Romance 11

Even before the door swung shut I'd started to cry. It was a struggle, believe me, to hold off until you were too far away to notice, but I did. Because I didn't want to hurt you. Another thing we don't have in common.

Another thing I was wrong about. And I shouldn't be surprised, I shouldn't. In fact, I'm not, not really. Because I knew. I knew, I knew, I knew, but I always thought, when you looked at me like you did, that maybe, maybe it was ok to hope. Maybe it was ok to take a risk and believe you were different.

It's weird, because I never really thought of myself as the “romantic” type. I thought I was appropriately cynical, but with enough realistic optimism left to avoid complete morbidity. I suppose I thought that, for whatever reason, it'd be different for me. People would be different, life would be different, love would be different. Because I was different. Too wise, too good to be caught. I was on to the game, knew the rules, and I was going to win, my way. The right way.

But here I am, alone, curled into a ball on my bed crying because some stupid person who may or may not have just had sex with me, who just had culminated what had been months of flirting, hints, insinuations, whatever had some fucking “things to get done.” Because heaven forbid that you stay just a minute longer than you absolutely have to. You've had your orgasm, I've had mine, time to get the fuck back to what's really important.

And don't even pretend that you thought it “wasn't like that.” You saw it in my eyes, my body, hell, I said it so many times in so many words except “the ones” that you would have to be a fucking corpse not to notice.

And I guess I should've known you didn't feel the same, but was it so wrong to at least hope? Would it have killed you just to stay and talk? I mean, it wouldn't have had to be love. It wouldn't. I know that, really. But, still, you could have stayed.

It's not like you didn't know. “Oh, no, go on, I understand”? No one believes that. You're too smart for that. But no. You say, “Alright, cool”, smile, dress like you're already gone, and walk on out. And yeah, it hurt as soon as you started, and I'd already started to cry before the door slammed, but it was still like a slap in the goddamned face.

And do you know what the worst part is? I'd do it again. And again and again and again. And each time, you'd play innocent, leave as if it was the nothing you want it to be. Because that is one thing we do have ever so in common. We let ourselves believe what we want to be true. Even though we both know how very wrong we are. And they say opposites attract.