It happened. I wasn’t expecting it to, but then I wasn’t not expecting it to either. I just didn’t care anymore. This time when someone asked me about him I didn’t say, “I really hope it’s over for good.” Instead, I found myself saying, “It’s over. For good.” And that’s what told me that I really was done. If my life was a bubble, I did not want him so much as touching it. And I meant it.
But I heard from him again. I’ve never shared his text messages here because I knew he wouldn’t like it, but maybe I oughtn’t be kind to him anymore? Some might argue that I let him do all of this to me. To them I say (and proof lies below), “I agree.” Once he had proved that he enjoyed breaking my heart I should have cut him off then. But I didn’t. Maybe I was stupid, maybe I didn’t think I deserved better, maybe, dramatically enough, I thought “Pain is love!” or some such ridiculous notion. Whatever it was, I let him break my heart into smaller and smaller pieces each time.
But the first time he broke it, I did not know he would. Have I told you that he invited me to his home for Christmas back in 2009? Haven’t told you that story, have I? He lives with his parents, this one. And at Christmas, his extended family was there too. On Christmas Eve, he introduced me to them all as his girlfriend. We sat next to each other at the table, his family loved me, and I felt really good about the whole thing.
I was to stay for two nights. The next morning, on Christmas Day, I woke up feeling happy. The day was amazing. There was fun and laughter and snuggles and kisses and gifts and it was wonderful. In the evening, as we retired to his room, he broke up with me. “I can’t do this,” he said. I was shocked. It was as if, in the dead of winter, someone had thrown ice-cold water on me. There was no talking about it. His mind was made up.
I asked him to take me home. He had picked me up the day before. He said he’d take me in the morning. I told him I’d call a cab. I couldn’t stand to be there a moment longer. He refused to let me do that. I cried silently all night. He said nothing. In the morning, he took me home. He made me take with me all the gifts I’d been given by his family, which I didn’t want; they would only serve as depressing souvenirs of a Christmas gone bad.
I could not have foreseen this. Yes, every time after this that I gave him another chance it was my fault. I knew he was capable of brutally smashing my heart to smithereens, but I continued on, hoping he’d admit he liked me more than he’d say. Totally my fault for not admitting to myself that he was an asshole. Stupid, stupid me.
Anywho, after I cut things off from him about a month ago for the last time, telling him I wanted whatever-this-was over for good, he sent me a text message last week. Here’s what it said:
Hey, I’m not starting anything right now, I just want to ask you something. Do you hate me for all the terrible shit I put you through? Like am I unforgivable here?
I should just not have replied. It was over for good, I’d told him that, and I should have honoured my own words. But, the really nice side of me wanted him to feel better and alleviate his guilt. I should have replied with a simple “YES.” This is what I really said:
Hi! I don’t hate you for anything. At all. Once you knew what you wanted you were clear about it but I always thought you liked me more than you’d admit.
I was this silly little girl, reading too much into the littlest of actions, into the smallest of words, into anything I possibly could.
He gave me another chance to tell him off. He replied with:
But I made you miserable. I wasted your time. I freaking used you. Like it’s not right. If I could [go] back, I wouldn’t have done it. Well…prolly [sic] not haha
Oh, it’s not right? You’re telling me?! Looking back, I can see exactly why he was saying this. He wanted me to say that it was okay, that I don’t hold him accountable for anything he did. I fell right into that trap and said:
Well, I kinda let you do that. I don’t think you tried to mislead me. I kept thinking you’d change your mind or see how much you actually like me and want to be with me for good. It was also something your grandfather used to keep telling me, that you’d eventually come back. And I guess I sorta believed it. It wasn’t the wisest thing to do but, hey, we all make mistakes.
Okay, seriously, his grandfather lives two streets down from me. He used to visit the bank where I worked and every time he saw me he’d tell me how well he knows his grandson and that the guy does love me but just won’t say it and that he will come back to me in the end. He’d tell me how much his daughter (Mr. Busy’s mother) loves me and they want me to be a part of their family. Oh! I even went with his mom to yoga classes that she teaches! We used to go out for lunch, shopping…and I fell deeper down the rabbit hole.
Well [sic]I always wanted you to be happy. Still do.
Oh yea? Well, you should’ve left me alone a long, long time ago then. But, not wanting to ruffle any feathers, I replied with, “I am, thank you.” And he said, “Good :)”
I think I have this obsessive need to be liked by everyone, even guys who’ve stomped on my heart and not given a damn about it.
Now that I’m looking back on that conversation, I’m really mad that my responses were so rational. What the hell?! I should’ve said something like,
You’re feeling guilty? Well, it’s your fucking problem, not mine. Don’t bother me again. If you think you treated me badly, don’t doubt yourself, go with your gut feeling. If you think you’re unforgivable–guess what? You probably think you shouldn’t be forgiven and rightly so. Let’s just roll with that.
Note that at no point during this did he actually apologise. He did not ask to be forgiven, he simply asked if I thought he was unforgivable.
Two days ago, I finally sent him a text message, for as we all know (if you’ve read this piece here) that is how he carries out most of his communication, saying:
Do me a huge favour and just never, ever get in touch with me again.
I didn’t think he’d reply to that, but he did:
Lol sure. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to. I just needed to know.
Needed to know what?! And why? His dormant conscience stirred and he needed to ease it? I’ll know better next time. Or, if he reads this and if I’m that lucky, there won’t be a next time.
I was thinking about it today and I don’t actually hate him. I just really don’t like him at all anymore. Not even a little. And, I think, that’s much worse than hating anyone.
On the bright side, some of my best writing has been about him. At least his presence in my life served some purpose.