post 24 : this was me, trying to be kind

In the days following, Jake kept in frequent and enthusiastic contact and I was coming to the sinking realisation that getting rid of him was not going to be an easy task. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get rid of him. After all, we had a lot of giggles, and he knew me. He knew me a little too well, actually. Yet, for reasons unknown to me, he still liked me. I was sure that this was his love-is-blind eyes telling him that I was good for him, that I would make him feel good. But I would see Owen in a couple of weeks, so any ties connecting to Jake had to be cut before that date, and Jake knew it. Yet, he persisted.

I’d often wondered to myself; why, when I warn guys to steer clear of me, is it so difficult for them to just do that. Take my word for it that I actually will hurt them, and walk away. Must they all think that they are an exception to the rule? Evidently, yes. I decided that Jake was going to have to know, for sure, that he wasn’t the exception, Owen was.

A few days later, I called Jake and asked him for coffee. He wasn’t aware of my agenda. In fact, he was probably optimistic and encouraged by the engagement. He tended to have it all wrong.

“Hi”. I tried not to focus on his smile when he saw me walk in, too aware that I would be turning that upside down soon enough.

“Hey” I replied. “Do you want something to drink?” Buying him a coffee was the least I could do for him right now.

One grande cappuccino for him and one tall white chocolate mocha for me, and we sat at a table in an intimate corner that he picked out. I had gone over it in my head, the exact words leading up to my point that I would utilise. It would be articulate and smooth, and he would be blissfully unaware that I planned out the whole conversation ahead of time; something I generally had great success in achieving. I had a knack of pre-empting a persons’ response and strategically planning out two-way conversations so as to extract what I wanted from them. Some called it manipulation; I called it insightful. This situation, however, got the better of me, and I was left abandoned by words and blank.

“How you doing kid?” he asked, casual.

“I’m alright”. I wasn’t alright. Jake’s friendship had somehow managed, over a short couple of months, to be what I relied on for sanity and actuality. We spoke for hours every day and I knew I could count on him to be honest and straight with me. He would tell me when I was being a stubborn, selfish jerk, and I would tell him was being a rebellious, self-righteous and closed minded boy.

I knew that once I pushed hard enough, our friendship would never exist in the same capacity. And yet, I had to push him away in order to have the slightest chance with Owen.

“I wrote some lyrics” I decided to jump straight to the point. “They are from ages ago, but I just found them scribbled down on some paper when I was cleaning yesterday”.

“Can I read them?”

“Umm” I faltered. Did I really want him to read them? Ugh stop it Alice. This was the point, after all. “I guess you can read a little. They aren’t very good”.

He seemed pleased even so. I told him that I didn’t have them with me, and that I definitely wouldn’t be saying them out loud, so we compromised and decided that I would write them on napkins for him to read to himself.

He gathered some napkins and I stared at them, blank in front of me, before starting to write.

She grabs your phone and puts her number in under “it’s best if you avoid me”

She takes your hand, drags you along and says “come dance with me”

She tells you; “girls like me should come with a warning label”

You choose not to listen; now whose fault is that?

I saw his smile fade, but I continued. He had to believe that this was me, writing about him, for it to have any chance of success.

So let’s dance boy, come and dance with me

I like this and I know you like me

Can I take you home then let you off the hook by saying you’re not really what I’m looking for?

Keep you wanting more

Can I stay with you until light becomes night, then leave just cause I want a fight?

By this stage I’d gone through at least 5 napkins and I wondered if it was even worthwhile continuing. Surely he hadn’t missed my point. But he looked at me expectantly, so I grabbed another bunch of napkins and buried myself in them.

Well don’t say she didn’t warn you, remember that she did?

It’s always fun in the beginning but it’s really just a tease.

So let’s dance boy, come and dance with me

I like this and I know you like me

This time, I made the words “this” and “me” larger, for emphasis. Again, I looked at his face. It was crushed.  Evidently it had sunk in. He liked me; I liked the current situation of control and play I was lingering in with him. I kept writing, not ready to face him.

You’re stuck wishing you’d never met her

She leaves you thinking about her

Makes you dream about her

And you’ll hate her for being your distraction

Beg her for a reaction

I stopped, put my pen down. I had forgotten a few lines but I didn’t suppose that mattered.

“Fuck” he said. “Fuck”, and again.

I waited, knowing that this had told him everything and I needn’t say more. “You wrote that about me” he said, cut.

“No”. I lied. The truth was; I wrote it about every guy who I had been in this situation with. He was one of them. “I wrote it before I met you, a couple of years ago”.

“But it’s exactly our situation” he continued, seemingly baffled, which again reiterated my knack for insight and made me smile inside. I was going to make a good lawyer. I silently hated on myself for being so conceited as well as distracted whilst in the middle of breaking my friends’ heart. “Down to where it says she is the distraction. You’re constantly in my thoughts, distracting me all the time”.

“I’m sorry, Jake”. And I was. “It really wasn’t written about you. I just found it, honestly”.

“But that’s what I am to you, aren’t I?”

Oh, God. I hadn’t realised that in bringing it up in this way, I would have to answer some seriously hard questions. There wasn’t a lot I could do about that now, and I had to admit, a couple of difficult questions were the least I deserved. Jake, however, deserved answers.

“You’re not that” I tried to justify. “But you also aren’t what you want to be”.

“I see”. He didn’t. He had already told me that he couldn’t comprehend what made me feel genuine emotion towards Owen that couldn’t be directed at anyone else. He didn’t understand that no matter how much I liked him, I could never love him, or that no matter how frequently we talked or how much affection he showed me or how passionately he kissed me, he could never break my heart if he took it all away. I wanted something real. I wanted something that he couldn’t give me. I wanted Owen.

“Look, Jake” I tried again. “In a couple of weeks, I will see Owen. And when I am with Owen, nobody else matters. I can’t be with you then. You can’t touch me then or sit too close. You can’t hold my hand or look at me with suggestion. I won’t reciprocate. He will be there, and I will want him nothing more than him. You won’t be able to stand it.” I let out a sigh. “I think it’s best if we start speaking a little less frequently starting now, in preparation.”

This was me; trying to be kind.