Since the big cry fest over four weeks ago, my life has pretty much gone back to its usual state. I hardly even remember it anymore. I continue to work, eat, sleep, and shut the world out as I usually would.
There's only one minute problem; I've been avoiding David, and I'm sure as hell that he's noticed. How could he not notice that I haven't been available in over a month?
I let his calls ring out, and I don't call him back. I don't reply to his texts, or his WhatsApp messages.
It's pathetic, really, but who can blame me? That night, I realised that I was beginning to feel something very strong for him, and I also realised that he had already begun to feel that way a long time ago.
as long as you stay here with me
That's what he said after the wedding. He meant more than what was happening in that moment. I could feel it, and that night at Poetic Justice, I could see the way he looked at me, as if I meant the world to him.
This has to stop.
I sit on the edge of my bed and stretch, feeling that sharp pain in my pelvis again, and I yelp. It's been happening more frequently now, and it's getting worse. I really need to eat more.
I get up, not knowing what I'm going to do today — I have no work — so I go to make some coffee. I'm just about to pick up the jar that is now placed safely on my kitchen counter, rather than high up in a cupboard, when I hear knocking on the door. Somehow, I know that it's him; it's as if I can feel his energy through the door. Still, as I pull the door open, I didn't expect his expression to be so... worried. My first guess would've been that he was angry, but here stands before me, a man who looks like he is on the verge of shitting himself.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I say letting out a heavy sigh. It seems as if every time I think of him, he appears. "We need to talk."
I step aside to let him pass, and follow him to sit on one of the couches.
What the hell am I supposed to say? I don't love you? You're better of without me? It's not you, it's me?
Instead of going with any of those options, I choose the best thing that I can think of.
"I don't want to do this anymore," I say to him, sounding like Rihanna.
I don't want to hurt you anymore. I can't give you what you need.
His eyebrows knot together in confusion. "Do what?"
"Us," I say, but he still looks confused, so I decide to elaborate. "I can't give you what you want."
He puts his hand on his forehead and rubs it, letting out a sigh.
"Yes, you can."
"David—" I interrupt, because to be honest, I'm tired of people telling me what I can and can't do; but then he throws something at me that I didn't see coming.
"You can, but you don't want to. You're holding on to the past. There's a difference."
All of this is said with a look of sympathy on his face.
To be honest, I can't tell him that he's lying, because he isn't. That's exactly what I'm doing; holding on to the past, to my dead lover who's ashes are kept in an urn under my bed, who I will never see again; but there's more to it.
I'm afraid to love again. I'm afraid to lose again. If felt enough pain to last me an infinite amount of lifetimes and then some.
"You're holding on to the past," he says, repeating himself. "I get it. You love him, probably infinitely more than you could ever love me; but do you really want to spend the rest of your life alone? Would he have wanted that?"
I stop and think for a second. Would Andrew have wanted that?
No, he wouldn't, because the last thing he said to me was "be happy, for me; live, for me."
I'm a disappointment to my dead boyfriend, because I can't get over my dead boyfriend. This is so fucked up.
I don't even realise that I'm sobbing until I'm in David's arms, and my face is in his chest; he's rubbing circles into the small of my back, just like he did four weeks ago.
The sobs wrack my body so hard that my pelvis starts to hurt again, which causes me to groan.
"What's wrong?"
I take a few deep breaths, so that I can calm down; each time my breath hitches, I feel that sharp pain again.
Once the sobs stop, leaving only tears flowing from my eyes, I speak.
"My pelvis hurts. I feel pains whenever I don't eat enough."
He gives me a disapproving look.
"Are you anorexic?"
"Oh, god, no. I just only eat when I feel the urge to. The problem is that sometimes I feel the urge to eat once a day, or I feel hungry and I don't want to eat solid food, but there's no liquid food in the house. Other times, I stuff my face like a pig."
He looks at me like I'm the strangest creature on earth.
"Okay," he says in a resigned tone.
The tears are slowing down now, and I'm beginning to realise that David isn't going to just evaporate into thin air because I order him to.
Almost as if he hears me, he smiles at me and says, "I'm not going anywhere, babe."
Not yet ready to accept that, I let out a sigh — then wince when my pelvis hurts again.
I ignore it.
"I don't want to get hurt again."
At this, he has nothing to say. What can he do? Promise me that he won't die? That would be a lie.
"I won't let that happen, and I can't give you what you want. I can't give you love."
He knows that he can't give me a legitimate reply to that. I've lost every important person in my life. He can't ask me to risk that happening again by becoming close to yet another person.
"This is why I don't have friends. I don't date. I live on my own. I just cannot endure any more pain, David. Love is a weakness; it it my weakness. It feels amazing when you're with the person, but at that funeral? You feel so distraught, so hurt, you're in so much pain, that you feel as if you're being tortured to the point of death, but you aren't dying; you're stuck on the threshold between life and death yourself.
"When I love someone, I do it with my whole heart. Whether it is my friend, family or lover, it consumes me. I can't help it; so when I lose that person, it is absolutely devastating. I can't do it again.
"So please leave, David, because these feelings that I have? I refuse to allow them to blossom into full blown love, and I don't want to hurt you anymore than I already inevitably have."
He gets up, and I can see the hurt in his eyes, but I can also see the understanding. It feels like it takes years for him to cross the room and make it to the door.
As he opens the door to leave, I know that I have done the right thing; I couldn't use him anymore.
So why is it that I felt the urge to call him back?
***
For the past two days, I've been doing everything to get David out of my mind; and I've been epically failing. Every time that it is most inconvenient for me, he just pops up into my head, out of nowhere.
For example, right now, I'm at a photo shoot for a man who wanted a few portraits of himself, and I can't see the subject through the viewfinder.
"Excuse me, can I get a glass of water? I'm parched."
He smiles at me.
"Sure, hon."
He walks off, and like the masochist I am, I pull out my phone and read David's messages. So much for trying to forget him.
The very first ones:
Hey! I miss you.
How about you come over to my house and sit on my face? 👅💦😉
Leah, I have a special present for you... 🍆💦
Then, when he realised that I wasn't reading or replying to his messages:
Hey babe, why aren't you answering my messages?
Are you okay?
Did I do something to piss you off?
Then, he caught on to the real reason why I wasn't replying:
If it's about the other night, please remember, it's okay to feel.
Then, something that caught me completely off guard:
Leah, I've peen wanting to tell you this for a while; I wanted to tell you this at the poetry night, but I didn't know how. I love you.
Suddenly, it feels as if all of the oxygen has been removed from the air; as if I'm dying from CO2 poisoning, and my heart is beating so hard and fast, it feels as if it is trying to jackhammer its way out of my chest.
"No," I whisper, my voice cracking, and I let out a sob when I work out the date on which he sent the text: two weeks before he came to see me.
Of course, my fucking pelvis begins to act up again, but the pain is barely noticeable over the pain I feel at knowing the extent to which I've hurt him. I knew that he felt strongly about me, but love?
"Leah?" Trevor says, with the glass of water in his hand.
I wipe my face quickly.
"It's okay. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," he says, with concern on his face, handing me the water.
"Don't worry about me. Lets get back to work."
***
I'm in David's driveway. I know I shouldn't be here after promising myself that I'll leave him alone, but I feel as if I have to say something to him after reading his confession, even though I know that seeing him in person again will probably end badly for both of us.
Still, I called him to inform him that I wanted to talk, and he invited me over.
I can't get out of the car. I'm fucking nervous out of my mind. What the hell am I supposed to even say to him?
I don't even realise how long I've been here, until I here knocking on my car window. I jump slightly, yelping in fright, before realising that it's only David. I open the car door slowly.
"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to spend the night in the car," he comments.
I close my eyes as I stand and lock my car.
"You finally read my messages," he states.
"Yes," I reply, realising that the ticks must have turned blue.
I just look at him, and he looks back. Now that I'm looking for it, I can see it plain as day. He loves me.
If I'm going to be honest, I should've seen this one coming. He always wants to cuddle, he always looks for an excuse to sleep in the same bed as me. Now that I think about it, most men who are trying to keep feelings out of a relationship would rather sleep on their couch.
He fucking stalked me, followed me to a water party.
"When did you start having feelings for me?"
He exhales loudly, and then looks at me as if he knows that I won't like the answer.
"That night that we had dinner together, right here."
Wow. That was an actual date. A romantic date. I feel like a dumb fuck.
He loves me, but I don't love him. Despite the fact that I feel drawn to him, the fact that I want him, not just sexually, I don't love him. Not yet.
I'm attached; I swore that I wouldn't let this happen, but I've become emotionally attached.
"Leah, are you really sure that you want to spend the rest of your life alone?" he asks, interrupting my train of thought. I can't even think about the weight of that question, because he continues.
"You say that you're afraid of pain, but right now, you're hurting yourself. You aren't happy. I know it's nothing compared to the pain of losing someone, but at least when you let other people in, you'll have some light, people to laugh with and cry with.
"So I'm asking you again: do you want to spend the rest of your life alone?"
I look at him, and I can't say anything; I'm speechless. Everything he just said makes sense, and it hurts, because I know that either way, I'm screwed.
If I say "no", he'll hold onto it the way that Jack should have held on to that lifeboat in Titanic, and if I say "yes", that may not be completely true, because I don't know anymore. I hate being alone, but I fear emotional pain.
I just stand there, silent. Instead of trying to talk, I do the only thing that I can do in this moment; I hug him, and to my elation, he wholeheartedly returns the gesture.