her happy place. Nothing would hurt her there, not even herself. Her computer made a chirping sound when she turned it on and its blue light flooded the otherwise dark room. A younger, happier Sanja looked at her from the screen. Her father had taken that picture when she was sixteen and they had gone on a holiday by the sea. She missed him. The word processor opened automatically, a blank page full of promises where anything could happen. If she couldn't sleep she might as well write.
Her fingertips tried the keys, anxious, eager to type the words that were trapped inside Sanja's brain. Yet, the only thing that came to her mind was her conversation with Huda. She was her best friend, but they didn't see each other as much as they would have wanted. It was the first time they had seen each other since Sanja had broken up with her last boyfriend, four months ago. Huda was always brutally honest, and she was that time.
"Sanja, your problem is that you're never yourself when you're dating someone. You always tame yourself down, because you think you'll scare them off if they see the real you. You try to be the perfect girlfriend, you put too much effort on it, and then they get tired of being with someone who is not really herself, who won't speak her mind."
Sanja agreed, she was like that most of the time, and she just realized so. She would say what they wanted to hear, keeping her opinions to herself, and she hated herself for that. Of course no one would love her if she weren't true to herself. However, she had been true to Luke. She had shown him her real her, and he had fled anyway. She couldn't be someone else, she couldn't be herself, how was she supposed to find love?
The cursor kept blinking reminding her of her failure to find a story that would soothe her soul. A small voice in the back of her head whispered "Write this, write what is happening to you". The voice was right, of course, that would help her feel better. Her fingers started typing instantly.
Lucille had been unable to sleep for days. The void on the other side of the bed would keep her awake reminding her she was unable to keep anyone for a long period of time. That night she had given up and simply stared at the empty pillow. "You don't control me stupid empty side of the bed" she told the cushion and the sheets and the mattress that still kept his shape, stupid smart mattress "I don't need you to be occupied to feel fulfilled, I'm a strong independent woman and I need no man". The pillow didn't reply, because, of course, pillows don't talk, but Lucille almost saw a mocking smile on it's wrinkled surface. She sighed and decided to get out of bed, what was she going to do in there anyway, fight the empty sheets?
The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled her kitchen shortly after. She poured herself a cup, black no sugar, and drank it while it was still scalding hot. If she couldn't sleep, she should take profit of it. Her notebook was on the kitchen table, an unfinished story waiting for her, telling her to keep writing. Lucille had started writing after her last break up. It was therapeutic, it helped her put her ideas in order. It also helped that it was her story. She changed the names, she changed some things, but some others she had taken straight of her own life. Some of the things that were told to her MC were sentences that had been uttered to her. And all the tears, all the tears were hers too. She knew that manuscript would never become anything, but she needed to get it out of her or she would go crazy. Her pen danced swiftly through the pages, leaving blue scars on the white paper. She didn't have control of her hand anymore, words poured out before she had even had time to realize what she had written. She filled pages of her notebook until she was calm enough to go back to sleep. Her bed was waiting for her as she had left it, empty and with wrinkled sheets. She stared at the empty pillow, but it was only a pillow and nothing else, there was no mocking smile, there was no void. And she realized she had the whole bed to herself so sleeping on one side was stupid. She got back in her bed and took as much space as she could, shifting back to sleep.
That was it. Sanja wasn't the only woman who was alone and wasn't the only one who would be. She would find love, eventually, but if she didn't she could still be happy with her bed all to herself.
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