This week, I am going to focus on nothing but work.
If this were a real romance novel, I would've run after him. I would've kissed him. I would be on a plane right now heading to France instead of sitting alone in this fucking hotel room. I wouldn't be planning a date with a man I've no interest in.
If this were a real romance novel, I wouldn't be confused. I'd be impulsive and passionate and wildly in love. That conversation would've been the moment that I realized I didn't want my ex anymore, and I would've fallen into his arms and had the best goddamn sex of my life--something to last three pages, at least.
But this is not a real romance novel. This is my real life. And I'm slow-coming to realizations; I am not predisposed to having bright or frequent epiphanies. I have a hard time adjusting to change and a hard time letting go, even when all the evidence points to the fact that I've been let go. I do not take chances, I miss them.
And the very worst part is that I know, deep down, he is exactly what I need. I know that we would work. We'd grow old and content together, and happily so, and have a slew of friends and a quiet life. He would not run when I get sick. He would bury me with tears.
It's just so hard.
Work is my solace.
"You've been avoiding me," I accused. The realization had come as such a shock because cowardice is in my blood, not his.
"I haven't been avoiding you," he countered. "I've been thinking of the right thing to say."
"Oh." Which involves avoiding me, I thought to add.
"Bill, I didn't want to kiss you."
"--Oh."
"I don't mean it quite like that."
"I see." Or I will, once I start breathing again.
"Don't do that." He frowned.
"Do what?"
"Stop sulking and listen to me for a second."
"I've heard every word."
"I said," he paused, "listen to me."
"Fine." I sat on the bed, crossed my arms, and stared through the carpet. I was the picture of maturity. He began a few seconds later.
"I didn't want to kiss you until I was sure. And it was a moment of weakness, and forgive me for it--I waited so long for you to say--but I realized something in the morning, when I really went back and thought about it." He paused. "Do you follow?"
"No, not really."
"Bill, I am always going to be your second best. And before you run off indignant saying that isn't true, you need to hear me out. Because you are always going to be my second best, and I need you to understand that. I'm not looking for soul mates or once-in-a-lifetime. I'm not asking after the love of my life. I had all that. And I miss it every day, and I don't need it again. Those aren't the sort of feelings you can repeat. But you--I care for you, and I see myself comfortably older with you, and content. I love you in the best ways I can--don't you always say that?--the only ways I am capable of loving someone now, I think. But you have to know that you're simply second best.
"I--oh." What does one say to that, exactly? I waited for him to continue.
"Now, you're an intelligent bloke..."
"Bloke?"
"Bugger off, Bill. I'm older than you." I couldn't help a smirk. "Anyway, aye--you're a smart man, so I know you can understand what I'm saying. I need you to know that I know I'm always going to be your second best, but I'm okay with that because, well--you are always going to be my second best. The difference is that my first is dead and buried, and he's not coming back. I'm not on some emotional yo-yo rollercoaster..."
"Mixed metaphor much?"
"You are not making this any easier. I am trying to be serious."
"I'm sorry."
"Bastard." He frowned and started again. "Your first, though--he's never going away. And in a lot of ways, I can deal with that. I'd never ask a man to walk away from a friend to spend his life with me. But you're still holding out for him--and don't you goddamn deny it, and don't you interrupt again." He stared me back to silence, as I was beginning quite the protest.
"How many letters did you write him this week that you're not going to send? How many times did you check your fecking email just in case? Aye, s'right. Don't goddamn deny it. You can't lie to me--I kissed you, after all." That part was certainly true. "And that's what I mean by I didn't want to--why I didn't kiss you in the street."
Here, finally, he stopped pacing.
"I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted it to be us--just us, finally, with all our baggage packed--as you like to say." He was gathering his forces. He was using my words against me. "Which is why I'm going back to my original plan. I can't erase last night, and I can't pretend I didn't kiss you, and I can't pretend I don't want to kiss you again right now. All I can do is say 'No' and be done with it." The battle had begun.
"I'm leaving in the morning, and I'm not coming back to you until you are ready. And I'll wait--I can wait forever, because I never thought I'd have a chance like this again after Danny died--but I'm not going to stop living my life, either. And when you figure it out, you come see me. And I mean see me. None of this internet bullshit phone call write me a letter pour-your-heart-out nonsense. I mean you come look me in the eye and tell me you've left him for good." I didn't have enough time to prepare a worthy defense, so I sat there and let him defeat me. He seemed satisfied with this. "Aye, all right. Good. Glad I got that out of my system."
I thought he was going to go that very minute, so I stood. He put his hand out to stop me. "I'm not leaving angry, so don't think I am. I'm not leaving jealous or upset. This is as much for me as it is for you. I need you to know that I understand soul mates, Bill. And I understand second best. And I think you can be happy with either, if you make the most of your situation. But once I give over to you, I can't be worrying that you're going to run off and leave me because there's no fighting first place. I wouldn't hold it against you--I'd drop just about everything for a chance with Danny again, just a second, really--but it would break my heart. And if I let you break my heart, then that's exactly what it is--me letting you. That just won't do."
"I'm sorry."
"Goddamnit! No one's asking for an apology. I knew you were still in love with him when I got on that jet, but it didn't matter because I didn't expect to kiss you or take this anywhere, I just wanted to be with you. Don't you get that? I wanted to spend time with you because I missed being near you." There it went: another crack in my chest.
"And when you head back to the States, I want you to go on that fucking date. Don't give me that look, just go. You need to get it all out of your system, you understand? You need to remember what living is like and get him the fuck out of your system--relegate him to friendly and not the first man you update on your life or the first man you want to talk to when you have the time to talk. You broke up, and it's damn well time you started acting like it. This hanging on thing--it's for cowards who can't let go. And with all your bitching that he never talks first anymore or hasn't written or anything, I think you goddamn got your answer. He's gone, so it's just you hung up on him. He made his fucking break, he's just too nice to tell you. Give the man some goddamn credit and some goddamn space. So go date, and go out, and goddamnit, Bill, if you don't come see me someday, I'll never forgive you."
He was close enough to kiss. I wondered if that's what should happen now--always seems to work in the movies, anyway. But I just stood there. "I love you," he finally said. "I love you, and I am in love with you, but that doesn't mean I compromise who I am or how I feel for half a man's heart. Once you figure out that he's gone and left you alone, and just your history is holding you together--and once you really goddamn understand that, deep down--you come see me." He brushed his thumb across my lower lip and smiled something that broke my heart. "Aye?"
"Okay."
"Good." He clapped my cheek and got his coat. "I knew you'd understand once I got it all out, eloquence aside." He turned at the door and looked back, and I tried to manage a smile. "You can add this to that chapter you're working on--that story of us you don't think I've read." My jaw dropped.
"I--" How embarassing! He laughed.
"What," he continued, "you think I don't read every goddamn thing you write? You're the eejit who posts it on the internet, even if you do pretend it's fiction." I blinked. "Besides," he laughed, "I have all of your poetry."
"You rotten son of a bitch." I smiled. I knew I was red.
"It's a good story, Bill. Now it just needs the right ending."
"I never wrote about the poetry."
"Well, maybe you should." He opened the door. "Graim thu," he said to the woodwork.
And he never looked back.
I won't be checking my personal emails or accounts this week, I won't be chatting on IM, I won't even take note of dA: I will be working because work is exactly what I need. These are not things that I can properly address or deal with until I am home. And yes, Nic, I know this is exactly what you warned me about and told me not to do. If you could reserve your scathing commentary until I get back to the States, I'd appreciate it. I thought I was ready until he blindsided me with all this--made me really think and consider things deeply. Hurts to hear the truth thrown at you, I suppose--especially that sort of truth you were trying very hard not to recognize. But I understand, now. I am a truly single man without hope of reconciliation and probably have been since August, I just wasn't opening my eyes enough to realize it. Being let down easy--I guess that's what it's called. I am thankful for that--the easy part. I really am, sir. It was one last kindness in a long line of understanding. And now that I know, I have to deal with it. Now that I know, I suppose I can deal with it. Knowing is half the battle. Thank you. I mean that sincerely.
P.S. I went skydiving. I--can't even talk about it yet. Everything was going so well--.
If this were a real romance novel, I wouldn't be confused. I'd be impulsive and passionate and wildly in love. That conversation would've been the moment that I realized I didn't want my ex anymore, and I would've fallen into his arms and had the best goddamn sex of my life--something to last three pages, at least.
But this is not a real romance novel. This is my real life. And I'm slow-coming to realizations; I am not predisposed to having bright or frequent epiphanies. I have a hard time adjusting to change and a hard time letting go, even when all the evidence points to the fact that I've been let go. I do not take chances, I miss them.
And the very worst part is that I know, deep down, he is exactly what I need. I know that we would work. We'd grow old and content together, and happily so, and have a slew of friends and a quiet life. He would not run when I get sick. He would bury me with tears.
It's just so hard.
Work is my solace.
"You've been avoiding me," I accused. The realization had come as such a shock because cowardice is in my blood, not his.
"I haven't been avoiding you," he countered. "I've been thinking of the right thing to say."
"Oh." Which involves avoiding me, I thought to add.
"Bill, I didn't want to kiss you."
"--Oh."
"I don't mean it quite like that."
"I see." Or I will, once I start breathing again.
"Don't do that." He frowned.
"Do what?"
"Stop sulking and listen to me for a second."
"I've heard every word."
"I said," he paused, "listen to me."
"Fine." I sat on the bed, crossed my arms, and stared through the carpet. I was the picture of maturity. He began a few seconds later.
"I didn't want to kiss you until I was sure. And it was a moment of weakness, and forgive me for it--I waited so long for you to say--but I realized something in the morning, when I really went back and thought about it." He paused. "Do you follow?"
"No, not really."
"Bill, I am always going to be your second best. And before you run off indignant saying that isn't true, you need to hear me out. Because you are always going to be my second best, and I need you to understand that. I'm not looking for soul mates or once-in-a-lifetime. I'm not asking after the love of my life. I had all that. And I miss it every day, and I don't need it again. Those aren't the sort of feelings you can repeat. But you--I care for you, and I see myself comfortably older with you, and content. I love you in the best ways I can--don't you always say that?--the only ways I am capable of loving someone now, I think. But you have to know that you're simply second best.
"I--oh." What does one say to that, exactly? I waited for him to continue.
"Now, you're an intelligent bloke..."
"Bloke?"
"Bugger off, Bill. I'm older than you." I couldn't help a smirk. "Anyway, aye--you're a smart man, so I know you can understand what I'm saying. I need you to know that I know I'm always going to be your second best, but I'm okay with that because, well--you are always going to be my second best. The difference is that my first is dead and buried, and he's not coming back. I'm not on some emotional yo-yo rollercoaster..."
"Mixed metaphor much?"
"You are not making this any easier. I am trying to be serious."
"I'm sorry."
"Bastard." He frowned and started again. "Your first, though--he's never going away. And in a lot of ways, I can deal with that. I'd never ask a man to walk away from a friend to spend his life with me. But you're still holding out for him--and don't you goddamn deny it, and don't you interrupt again." He stared me back to silence, as I was beginning quite the protest.
"How many letters did you write him this week that you're not going to send? How many times did you check your fecking email just in case? Aye, s'right. Don't goddamn deny it. You can't lie to me--I kissed you, after all." That part was certainly true. "And that's what I mean by I didn't want to--why I didn't kiss you in the street."
Here, finally, he stopped pacing.
"I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted it to be us--just us, finally, with all our baggage packed--as you like to say." He was gathering his forces. He was using my words against me. "Which is why I'm going back to my original plan. I can't erase last night, and I can't pretend I didn't kiss you, and I can't pretend I don't want to kiss you again right now. All I can do is say 'No' and be done with it." The battle had begun.
"I'm leaving in the morning, and I'm not coming back to you until you are ready. And I'll wait--I can wait forever, because I never thought I'd have a chance like this again after Danny died--but I'm not going to stop living my life, either. And when you figure it out, you come see me. And I mean see me. None of this internet bullshit phone call write me a letter pour-your-heart-out nonsense. I mean you come look me in the eye and tell me you've left him for good." I didn't have enough time to prepare a worthy defense, so I sat there and let him defeat me. He seemed satisfied with this. "Aye, all right. Good. Glad I got that out of my system."
I thought he was going to go that very minute, so I stood. He put his hand out to stop me. "I'm not leaving angry, so don't think I am. I'm not leaving jealous or upset. This is as much for me as it is for you. I need you to know that I understand soul mates, Bill. And I understand second best. And I think you can be happy with either, if you make the most of your situation. But once I give over to you, I can't be worrying that you're going to run off and leave me because there's no fighting first place. I wouldn't hold it against you--I'd drop just about everything for a chance with Danny again, just a second, really--but it would break my heart. And if I let you break my heart, then that's exactly what it is--me letting you. That just won't do."
"I'm sorry."
"Goddamnit! No one's asking for an apology. I knew you were still in love with him when I got on that jet, but it didn't matter because I didn't expect to kiss you or take this anywhere, I just wanted to be with you. Don't you get that? I wanted to spend time with you because I missed being near you." There it went: another crack in my chest.
"And when you head back to the States, I want you to go on that fucking date. Don't give me that look, just go. You need to get it all out of your system, you understand? You need to remember what living is like and get him the fuck out of your system--relegate him to friendly and not the first man you update on your life or the first man you want to talk to when you have the time to talk. You broke up, and it's damn well time you started acting like it. This hanging on thing--it's for cowards who can't let go. And with all your bitching that he never talks first anymore or hasn't written or anything, I think you goddamn got your answer. He's gone, so it's just you hung up on him. He made his fucking break, he's just too nice to tell you. Give the man some goddamn credit and some goddamn space. So go date, and go out, and goddamnit, Bill, if you don't come see me someday, I'll never forgive you."
He was close enough to kiss. I wondered if that's what should happen now--always seems to work in the movies, anyway. But I just stood there. "I love you," he finally said. "I love you, and I am in love with you, but that doesn't mean I compromise who I am or how I feel for half a man's heart. Once you figure out that he's gone and left you alone, and just your history is holding you together--and once you really goddamn understand that, deep down--you come see me." He brushed his thumb across my lower lip and smiled something that broke my heart. "Aye?"
"Okay."
"Good." He clapped my cheek and got his coat. "I knew you'd understand once I got it all out, eloquence aside." He turned at the door and looked back, and I tried to manage a smile. "You can add this to that chapter you're working on--that story of us you don't think I've read." My jaw dropped.
"I--" How embarassing! He laughed.
"What," he continued, "you think I don't read every goddamn thing you write? You're the eejit who posts it on the internet, even if you do pretend it's fiction." I blinked. "Besides," he laughed, "I have all of your poetry."
"You rotten son of a bitch." I smiled. I knew I was red.
"It's a good story, Bill. Now it just needs the right ending."
"I never wrote about the poetry."
"Well, maybe you should." He opened the door. "Graim thu," he said to the woodwork.
And he never looked back.
I won't be checking my personal emails or accounts this week, I won't be chatting on IM, I won't even take note of dA: I will be working because work is exactly what I need. These are not things that I can properly address or deal with until I am home. And yes, Nic, I know this is exactly what you warned me about and told me not to do. If you could reserve your scathing commentary until I get back to the States, I'd appreciate it. I thought I was ready until he blindsided me with all this--made me really think and consider things deeply. Hurts to hear the truth thrown at you, I suppose--especially that sort of truth you were trying very hard not to recognize. But I understand, now. I am a truly single man without hope of reconciliation and probably have been since August, I just wasn't opening my eyes enough to realize it. Being let down easy--I guess that's what it's called. I am thankful for that--the easy part. I really am, sir. It was one last kindness in a long line of understanding. And now that I know, I have to deal with it. Now that I know, I suppose I can deal with it. Knowing is half the battle. Thank you. I mean that sincerely.
P.S. I went skydiving. I--can't even talk about it yet. Everything was going so well--.