The Break Up
I was at his place when he told me he thought we should stop seeing eachother. A day to late though, he had fucked his ex yesterday, he told. He didn't seem happy.
I said nothing, I was taking in the fact as a fact. I was breathing fast and had my eyes closed when he thought he should say something to make me feel better. I would have settled for " You're really nice" or some other cliche people say.
" You are great and it's amazing to have sex with you. It's like having hotel sex, it's refreshing, new, exciting and playful and there are no consequences, someone will clean up after you either way."
This got me going a bit. It was the first time somebody called me a cheap ride. I started to play my part in this sitcom break up episode we were having.
"So...you fucked your ex because our vacation, as you call it, this hotel sex that we have going here, is over?"
"No. Don't say it like that. I fucked her because, with her…” he paused, searching for words.
“With her I'm home.” he finally said “ It’s like sleeping in my own bed, it’s comfortable...it’s right. It feels right"
I couldn't say anything but I admired his courage to look me in the eyes when he said that and his words were full of something that must be love. At least there's that and i focused with all my might on that, lest i be mean. My contempt was oozing around my narrow focus though, I wanted so bad to be mean.
I really really wanted to.
"Ok" I said.
We sat there in silence staring at the TV. He looked haggard and in pain, about to cry. I've never seen him cry. I thought he doesn't cry over girls, but then he thought she was THE girl. I wondered though, if you are breaking up with me, shouldn't I be the one crying?
He kept looking at me with those haunted eyes and raised his hand to touch my hair but almost didn’t do it. He just brushed it tenderly, a reminder for him as to how his fingers felt touching it and then he retreated his hand in a sudden move, a shudder. It was almost like he didn’t actually want to end this but he couldn’t continue either. I wished for this in my head: “ Please, please, please, please, don’t let me feel ambiguous about this. Please, please, please, please, finish me properly”
"You're not home, you know?" I said, breaking the silence.
"hm?"
"With her..you're not home, you've visited a haunted house that was once your home. Like in a horror movie you've felt and the glorious things that used to be but open your eyes!! You'll see that the walls are withered, the kitchen is covered in spider web, the bed is broken and the sheets are eaten by moth. And if you get caught too deep in it, you'll become part of it: a ghost.”
I loath myself when I sound bitter. There's no need, ever, to be bitter. What people do is never about us but about them and being angry at them is useless and counterproductive. I knew better than to act like this but I still left without saying goodbye.
I had nothing more to say.