This post was going to be called "This shit is getting serious, y'all". It was going to be about the way he smiled at me when he asked me to buy coffee one morning a few weeks ago since "you're going to be drinking it anyways". About him coming home from a bad day at work and smiling and laughing as he covered me in kisses and when I asked him "what?" his response was more kisses and "this is just so much better than work". The way we fell asleep snuggled up together, holding hands every night. The way he'd sometimes turn the light back on for a minute, just to be able to look at me. Basically I was going to let you know that our relationship was so disgustingly sweet, it would make a kitten riding a unicorn into the sunset on a rainbow trail blush.
I was going to write that it seemed too good to be true.
Because apparently, it fucking was.
He was sweet and adorable right up to the moment when he told me he was on the fence about the romantic part of our relationship and that therefor we probably shouldn't be doing this anymore.
I am officially a naive idiot.
Let's set the scene.
It's Thursday morning, we wake up, he kisses me, says "good morning", we hop in the shower, get dressed, sit down to drink our coffee and then "wham!".
He just goes ahead and hits me with "So I have to admit, darling, I haven't been that happy with our relationship. I think you're wonderful and I've loved having you around these last few weeks. You're my best friend right now, I mean you're more than a best friend but when it comes to the romantic part of our relationship, I'm on the fence. I really really want you to still be in my life, I don't think that'll be a problem since you're around here now but I don't think we should be sleeping together anymore. I know we've tried this before but I'm about to leave for a month and maybe with some time and space it'll work out".
I mumble "ok" into my coffee cup.
"I love you and you're so sweet to me and I'm... I'm an asshole. It's just you're not quite what I look for in a romantic relationship and I think if we're on the fence maybe we shouldn't be doing this."
"I'm not on the fence. I'm really not on the fence," I say holding back tears with a halfhearted smile.
"Oh... I guess I mean if "I'm on the fence," then... That being said, if you need to use my kitchen to bake today you can and you're more than welcome to continue staying here when you need to get away."
"I just have to sleep on the couch."
"No you can keep sleeping in the bed if you're comfortable with it, I just don't think we should have sex."
I think I just stared at him blankly and said that I would like to use the kitchen to bake in response to that statement. I really didn't know what to do with it.
"I'm not saying this isn't great. It is, I just feel like it could be so much better."
"I have to go to the store, I'll be back in a couple of hours."
And then I left. And came back. And baked for twelve hours straight. His friends (some of which are legitimately my friends since I've know them for forever, independently of him) comforted me, played video games with me during my breaks from baking and agreed that he made stupid, nonsensical decisions and encouraged me to be angry and discouraged me from thinking it was in any way my fault or trying to rationalize. I believe the phrase "who knows what goes through Che's mind?" was repeated about once every half hour. It was kind of fantastic.
I was waaay too exhausted from baking to drive home so I attempted to pass out in the loft in his room around midnight, before he got back from work. Unfortunately the loft futon is rock hard and even if it hadn't been I still probably wouldn't have been able to sleep. It was one of those nights of lying there wishing I could just start sobbing so I could finally, finally fall into oblivion.
Two hours later I went to go join everyone in the living room watching "Die Hard". Che and I mostly ignored each other. He went to bed. Half an houri-sh later I decided to attempt sleep. I climbed back into the loft, he was snoring so didn't notice. At one point in the night as I was leaving the room to go pee (I decided it was a good idea to drink two cups of peppermint tea before going back to bed, which, if you have to climb up and down a pretty tall loft ladder to pee in the night, it isn't) he said "hey" to me softly, like he wanted to start a conversation but he didn't say anything more when I came back.
So there I was, lying awake in the loft, listening to him toss and turn and snore. If I were a normal person, I would've found the snoring aggravating. But instead it just made me wish I was in bed, curled up next to him. It took every inch of my willpower to not take him up on the offer of still sleeping in his bed. To not accept the comfort I knew it would give me and I knew he would offer.
In the morning I managed some smiles and banter but as I collected my stuff from around the house I felt closer and closer to the point of breaking. I didn't want to take all of my baking stuff because I wasn't going home immediately and I didn't want a kitchenaid sitting in my car. I asked if it was ok to grab the rest of my stuff later in possibly the most down trodden pathetic tone ever and he just looked at me and said "of course, it's fine, don't stress about anything" and I wanted to punch him for being so fucking pitying and nice.
I was supposed to go back that night for a friend's birthday party. I didn't. The cake was already in the fridge. I had seen the friend Thursday night on his actual birthday.
I might just wait until after he leaves for Europe to go get everything. Or I'll go while he's at work.
Even if everyone insists that they still want me to come out to the ranch and hang out and even if the boy really still wants me in his life, I don't think I can this time. This time I don't even have the vaguest desire to try. To hang out with the rest of the gang? Yes. To attempt friendship with the boy I'm totally head over heels in love with? No fucking way.
I don't care if I'd only have to plaster on a fake smile for a week.
I don't care that it's almost the anniversary of my father's death and his father's death and we could probably really use each others' shoulders right now.
I don't care that I'm his best friend and he loves me.
He let me live with him. He let me believe he was happy and he loved me. He let me cook him dinner, clean his house, take care of his dog and comfort him after his crazy 12 hour days.
I feel so fucking taken advantage of and betrayed.
I don't think a month of him being away in Europe is going to do the trick.
Of course, the only appropriate thing to do was use a country song for the title...