Sitting in my car in the parking lot, I stare at the door and contemplate turning around and going back home. I don’t remember how things changed from my never wanting to speak to him again to driving 40 minutes away at 11 p.m. simply because he asked me to. I take a ragged breath and step out of the car; a sense of disappointment washes over me. Still, I continue toward the entrance. |
Studying his next shot intently, he doesn’t realize that I have arrived. Admittedly relieved that I have a few minutes before I’m face to face with my past, I settle into an empty seat at the otherwise crowded bar. I watch him from across the room and I am filled with a combination of emotions that is almost overwhelming. Nervousness that borders on nausea mingles with the feeling of excitement, and an aching desire to touch him again.
I turn my back to him and run my fingers through my hair as I try to regain some composure. I know I shouldn‘t be here, yet my heart wouldn’t allow me to decline. Why do I insist upon torturing myself with illusions of a relationship, with this man, that will never exist? My mind swarms with all of the reasons why I decided to exclude him from my life over a year ago as I mentally reprimand myself for the sudden surge of happiness and comfort I felt earlier when I heard his voice on the phone.
A hand on my shoulder makes me uncomfortably aware that my window of opportunity to leave unnoticed has expired. I silently plead for my heart to be strong as I turn and am directly confronted with the one person in my life I have never been able to let go. He takes my face gently in his hands: my heart begins to melt. He leans in and lightly kisses my lips. I smile softly and feel relieved as I allow strength to drain from my body. With naive honesty I confess to missing him, and because of a momentary lack of self control; I also admit that I have found it difficult to stay away. He smiles in return, and with true arrogance expresses that he knows I’ve missed him and that I must certainly be dying to have him back. A silent moment passes as his thoughtless words register making my heart horribly aware of the hurtful reality my mind has known all along. A game, just as before. His toy, there for him to play with when he desires, and to leave on a shelf if something better is within reach. Confusion sets in as I try to understand how my heart could so terribly mislead me when the truth was so blatantly obvious.
I take a few steps backward before breaking the stare and turning for the door. He grabs my arm to try to keep me from leaving, but there are too many people around for him to risk making a scene. He releases his grip, but I am the one that has let go.