Wednesday, August 12, 2009

What do you mean?

"What do you mean you're going to Montreal with someone else?" I say startled, and begin to pull back from him on the couch.

"Well..." he says, "Nothing's set in stone."

I stare at him for a moment. I can feel the tears start to well in the bottoms of my eyes. "So, you're seeing other people?" I say almost breathless, and stand to walk away. I can't sit still. I am two seconds away from bawling my eyes out in front of him.

"Then, what are you doing here?" I asked him. Sure, I had offered him an invite -- but when he started putting the moves on me, it all became a little foggy; that is, until he reminded me just how much of a heartless prick he can be.

He sits there silently for a moment and doesn't say anything. He's not even trying to talk his way out of it. It seems he has no problem being affectionate with me; as long as I am cool with him seeing other people. Which I'm not. And he knows that.

He finally speaks, "Did you want me to lie to you?"

No. Of course not. I'd rather him be honest with me about where he is at, than try and pull the wool over my eyes. He's being crystal clear. He has feelings for me -- but doesn't want to give up seeing other people.

Prick.

"No," I say, resigned. The tears begin to fall. "I'd rather you be honest with me, I just didn't think that you would be here, putting the moves on me, and then gallivant off to Montreal with another girl."

I begin to cry. My heart is breaking. I'm not the type of girl that will compete for a guy. I've tried it a few times and it doesn't work; I self-implode. And besides, who can really feel good about themselves if they're fighting for someone who doesn't really want to be with them?

"If I died tomorrow you wouldn't care," I say. It's a slight overreaction, but it's more or less how insignificant I feel at this very moment. Unspecial. Rejected. Alone.

"Don't be like that..." he says and reaches out to hug me, but I walk towards my purse to grab a cigarette and go out on to the balcony. I know that he cares, on some thwarted and impotent emotional level. He cares as a human being - but not enough to really protect me from hurt feelings. And certainly not enough to treat me with the respect I deserve.

He follows me out to the balcony. I'm half glad he's there -- and half hating him. "I hate you," I say quietly under my breath. I'm sure he heard me.

In this moment I feel completely out of control. Not myself. A broken hearted heap of tears reverting to childish sling shots because I can't control the emotions that are taking over.

He tries to change the subject by asking me about a friend of mine. I answer, glare at him, and then take another drag of my cigarette. I'm trying not to think about those first few moments after he leaves when I'll feel like throwing myself off the balcony because I can't take it anymore.

Intellectually I know to never talk to him again after this. He doesn't understand the friend boundary; and he certainly has very little regard for my feelings. But emotionally...I'm devastated. Heartbroken. Lost.

"You don't see me," I say to him. He quickly replies, "Yes, I do."

But I correct him, "No. You don't. Not the way I want to be seen. Because, if you did -- you wouldn't be treating me this way. You wouldn't be coming over here; trying to put the moves on me while at the same time reminding me of how little I actually mean to you. If you really saw me, you wouldn't do that."

But the fact of the matter is that he's selfish, immature, and having way too much fun playing the field to actually consider taking me seriously.

All I can think about is how backwards this whole scenario is. How exactly opposite it is of how it should be. He begins to tell me that the Montreal thing isn't for sure; but it doesn't matter. He has no real comprehension of how to treat me properly -- or maybe he just lacks the desire. And I'm tired of settling for less than what I know I deserve.

He stands to leave, and we hug goodbye. It's moments like these, as the tears are flowing, that are hardest to endure. You have to bury the person you thought you might have something with. You bury them, and watch the zombie of your hopes and dreams walk away in their place -- never to be able to reconnect with you again.

I have a lot of zombies.

"So," I say between sobs, "Just to be clear, you only see me as a friend?" I'm trying to wrap my head around his thought process; because it's completely warped and different from my own.

"I'm not saying that," he says. And the zombie comes back to life, "It's just how it is right now." And then he walks away, telling me we can talk about it more next week when he gets back...if I want.

But I don't want to. I'm done being second fiddle to men who aren't certain about me. He can play the field with as many girls in as many cities as he wants for all I care. Because, I know he's not the one.

Someone who really cares about me wouldn't shove it in my face as to how little I mean to them, and then watch me cry about it and not try to resolve the issue somehow. They would be upfront about the fact that they were seeing other people. They would know what they want and not continuously send mixed messages.

And, as I close the door and sob even harder; I try not to allow the "maybes" or the "what ifs" to seep into my conscience in an effort to soothe my broken heart.

Because I'm pretty certain that the right person for me would be mortified at the thought of ever treating someone that way.

And with that, I erase his numbers from my phones.



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