Right, so you know how I said that I wasn’t going to provide you with all the gory details? Guess what? I’ve changed my mind.
We burst through the door on Friday night: tugging at clothes, not being able to get to each other fast enough. I had my eyes closed, but every time I stepped back, I opened them; I just wanted to make sure that it was actually happening. Then he would push towards me until we were in the bedroom on top of the mattress. I could feel the stubble on his face against my cheek, my neck, my stomach. Then he stopped, he said he wanted to slow down. He had to slow down. He kissed my lips, my cheek, my forehead, then my lips again. I put my hands on his face, down his neck and across his back. We couldn’t wait any longer.
Twenty-four hours later, HarryPotter and I laid between two duvets on the floor of the lounge, me snuggled up next to him with my head on his shoulder, I realised that my original worry about the conversation being stilted actually came to fruition. It was Saturday night and we never made it out of the house, but we hadn’t really talked much either. In fact, for over twenty-four hours we’d barely said two words to each other. (We did plenty of other ‘stuff’, but not much chat.) Well, at the very least we said ‘Should we make this our thing? Kissing in train stations?’ which is ten words. This lack of conversation wasn’t us. What made me fall for him was the chat. The fact that we talked about everything, and that he made me laugh.
So, as we lay on the floor, I falsely chastised him for talking me into getting an unfurnished flat. I said that it was trickery on his part. He protested, and there we were talking. Just like it we were meant to.
His car died needed an MOT about two months ago, but it’s such a wreck and it would cost a fortune to pass the MOT, he just sold it to we BuyAnyCar and took a complete bath on the whole thing. I’m worried about the job and the permanency of living in Dundee, but I was feeling better knowing that he’s just up the road. He said he considered getting a flatmate after I left, just to have someone around. I said that I was happy to finally have my own place. We just talked, and eventually the conversation turned to his work. He didn’t say much about those who worked there when I was the intern (ie Goatee), but he did say that Boobs had her baby. It’s another girl. He said that MNM has been quite good since all the upheaval of last year. He’s been more integral in the publishing process — as opposed to the techy/designer monkey he was before.
As we talked about MNM, the conversation naturally steered towards us, and he said, ‘If I could do it again, obviously I’d do it differently. I messed-up, and I’m sorry. I was insecure, and nothing you said, did, or wrote made me realize that I was cocking things up. And yeah, I wish I’d acted differently.’ Then he went quiet again. I wanted to talk about it more. I wanted to explain my side of things, and maybe put things to rights, but he distracted me by pulling me on top of him. And well, there was no more talking for the rest of the night.
We woke up Sunday morning, this time determined to leave the flat — even if it was just for a wander to the park. As we sat about eating our breakfast of tea and cereal, he got a text. Then another text. Then another. After the fifth text, he finally looked at his phone, and I asked who it was. He said it was Roger, so I grabbed his phone saying, ‘Oh. Let me text him back. Just to say “hi”.’
‘Hope ur having fun at parents. cant w8 2 cu next weekend.’ — Dawn*
Then I scrolled through text, after text, after text…
‘Gr8 night last week. Hugs’
‘Cu you tom.’
‘W8ing for u. Meet me at cinema.’
And so on and so forth.
The texts went back a few weeks, and there were at least twenty of them. He did it with Hall, and now he’s doing it again. He’s seeing me on the side. (Okay, in fairness, he wasn’t really ‘seeing me’ when he was with Hall, but he never told me about Hall, and he never told Hall about me.)
I held the phone. I didn’t ask who she was, or even ask him to explain.
‘Oh that’s Dawn. She’s just some girl. We hooked up a month or so ago, and that was it. But she just can’t seem to get the hint. She won’t leave me alone.’
I was silent.
‘And well. I ran into her on my way to the train station. I just said I was going to my parents. I don’t know why. It seemed easier than trying to explain. I mean, I told her ages ago that I wasn’t interested, but she keeps hanging on. I don’t know what to do.’
I just looked at him.
‘I know. Those texts look bad. But she’s a mate of Roger’s girlfriend, Lauren, so I can’t really get away from her. When Rog and I are out, Lauren turns up with Dawn. I’m supposed to go this gig with Roger next weekend, and she must be going with Lauren.’
I remained quiet.
‘I just can’t get away from her.’
Calmly, I said, ‘So, you have a stalker, is that what you’re telling me.’
‘No…well, yeah. I guess. Maybe that’s what she is. I don’t know. I don’t want to be mean, but she won’t go away.’
‘Have you told her you don’t want to see her any more?’
‘Well, yeah. Kind of. I don’t call her back or text her. Not hardly ever, unless I have to. I don’t want to be rude.’
This is exactly what he did with Hall. He never actually broke up with her; he just disappeared. It’s pretty cowardly, but I guess he can be socially awkward at times. Yeah, he’s really comfortable with me, but that took a lot of work (and six months of knowing each other, about three months living together, six months apart, and another few months of texting…he’s certainly awkward). But I wanted to make sure he was just being shy, I’ve had enough lying shits in my life.
When I found out that TheBoy was married, and that Goatee was a cheat, it was devastating, and I don’t want to go through that again.
‘Right. Well, we’ll fix this.’ I said, ‘I’m coming to Glasgow next weekend, and we’re going to the gig together. I’ll have a little talk with Dawn.’
He shifted about and then stood up. He took the empty bowls of cereal to the kitchen without saying anything. So, I repeated, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be nice.’
He comes back, scratching his head, ‘Yeah, see it’s not that simple. Roger doesn’t know if he can go now, and I don’t want to go without him. I mean, I don’t even really like the band, I was just going because he talked me into it. But if he’s not going then I don’t see any point in us going.’
‘Then I’ll come to Glasgow anyway. We can go out. Tell Dawn you’ll be out, and then when she gets there she and I will have a chat.’
‘Yeah, you could come to Glasgow. That would be good. But actually, I was supposed to go to my parents this weekend, but I blew them off to come here. So, I really should go see them. In fact, I was going to cancel on Roger anyway, because I should go see my Dad.’
I recognised the signs. These were the same excuses TheBoy used to make, and I regret to say that back then I was foolish enough to believe him. TheBoy always had a reason not to see me in town, never go to his house, never meet his friends or family. I believed every excuse he made. Now, it was happening again. I knew they were lies, that — even if it were true and he couldn’t get rid of Dawn — it didn’t mean they weren’t sleeping together. I wanted to believe he was innocent, that he’s just shy and a sucker for a girl who pays attention to him. I wanted to believe that he wanted us to, finally, be together, but he simply had plans for next weekend.
However, if he wanted us to, finally, be together, then there should be no more excuses. I can’t be with someone who makes excuses. If we were meant to be, we would have been together a year ago.
I didn’t cry (for once) or get angry. I just asked him to leave. He didn’t want to. He said he could explain further. I didn’t want to hear it, because I would believe him. Because I wanted to believe him. I begged him to please, please leave.
He said that he really did need to go see his Dad next weekend. That he shouldn’t have even skipped out on seeing him this weekend, but… And he stopped speaking.
So, I said, ‘Okay then. If you really want to see your parents next weekend, take me with you. I don’t mind hanging out with parents. If I remember correctly, they were absolutely lovely.’
He shuffled about a bit and said that he couldn’t. He couldn’t take me with him.
I knew what that meant. He couldn’t take me because they know Dawn as his girlfriend. If he had nothing to hide, he’d take me to Airdrie to see mum and dad. I told him to get out. He tried to explain something about why I couldn’t go with him to Airdrie, but I didn’t want to hear it. I was screaming for him to get out. I through his clothes at him and demanded that he leave.
He pulled his stuff together and left, slamming the door behind him.
I’ve received two texts from him:
This isn’t right. You need to let me explain.
Can we talk tonight?
I’m not answering. I know I’m being over reactionary, but moving to Dundee is supposed to be the start of something new. A job that’s permanent, which will need my full attention. My own flat. A proper adult life, and if I’m going to be with someone they’ve got to act like an adult.
I do love HarryPotter…I can’t believe I just typed that. But I don’t believe him, so I’m just going to have to get over him…again. And if you’re reading this HP (and I know you are), I can’t deal with you. You lied to everyone at MNM about us being together, you lied to Hall, you assumed I’d gotten back with Goatee. I’m not playing this game, and I can’t deal with it any longer.
PS-Unlike Peter, I have decided to not publish HarryPotter’s real name, because it would equally out me as it would him. For example, if I published his name, it would be easy to figure out which publisher MNM is, and that could get me in to a whole world of trouble. So, HP, you’re only partially off the hook. The bloggesphere may not know who you are, but they now know what you are!
*Obviously, her name wasn’t Dawn. It was some other intrepidly ridiculous name that has to do with points of time in the day.