Feb 17, 2008 21:30
It only took eight months and a little alcohol, but I finally believe him. Clay actually loved me. And thus, I broke up with him for good. I guess the lesson I take from this is... alcohol does not mix with compulsive liars.
Friday night I apparently came clean with him and told him everything. It's the worst feeling in the world to wake up and slowly realize the damage you did. Saturday morning I looked over at him, not sure how or when I got in his bed. I made small talk for a bit, praying that my pieces of memories were wrong and that I did not actually give him the loose thread that would allow him to unravel my sham of an existence.
But I did. And that's that. It makes me loath myself even more because now I don't even have anything to hide behind.
Clay knows me better than anyone. End of story. And he STILL loved me. It blows my mind that he can know me and still like me. It terrifies me. Why would I give that up? Because it's not fair to him for me to put him through any more shit. So I'm running away like the coward that I am.
I think I'll spend the night crying. I'll listen to Say Anything and think about the summer. But in the morning I'll move on. Or at least I'll pretend I will. That's the kind of thing that he'd see through now.
...And it begins.