Part One
“What is it you want?” I ask myself.
I’ve just spent an hour of wiggling around in bed staring at a tiny phone screen, stalking my ex-boyfriend, convincing myself which of the countless girls that have ‘liked’ his photos is the ‘one.’ The ‘one’ that gave him Chlamydia; the one who has made it into his bed; the one who is the object of his attention; the one who is the disgusting whore who transferred a venereal disease to the man that I love, transferring it to me, infecting me in more ways than one.
It drives me insane to think of him with someone else, looking at these photos, trying to figure it out, I began to make myself physically ill. We have been split for six months now. Six months. But the emotions are still there, much stronger than I would have anticipated for being apart for so long. Love cannot just vanish; there is a pain that waits for you behind it.
With the coming of the New Year, I was ready for change. I watched our dogs while Xavier was away, the last week of the year. It was easier to let the pups stay with me this time; I was feeling less emotion, more numbness. The dogs were just that: my dogs. There for a good snuggle. Xavier was on the other end, but it wasn’t as strong anymore. It was more just myself in my new life carrying on a piece of him.
It was New Year’s Eve when I returned the pups; there was only a small thought in the back of my mind of kissing and holding him. Hey, it was the last day of the year, who better than to spend it with then the ex who broke your heart merely months before. I can really be brilliant at times.
He was slightly hung over, vulnerable. When he invited me to stay to breakfast, I smiled, surprised. ‘You’re going to cook for me?’ I mean I do love this guy. My chef. The guy I spent every other minute talking to since I met him three years ago. The guy who I’ve had breakfast with countless times before. Of course I would stay for breakfast.
We small talked for a while, while he left the sausage to defrost in the sink. The coffee he offered was overly bitter so he added some extra water. He knows I don’t take my coffee that strong. I’d switched almost completely to tea over the past few months, but I still drank the coffee he offered. How could I refuse anything from him? I talked and talked, nervous and jittery from the tea I had before, and the coffee, and the presence of him.
I could sense his resistance to me. It was almost like the guilt was oozing out of him, I could just tell he had been with someone else. One hell of an intuition I can have, which cab be a blessing and a curse.
I was a little rushed, unsure of myself in his presence, in the house that used to be ours. One we picked out for ourselves, together. Wondering about the women he would bring into this home, which was so long ours, now his. Being with this man I used to kiss 50 times a day, sitting across the table from me, untouchable. It was hard for me to sit still.
He didn’t really have food prepared, but it was just his wanting to spend a little more time together. Why wouldn’t he, after how used to each other our bodies had become to each other’s? I sense it every time I see him. Remebering the feel of his skin against mine, his arms around me in a deep hug, the feel of his lips on mine. The body remembers what the mind tries to forget. Irresistible desire. You don’t have it with everyone, its grown, nourished, cultivated, perfected. We didn’t always have it, but oh man, when we did! Nothing could stop us.
Regardless, all these feelings can be hard to process, and I was on a schedule. I convinced him to hit the freshly packed bowl, knowing he is rarely a daytime smoker, but hey-he was hung over and its New Year’s Eve, so what the hell?
“I have to leave soon,” I reminded him. He rushed out breakfast, doing what he could with the little momentum he had. I checked the time yet again. “I could just take a shower here,’ I said.
“Of course you can,” he replied, looking down at his plate.
“But I want you to shower with me…” I said, sad, questioning, wanting his shower of love, his arms, his kiss, everything I no longer had.
He shifted in his chair, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You’re probably right.” I began to load up my stuff. “I think I will just go to my parent’s to shower then.” I felt so uncomfortable and defeated. Sad that he was letting me go completely, yet satisfied that he was the one to be strong, when I could not.
“You’re leaving?” I could hear the sadness in his voice; he stood up and walked over towards me then leaned down and kissed me. It was the saddest kiss. Holding onto something we were trying so hard to let go, to move away from. Even though it felt so good, it was sad because we knew we were just pretending. There was nothing but heartache to follow.
Part Two
Since the beginning of the New Year, I’ve had been eating super healthy, I was moderate in my drinking, doing yoga every day, working diligently at home and outside. Ready to start 2015 with a new vision, putting the past behind me. I was starting to feel in total control, until I get news that this one moment of passion has put me in jeopardy, and my world goes askew. It was as if everything I had practiced was out the window.
What would it be like to have to tell the person you loved wholly every day for so long something so horrible? I try to be sympathetic. I love too hard and I give in way too easily.
It’s like something came over me and I could not control myself. How scary is that? It’s a feeling so deep in the pit of your stomach, where you don’t know whether to throw up or scream or cry. It’s amazing the power the mind has over the senses. I have been practicing to be a better person, or my idea of what it is to be better. Trying to find a way to control any emotion that comes and a way to deal with it productively.
Something in me needs to stand up and shout, “Here I am. See me!” Instead it just says, “oh hey, I am here, what do you need and I will give it to you; you are sad, I will make you happy; you are happy, I will laugh with you; you are mad, I will direct your anger to a better place; this is me and what I want to do for you.” I have a hard time saying, “This is me, and here is what I need from you. Here is what I am willing to offer, and that’s it.”
I just keep learning to bend, so I will not break.
When Xavier asked to meet, I first only thought positive thoughts. “Yay!” a little voice inside me screams. He wants to meet; I get to see the man I love today. Knowing that this is probably nothing good, I am still so hopeful, naive. Since I wasn’t able to meet, it comes through in text. Tears fill my eyes. My head begins to swim. All my hopes crash down around me as my worst fears come unleashed. “Yes, I have been with someone, I have had unprotected sex and have contracted Chlamydia, but hey its an easy fix just take this one little pill.”
Yet in these moments, I feel a deep sense of protection. Wanting to keep him from harm, when he has harmed me. Where I should feel pain and anger, I feel pity and sadness. I want to help him. Wondering who is this girl, is she deserving of his love?
I begin to wonder all of the things about her. Drawing ideas about their relationship, their life together. My stomach is completely in knots as I stumble for the phone, reaching out for a friend, someone to help me escape my own mind.
My thoughts flash back to our time together that day. Such short passionate moments, his body against mine, the old feelings fading into raw passion. Letting our feelings from the past draw the curtain over reality. But then, it’s someone else. No longer am I the one he moans for.
SproutingJane 