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The Heartache We Buy
An unreleased short story from the book:
The Price of Emotions: How Artificial Feelings Can Destroy Us
Abigail had always been a romantic, someone who believed in love with a fervor that made her heart burn with possibilities. But that belief had shattered in an instant, in the quiet aftermath of a breakup that she couldn’t have prepared for. It had come out of nowhere. One moment, they were planning their future—discussing vacations, building dreams—and the next, he was gone. He had left her without explanation, a single text message as his final words: “I’m sorry, I just don’t feel it anymore.”
Her heart had cracked in ways she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just a breakup—it was the loss of her future, the unraveling of her sense of self. Her world felt like it had shattered into a million pieces, and she was left trying to pick up the shards. She tried to move on, tried to fill the hole with distractions, but it only deepened. The pain lingered, stubborn and unrelenting. It was as if every waking moment was a reminder that she wasn’t good enough, that love could be taken away just as easily as it was given.
It was a month after the breakup, when she stumbled upon the ad. She had been scrolling aimlessly through her phone, her mind numb with the endless loop of sadness when the words on the screen caught her eye.
“Buy Heartache: Relive the pain. Understand the depth of your sorrow. One drop, and you will experience the full weight of your loss. Feel everything. Truly feel it.”
The words haunted her. She stared at the screen, her mind swirling with a mix of disbelief and a strange, dark curiosity. Could it really work? Could she somehow bring back the pain, the devastation, and feel it again? She had never felt this alive, even through all the hurt. It was as if the heartbreak had become a part of her identity. Could she somehow own it, make it something tangible?
The idea felt intoxicating. She had tried so hard to forget him, to bury the pain. But what if—just for a moment—she could feel it again? What if she could relive that final moment, that final kiss, that final loss? She could understand it, break it down, own it. She would never be weak again. The pain would no longer control her. She could control it.
Without thinking, she clicked the link.
The package arrived the next day. A small, plain box. Inside, a vial sat on top of a bed of tissue paper. The liquid was dark, almost black, swirling in a hypnotic way. The label on the vial was plain, with only one line written in elegant, simple script: “One drop. Feel the heartache.”
Abigail’s fingers trembled as she uncorked the vial. The silence in the room was deafening, as if the air itself was waiting with her. She stared at the liquid, then, with a single breath, swallowed the drop.
The world shifted immediately.
It didn’t happen in a rush, but in waves—slow, deliberate, suffocating. She felt the pain seep into her chest first, a tightness like a vice grip, spreading through her lungs. The air felt thinner, more difficult to breathe. Her vision blurred for a moment, and suddenly, it was like she was there again—sitting in the café, waiting for him to arrive. His face, the look in his eyes as he sat across from her, the words that followed. His words that tore her apart. “I don’t feel it anymore.”
The feeling was so vivid, so real, it was as if he were sitting right in front of her. The pain she thought she had buried for so long came rushing back with such force that it knocked the breath from her lungs. She could taste the salt of the tears she had shed that day, could feel the way her chest had felt hollow, empty, the suffocating grip of rejection.
The more she tried to let it go, the more the grief consumed her. It wasn’t just reliving it—it was living it, again and again, with no way to stop it. The grief was no longer just an emotion—it was a force, a weight, a shadow that had become a permanent part of her life.
Days blurred together. She couldn’t sleep. Her thoughts spiraled into endless cycles of him—his voice, his touch, his absence. The more she relived the heartbreak, the more she wanted to feel it again. She was addicted to the pain, addicted to the vividness of it. It was as though the grief was all she had left of him, all that remained of the love she had once believed in.
Her friends noticed the change, but they couldn’t understand. They told her to move on, to let go. But she couldn’t. The grief had consumed her. It had taken root deep within her heart, and she was no longer the person she had been before. She didn’t know how to be her without it. The heartache had become her companion, her reason for existing.
The people around her faded into the background, as if they were only ghosts in her world. She couldn’t focus on their words, their concerns. The only thing that mattered was the pain, the sorrow, the loss she was forever trying to relive. The hurt had become a part of her identity, a darkness that pulled her deeper into itself.
Her apartment became a prison. She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t escape. The walls seemed to close in on her, the empty space around her growing as her mind sank deeper into the abyss of despair. She stopped eating. She stopped sleeping. Her body withered as the grief took over, turning her once vibrant face into a mask of hollow despair. She couldn’t remember what it was like to feel joy, to feel hope. All she knew now was the crushing weight of heartache.
And then, one morning, she woke up to an empty room. The smell of him was gone. His ghost was no longer in the space she had once shared with him. It was as though he had never been there, and yet the grief still lingered, still gnawed at her soul.
The vial, now empty, sat on her nightstand. She had gone too far. She had bought the pain, bought the heartache, and in the end, it had consumed her. She was nothing more than a shadow of the woman she used to be. She couldn’t see a way out. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been trapped in this endless cycle of sorrow.
Her world had been reduced to the aching emptiness of a love lost, a life wasted on a memory. And in that moment, Abigail realized that the grief she had tried to control had become the only thing left of her. The heartache she had bought was now the only thing that defined her.
She was lost.
And there was no escape.
If you enjoyed this short story you will probably like our latest release available now:
The Price of Emotions: How Artificial Feelings Can Destroy Us
$3.99
In a world where emotions are bought and sold, the price of feeling has never been higher.
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