post 15 : so this is what it's like to feel

I sit in the hallway on the floor, waiting Chris to arrive. He’d missed this morning’s class but had called to say he would be here this afternoon. I rock myself back and forwards, knees against my chest and arms around them tight; not talking, not diverting my eyes from a stain on the carpet. After a long time I feel a hand touch my face and see his shoes step onto the stain. Relief. He leans down in front of me, smiling; kind. “Do you want to go for a walk?” He offers. I nod.

We wander to the couches in front of the library and sit on the same one, turning in slightly to face each other and he takes my hand, squeezes a little. “What happened?” He is worried. “Lachlan called earlier to say you were sad, but he didn’t know what to do.” Sweet Lachie.

“It was awful, Chris. The whole thing was an uncomfortable mess. He avoided being left alone with me and when we did get a moment together Tom was close by so we couldn’t even act how we would if we were alone. Our conversation was distorted and edgy and eventually, I think he just tried to stay as far away from me as he could. And then, I cried one night. What an idiot. I cried. I didn’t mean to, and I especially didn’t mean for him to see, but Lola saw and she told him and he seemed concerned but he didn’t try to help and he definitely thinks I’m annoying which, you know, I am and New Jake told me a fairy tale to try and make it better…” He is staring at me, obviously missing half of the information I am throwing at him in my emotional wreck of a rant.

“Keep going.” He prompts gently, waiting for me to get to the point.

“He still tells me that nothing can happen ‘now’ or ‘here’. It’s so frustrating. Can’t he just tell me that he doesn’t like me and get it over with?”

“But he does like you.” He told me.

“Oh, really?” I am half sarcastic, half snappy. How would he know? I sigh and wait for an answer that won’t come and even if it did, would be hollow in validity. “I don’t know anymore. I thought he did. I thought he just needed time but now...” my voice trails off. This wasn’t a situation that I could be flippant about; I couldn’t just assume he liked me, when quite possibly his feelings had deteriorated with time and distance. I couldn’t just assume that he didn’t though, either.

“Maybe it’s not enough for him to like you, Alice. He’s obviously going through some things. This certainly shouldn’t be enough for you. You deserve more.” If I am so deserving why can’t I have what I want?

I want to make Chris understand that Owen isn’t just some crush you can push to the side and forget about when the feeling isn’t obviously reciprocated, that I have to hold on to any hope, however fragile, however fleeting. It is getting increasingly hard; balancing between hope and actuality, and it seems the longer I continue to hold onto hope, the more ignorant I appear.

“Do you know that I’ve had 30 boyfriends, Chris?” A good place to start.

“You’ve had 30 boyfriends?” He repeats, a little shocked at the figure, perhaps, but not all that surprised.

“Yes. Approximately. Ebony made me count them one day. Regardless, that’s the equivalent of 3 per year, for 10 years” I say, doing the simple maths for him. “More, even, because there’s been a couple of long term relationships in there too. And I’ve only been dating for about 8 years. That’s not the point. The point is; I ended it with all except one. I am the one that breaks hearts, not the other way around. Hell, it’s what I’m known for; it’s what’s talked about at family barbeques. I am the daughter and the cousin and the sister and the niece that damages the hearts of unsuspecting and naive boys. They’re all “Whose heart have you broken this week?” and “Well, there goes another one!” and “Aw the poor thing, he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, does he?” as if I should agree with them. And the thing is; they’re right. I’ve done it so often it’s become a certainty, like my auntie not showering and my cousin’s increasing weight gain. I’ve broken up with boyfriends for the most trivial of reasons and each time I do; I feel nothing. I’ve even started to warn guys before they get involved with me. How self-loathing, arrogant and assured is that?”

“What kind of reasons?” He inquires, missing the point.

“Once, I broke up with a boyfriend because he gave me too many compliments. Another time it was because I didn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day in a relationship. Stupid Valentine’s Day.”

“Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He laughs at me and smiles because he knows I am telling the truth.

“I was with Hayden for a year before went to England. I didn’t cry when he left. I didn’t even think about him anymore, I didn’t miss him. He didn’t have a girlfriend for two years after we broke up. What we had together had meant something I’m sure of it, but I wasn’t in it. I hardly even remember it. I was with Tom for a year, too. No tears, no longing; nothing. I thought I was emotionally void. I wished that I could have a broken heart so I would know what it was like to feel. I wanted something that was real, and so clear that it was impossible to ignore, something so strong that I would remember every single moment of it, something that I could replay over and over in my head because it was too good to forget about. I wanted this.”

I turn serious. “He broke me, Chris. I used to feel nothing and now I can’t stop. I crave him so fucking much. Everyone thinks he’s a jerk for treating me like this, but he’s not. He’s broken, too. I know it’s not his intention but he keeps doing it. Every time I see him it happens and I leave him filled with dread because I know I won’t see him again for another few months. What if he doesn’t feel it like I do? What if it never happens again? I hate this, it’s all consuming.”

“I know he did.” He says pulling me close to lean against his chest and holding on, giving me everything he can to try and make it better. To my surprise, my eyes have dried up; I blur them over and stare into the distance. I think perhaps I’ve used up all the tears I had in me.