Maybe we should do something then.
In those six words, I let my barrier down … the barrier that I built to protect myself from getting hurt. It’s a barrier I built way back when, during my first serious relationship, and one that I don’t let down too easily.
Sometimes I do when I’m feeling brave, like in that moment on my Friday morning, and you know what? I regretted it immediately.
Just days before he asked if I wanted to go to a bar with him, one that he’d been to that evening. But he didn’t respond to my suggestion this time. Maybe I’m overreacting because well, that’s what I do, and because I overthink everything. But when he has a history of cancelling on you, that niggling voice in the back of your brain becomes louder and louder … you know?
It hurt me a lot. The way he dodged my suggestion so casually, the lack of enthusiasm over it, and the way it brought up the past for me. Is this all just a game to him? Is my purpose here nothing more than to feed his ego? It’s made me rethink things. Maybe that cold evening in London wasn’t a series of unfortunate events, maybe he had intended it to be this way. People tell me not to take it so personally, because modern dating is brutal. But it’s so bloody hard not to take it so personally.
For the first time in a while, I cried over M last night as my head hit the pillow. Ashamedly, embarrassingly so. I don’t know what I want to do next, but sometimes that’s telling enough, isn’t it? I know we’re just friends, and I knew that from the start. I let myself get into this situation, but my god, I feel myself wanting a whole lot more than that. How can I even tell him that now? When he comes back, because they do, don’t they?