3. C H E L S I E

THREE

C H E L S I E

There’s something special about finding a place that makes you feel safe . To some, that feeling is the result of someone, not something . The person who will forever and always be your safe space, no matter where you are or what you do.

I think about that a lot.

The idea of just how relieving that might be to have someone who represents something that many spend their entire lives searching for:

Security.

Love.

Stability.

Peace.

There was a moment in my life where I once thought I had that.

My peace.

My safe space.

But I was wrong.

Sure, I’m no expert at love and the intricacies that surround it and frankly, I don’t want to be. Love is too complex. Love makes you do stupid things. Love can lead you down a dark path without so much as a light to guide your way out. But with love comes something else…

Hope.

Hope that things can change.

Hope that things can get better.

So sure, there might not always be a light in the darkness, but sometimes all you need is a little glimmer of hope.

Not only has Ruby always been that for me, but so has her bakery. Between the two of us, Ruby has always been the spontaneous one. Unlike our parents and the rest of our immediate family who opted to go to university, she did the opposite.

She took a chance.

She followed her dreams and now, almost a decade later, she continues to live them out.

A part of me wishes that I had her ambition, but I’m also very well aware that my dreams require me to sink my butt into a classroom—much to my parent’s liking.

Our mum and dad are both teachers at a prestigious private school up north, and because of that, it was almost as if it was built into my DNA to follow in their footsteps. Despite the clichè and now ironic narrative, I think being a teacher was what I was born to do.

Oxford ended up being the school my parents chose for me to attend. I wasn’t opposed to it. It was far enough away from my hometown of Hull while close enough to London so that I could spend my free time in the city and back at the bakery with Ruby.

When I first started at Oxford, I fell in love—not just with the campus, which is a given considering how beautiful and scenic it is, but with someone— Simon.

The two of us met in a Classics and Modern Languages study group, which I later learned that not only was Simon not enrolled in, but that he’d only signed up for in an attempt to get closer to me.

The truth is that Simon didn’t need my help—or anyone’s help, for that matter. He was a straight “A” student with a photographic memory and a prosperous future. That’s why my parents immediately adored him when I bit the bullet and introduced him as my boyfriend.

Like most relationships, the start was blissful. Truthfully, the first two years went by in a breeze—I was smitten. Head over heels. Here I was, an ordinary girl from Yorkshire, dating not only one of the top academics, but also one of the top athletes at the school. Simon was playing footy for the Oxford team in his spare time and well on his way to being recruited to play professionally, though his parents would have never allowed it.

Similarly to me, Simon had an expectation to uphold. He came from a family full of attorneys where his future held a share in their highly successful firm.

Nothing could stand in his way.

I think that’s why we connected at first. We both felt like we had a mission to accomplish and somewhere along the way, we clung to each other for mutual support.

But as we approached year three of our relationship and the final year of our schooling, things changed, and boy, did they change quickly.

The pressure of always being at the top started to sink Simon to the bottom. He became distant—not just emotionally, but physically. Sometimes there would be days on end where he’d go MIA, leaving me to scour the campus in search of him. Christ, one time I even took a four hour train ride to his parents up in Newcastle to see if he was there— he wasn’t .

But one night, after my relentless attempts and on the cusp of giving up, I found him—stumbling out of a local pub off-campus in a fit of laughter as his mates trailed in tow. He was cheerful, an expression that quickly shifted when I charged my way towards him, frustrated beyond merit that he’d left me in a panic when all along he’d just been pissed at the bar.

That night I confronted him. I confronted him in front of all of his mates. I shouted. I yelled. I even threatened to break up with him.

In my fit of rage his entourage quickly dispersed, leaving us some privacy to hash out our argument, but little did I know that that would be the day.

The day everything changed for the worst.

What started with a simple raise of his right hand, one that he “didn’t mean” and was too drunk to “think straight”, became the relentless torture of my life these past three months.

It was as if Simon had lost control in all aspects of his life, causing him to cling to the one thing that was his.

His safe space.

His peace.

Me .

In the blink of an eye, our relationship took a complete 180, and no matter how many times I’d try to leave him, Simon always managed to find a way back in.

The worst part? I’d been living with the lie.

No one knew what had been transpiring between the two of us. I worried that if they did what they’d say. What they’d do, but most of all, what would happen if I did speak up.

Simon’s family has power… a lot of power, not just within their law firm, but with their connections. His dad is best-friends with one of the bigwigs at Oxford, not to mention his mum is a sessional instructor on the side. Therefore, if I did find the courage to speak up, I could only surmise that between the three of them, they’d somehow find a way to cover up his tracks while steering me off mine...

It’s why I held on—not because I wanted to stay or because I thought things would go back to the way they once were. I stayed because of the fear.

I feared what would happen if I left. Just like I did the night Ruby shoved me into her car and whisked me away from the party. I don’t think I’d ever had so many missed calls from Simon in my life. Ruby said I should just block him—rid him from my phone. She even was set on getting me a new one entirely.

“A fresh start is what you need,” she lectured as I broke down and disclosed everything that had transpired between the two of us. “You need to get away from him.”

It was the truth.

It was the first time I’d heard someone say what I’d known for months, and in that moment, her words gave me strength, compelling me to send Simon a final message, one that read:

We’re over, Simon. We’re done.

Thankfully, my parents were so caught up in the action that night that they hadn’t realized I’d slipped out until I sent them a message saying that I was on my way back to the campus.

They bought it, I knew they would.

There’s nothing my parent’s care about more than my education. But the truth? I wasn’t heading back to the campus. Ruby was driving me to her bakery in Crawley, just south of London, where together we devised a plan.

I’d stay with her for as long as I needed, taking a break from school in hopes that things between Simon and I would settle down. The plan sounded refreshing—promising. Simon had never been to Ruby’s bakery, nor would he likely suspect that that was where I would be.

But my location wasn’t what left me anxious, it was the practicality of the plan. Under no circumstance could either of my parents find out—not just about Simon, but about taking a break from school.

It would crush them—infuriate them.

Ruby was explicit when it came to her promise not to tell—to keep up with the facade that I was happily studying away at Oxford as long as I could do the same.

It was fail proof, yet one caveat remained.

Simon.

He knew my parents.

He was close with my parents.

How could I cut the ties between the three of them without unveiling the truth?

It was simple.

Tell my parents that Simon and I had broken up, but when I did announce it, they didn’t take it lightly.

“Why would you guys break up?”

“You were ‘perfect’ together!”

In an attempt to mask the truth behind our split I murmured out another instead, “Simon and I just aren’t right for each other,” I tried to explain. “We’ve changed. We need to take a break.”

I gave my parents little opportunity to debate my intentions as I coldly ended the call, blaming my abruptness on my “busy” school schedule.

They understood.

Like I said… school is everything to them.

And so here we are. It’s been three full weeks since I moved in with Ruby and thankfully, throughout this time, Simon's un-godly efforts to track me down on campus have remained unsuccessful. My roommate Holly, who I too had to trust to keep my whereabouts a secret said he’s been going mad trying to get a hold of me. Yet, while he’s been going off the charts, I’ve been here. Settling into my new routine. My new life in Crawley .

I’ll admit, I didn’t think my “new life” would mean helping to open and close Ruby’s Bakery every day, but hey, even though I’m mopping flour up from the floor and busting my ass off in a kitchen, I’m exactly where I need to be.

Away from Simon.

I wring out the mop through the bucket, draining the clouded water before I place it back into the storage closet. Stretching my arms out wide I let out a tired yawn, craning my neck from side to side. It’s only mid-afternoon, but I’ve been here since half past three this morning to prepare.

I’m about ready for my mid-day nap as I go to loosen my apron from behind my back, fiddling with the knot when all of a sudden a pounding rattles through the front door.

I stumble backwards and my mind immediately spirals to the worst.

Simon.

He’s here.

He’s found me.

What am I going to do?

I tuck myself into the kitchen, hiding from plain sight. The pounding of my heart is now the only sound that consumes my mind until all at once I hear an unsuspecting voice call out, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

The voice is full of desperation.

“ Please. I need a cake!”

A rush of relief washes over me.

From the tone alone I know it’s not Simon. But another clear indication? The fact that Simon would never say “please”. Yet, even with that sliver of reassurance, I still can’t place the voice.

Reluctantly, I not-so-subtly peer out from the kitchen, an action that the man standing at the front entrance seemingly takes full notice of.

“Oh, thank Christ.” He rests his forehead against the glass, hands perched up as he peers in. “I was worried that no one was there. Can you let me in, please? I really need a cake.”

In exhaustion, I toy with my options. Do I go about my business and pretend like I hadn’t seen him? Or do I acknowledge his existence and send him on his way?

With remorse, I opt for the latter and break free from behind the kitchen wall. It’s hard to take in the man's appearance given the glare that bounces back from the glass. Nonetheless, I gesture to his right, where the answer to his question is clear as day: a big ole’ red sign that reads “closed”.

I watch as his shoulders slump forward and his head dips in defeat. “Listen.” He shoots his head back up in another attempt to sway me. “I really need a cake. I’ll pay whatever you want for it. Just, please . I’m desperate.”

As I remain silent, the man continues to murmur frantic pleas under his breath before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. “How much do you want?” he asks, scanning through. “Twenty? Thirty? Fifty? A hundred quid? Whatever it is, I’ll pay for it?—”

Before I know it, I swing open the door and lock eyes with the brown-eyed man in front of me, who wastes no time flashing me a confident smile before saying, “ Well… hello there .”