Last night, I asked my boyfriend if we could go for a drink. He loves me, so he happily agreed to my suggestion. I had been tiptoeing around him for almost two weeks, but I just couldn't do it. With each date that passed I felt more guilty about my lack of honesty. However yesterday was the day I had to make it count.
I dressed casually, I put on my most comfortable jeans and a cute blouse I'd found in the back of my closet the week before. The black stilettos were inevitable. When I was ready, I only had to wait for five minutes before I heard a soft knock on the door. Slowly I opened it, my stress threatening to overtake me. And there he was. I felt bad for him, but promises have to be kept. Also the ones the ones that you make to yourself. A clean break, I told myself.
He leaned in for a kiss, I turned my head and his lips softly touched my cheek. He knew something was wrong, I saw it in his eyes. To ease his worries I gave him my best smile, even though I knew beforehand it wouldn't change anything.
"Hi" he said, a weak smile plastered on his face. I stepped outside and turned around to lock the door. My face being turned away from him gave me the opportunity to pull myself together once more. I knew that I was going to need it. And apparently he thought so too. When I turned I around, I caught him staring at his feet, blinking away some of the worry that was visible there. He straightened up and guided me towards his car and opened the door for me. That, I was definitely going to miss; the ways of a gentleman.
--xxx--
We arrived at the café fifteen minutes later, he'd driven us to the one we always went to. It's the one where we met, the one where we danced for the first time and the one where he told me how a felt about me. But that was nine months ago and I couldn't let this go any further.
The ride had been quiet, but not unusually so. Neither of us are very talkative people. He parked the car and came around to open my door for me, even a offering a hand. I didn't take it. I looked him sternly in the eyes and he looked back at me, deciding something, tough I couldn't tell what exactly. We entered the café and he ordered a beer and I asked a glass of wine. We talked about the weather, it had rained all week. Until the morning before, when the sun had finally overcome her repressors. The waiter brought our drinks, placed them in front of us. I took a sip and so did he, mirroring my actions.
"So, how are you?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious.
"Good," I answered a little suspicious, "and you?" I realised he was helping me. He was helping me by guiding our conversation into a I-need-to-tell-you-something-conversation. He was giving me the opportunity to tell him what I had to say.
"I'm fine," his smile faltered and he continued, "but you're not. Do you really think I think I don't know when you're lying?" He asked, as if daring me to deny what he claimed and I couldn't. Because he was telling the truth.
"Really, I'm good." I put on my most convincing smile, but couldn't help thinking that he wouldn't be. I raised my glass to my mouth, my eyes never leaving his. I drank deeply, knowing I was going to need it in order to continue with my quest for a Clean Break. He just looked at me. He looked through me and I broke.
"No. You're right, I'm not." I sighed, knowing that now that I'd chosen this route I had to follow it. I put down my glass, this time looking intensely at it instead of at him. I kept staring at my glass, collecting my thoughts, forming sentences that made sense. But in every sentence, in every paragraph I formed, something missed. It lacked reality, a snippet of the truth. Then I did something I really shouldn't have done. I looked up, I looked at his face and in his eyes and I realised what I already knew: "I cannot lie to him." I knew that even when I tried my very best, he'd know. And worse, I'd know he knew and I'd pretend I didn't and it'd kill me - I really shouldn't have looked up. But this meant that there was only one way out of this situation, I'd have to tell him the truth. Or at least some version of it, I was not ready to go over the details just yet.
"When I was little, my parents broke up. You know this, right?" I didn't know where I was going with this, but I needed some time to figure out what I was going to say next. And how much of the truth I was going to spill.
"Of course, I know. You told me." So that question didn't turn out to be a good one. Damn me.
"Yeah, right. Well, what you probably don't know; it kinda' left me with some sort of trauma and it seems that I can't get over it." His eyes widened comically in realisation. But it also gave away that he was making assumptions. And without a doubt, all the wrong ones. He opened his mouth, ready to tell me what he thought. And I knew what he was thinking, I'd heard it so many times before; 'Then tell me about it, this is going to be different. We're not your parents. I will always be by your side.' Or something along those lines.
"Don't." I said while I raised my hand. He closed his mouth and instead reached for his beer. He drank and this time, I mirrored his actions. I put down my glass and continued, "Just let me do the talking, okay?" He didn't answer - which was obviously a good start - but it was the look in his eyes that convinced me that he wasn't going to move. It made me feel comfortable.
"In contrast to what you probably expect, my problems lay not with relationships." That wasn't entirely true, because my problem does lay with relationships. Damn! My problem is relationships. But he didn't need to know that. "The thing I can't seem to get over is not being alone. It's not that I don't like being in crowds or just with someone, because I can enjoy that. You know that. But this is too much. You're constantly around, if you're not with me in the same building then you're texting or calling me." That was, however, totally true, "And I can't help it, but this feels to me like you're trying to control me. To absorb all of me and it makes me feel claustrophobic." That was actually also true, that conversation was not going as planned. If there'd been plans in the first place, of course. "I feel like there is no room left for me to grow and to be free. And you know how I feel about freedom."
He put up his hand and if I hadn't known better, I'd have thought he wanted to high-five. But he didn't and I was happy he made me stop talking, because I was running out of things to say. "You're telling me, that it is my fault you feel bad. That I make you feel bad?" he asked it so seriously that I had no idea whether it was a serious question or that he was accusing me. I went with serious. "No, this isn't in any way your fault. This is my fault, this is my doing. I'm sorry but I just don't think this is working anymore." Okay that was not how I wanted to say it. This was not a Clean Break. Not what I eas going for at all.
"You're breaking up?" he asked. And he was serious, anyone who looked at him could tell he was being serious. And I knew that, but I couldn't hold back a slight smile spreading over my face. I knew I was being cruel, but I just couldn't help it. He just made me so happy by understanding what I was saying. To gain some time in order to force my face into a more neutral expression, I quickly drained what was left of my wine, turned to the waiter and ordered another one.
Luckily it worked, and by the time I looked back at him, I saw him wiping away a stray tear that'd fallen from his eye. It was a quick and sudden movement, but I'd recognize it anywhere. When we locked our eyes together once more I confirmed his question with a strong "Yes." At least I had hoped my voice sounded strong and unemotionally, but I wasn't granted such luck. Instead my voice broke and it displayed everything i was feeling in that moment.You could hear the pain, the tears in my eyes, even the small smile that still curved my lips. I was definitely ashamed of myself, but I couldn't tell anyone.
"Okay." he said. I stared into his eyes. 'Okay' - was that really it? Of course I knew that I didn't have to expect some plea or something, but 'okay' was not it.
"Okay," he repeated, "I've seen it coming you know. You've been avoiding me for the past two weeks and you haven't stayed over once in the past month. The signs were obvious, but I hoped I was just imagining things." he said. I felt bad then, for being angry with him for his initial reply. And also for the hurt that I knew he felt. He continued, "I kept convincing myself that we were just going through a rough time, that we'd work through it, like we did before. But I guess I was wrong." His voice died down while he said this and the last sentence was only a whisper, "I'm sorry." he said. He got up, pushed his hand in his pocket, threw some money on the table and left. I saw him get into his car from where I sat, at the same moment the waiter brought me my wine. He stood staring with me at the place where just a moment before a black Mercedes had been. He just left. If I hadn't noticed it before, I did now. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, I picked up the glass and drained all of it at once. I offered the waiter the money, "This one's on the house." he replied with a sad smile.
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