Fantasies and realities.
For me, those tended to blur – I would find myself on cloud nine with him for a few hours, only to come crashing back down with the other.
It was bittersweet, really – the time I got with him, but it wasn’t affecting my growing thought that this was becoming more than just a fun little game.
Six days.
Six days, I spent with him – and those were enough to last me a lifetime, to erase all other memories I had and replace them with new, magical ones.
But it didn’t start off as magical as I had just made it out to be.
In fact, the first four days I was in denial, and more confused than ever.
Day two was when I had decided that I couldn’t be on house arrest anymore, and more so mope around in Theo’s clothing. He had tried to convince me to let him take me shopping instead – he knew that my idea of solving this slight issue wasn’t a good one, and I absolutely agreed.
But I had to go back.
Not only for a change of clothes, and to gather my stuff, but for the slim chance that I may run into him, and all would be forgiven and forgotten.
That’s what I wanted at that point, anyway, and it was foolish of me.
But once I got to the apartment, I was upset to see the place just as I had left it.
Trashed.
Unfamiliar to the eye.
But most of all, not feeling like home anymore.
Which it did, for so long.
“Sam!” I called out, for some reason still hoping to speak with him. I somehow knew that just because he hadn’t bothered to clean up the mess he had made, it didn’t mean that he was still drunk.
He couldn’t be.
Our argument was enough to sober him up, and I saw it in his eyes, the hurt and guilt he had felt towards what he had done, what he had said, everything really – and that reassured me that, once I left the apartment, he would get his shit together and fix this.
Fix us.
But how exactly do you fix something that’s so far broken?
True, I hadn’t turned my phone back on yet – I simply couldn’t bring myself to. I knew he wouldn’t text, it was too early. But part of me wished he had chased me down after I stormed out of the apartment, kissed me and assured me he didn’t mean a word he had said.
But something in the back of my mind told me that he did, he truly did, and that’s what hurt – because in a way, I completely understood where he was coming from.
This was my fault, always had been, and where did I go after I left him?
To Theo.
It may not have been directly, but for some reason I always, always found my way back to him whenever I created a mess.
Because that’s just what I did, and I was good at it. Too good.
I packed a gym bag with all of the things I needed, and was about to head out the door, when my eye darts to a piece of paper on the kitchen counter.
Was this…?
When I glance over and see that it is handwritten, momentary relief floods through me. I really did doubt Sam for a moment there, and believed his words. I thought it was the lease to the apartment, and that he did in fact go through with his threat – but that wouldn’t have made sense, because all of our things were still here.
Just as I had left it.
Nonetheless, with slightly shaking hands, I go to pick up the paper, and see that it’s actually a letter, or rather a short note, from him:
“Dove,
I don’t expect you to forgive me, ever, for what happened tonight. I have no idea where you are, and it’s driving me insane, but I also know that we both need time and space after that argument,”
Argument? More like a full on fight, but okay.
I continue reading, “well anyway, I’ve left to go home, and I won’t be back until after New Years. I hate that we’re not celebrating together, but I hope you’re safe, wherever you’ve decided to stay.
I love you, always.
Sam”
Perhaps it was my anger at the fact that he had run back to his parents’ and now mine would surely learn of what happened too. Perhaps it was the way in which he had called his parents’ house ‘home’ instead of this apartment, but deep down I knew this was no longer home to me either. Or perhaps it was the way in which he couldn’t bring himself to say these words, the words I wanted to hear, the last time I saw him, and instead chose to write them.
Whatever it was, it led me to crumple up the paper, let it fall to the floor, and pulled myself to exit that apartment.
All I could think about on the way back to Theo’s was that I couldn’t turn my phone on now, more than ever. My mother was probably blowing it up, and she was the last person I could bring myself to deal with.
He hoped that wherever I was, I was safe? If only he knew who’s apartment I was really staying at, he’d probably wish me a lot different.
Are we broken up? Are we still together? If not, will we ever get over this and try again?
Too many questions, and very few answers.
“Hey,” he says anxiously, as I push open the door to his apartment. I find him sprawled on the couch, watching a match.
“He wasn’t there,” I say quickly, and when he notices my desperation to get the conversation over with, he replies,
“I wasn’t -”
“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened, the last time you saw him I mean?”
Would I? Could I ever bring myself to tell him he had hurt me and threatened me, and that’s the reason I was partying my thoughts away at that frat house?
Again, so many questions, yet so very few answers.
And it was frustrating, to not be so in control anymore.