Creative Writing,  My Writing


Hi, Hey, Hello!

And on we go.

‘I remember that night, I just might regret that night for the rest of my days.’

In hindsight, hell even as it happened, I knew it was a bad idea. He’s been a no go for years. In fact he’s never really been a go zone. To go there was, is, a mistake.

I could lie and say that I don’t know how it happened but I do. I was there. I let myself do it. I was conscious of all my actions.  He was too. We both took part in the whole shit show of events.

I pushed it, he didn’t resist it. Some might even say it’s inevitable. In fact some people around me have. Stood or sat next to me and said ‘oh well it was bound to happen one day’. ‘Oh the sexual tension between you two has always been palpable I’m not surprised’. ‘Oh well you know each other so well and have always been so close you were bound to be curious’. etcetera, etcetera.

I call  bullshit.

If we wanted to know what that felt like then we could have done it years ago. When both of us were single and neither of us were about to walk down an aisle and marry someone else. There were plenty of chances over the years. The times we sat on the window seat in his bedroom and chatted shit about our lives and fears and the big bad future in the early hours of the morning. The times we spent being domesticated as hell cooking dinner or just sitting in the same room in comfortable silence. The long car rides we went on one summer when we would just get in the car and drive because we could. There were plenty of times it could have happened.

But we didn’t do it. Because to us the sexual tension that everyone was always banging on about never existed. And it still doesn’t. I’m not miraculously in love with him now. I don’t have any desire to have sex with him against any surface we can find. It’s never been there. It’s not there.

And I’m starting to sound like I am protesting too much.

I’m starting to sound like I might actually be in love with this man. And I guess I am in a way, but in the same way I love my family. That comfortable kind of way that kind of feels like home. Not in the way that warrants potentially ruining someone’s relationship.

I’m not quite sure where their relationship is at right now. He is, rather fittingly, not returning any of my calls or messages. I can’t blame him. I don’t really want to talk to myself anymore. It sucks that I have to live with this. It sucks that I brought this on myself. I can’t fathom how or why I brought this on myself. I keep going through everything that led up to the events and wondering what the hell I was thinking.

I was in my right mind, as in I was sober. Stone cold sober. Any other day there would be no natural progression to what we did. It never would have crossed my mind. The only thing different about that night was the fact that…well there was nothing really different about that night. It was just a night like plenty of others we’ve had before. He made dinner, I bitched about work, he listened, nodded in all the right places, commented at all the right times. The usual. It was just a typical Thursday. He talked about the wedding and all that jazz. About the cake, the secondhand dress stress, the food, the location, flowers.

Then poof.

I fucked it all up.

My parents will tell me there are many psychological reasons for it. The main one being that I have always had self destructive tendencies. Which is true, I know. It just usually manifests itself in other ways. Sleepless nights full of cramming for exams. All nighters getting coursework done. Several consecutive nights of heavy drinking. I’ve not eaten for days on end before. I’ve completely cut myself off from everyone before and lived in a pit of isolation and loneliness.

But I’ve never actively done things that I know would fuck things up. Retreating is expected of me. People give me a few days and then they pull me out of it. It’s a routine. What I did this time falls out of the pattern. Hugely out of the pattern. There is no routine for this.

My parents will tell me I’m an idiot. Rightfully so. The rest of my friends will ask me what the hell I was thinking or do some kind of weird high five about it all, so they’ll 100% be no help at all. And the only other person who would be even remotely helpful in this kind of situation is the one who I smashed the pattern with.

Which leaves me here in this weird limbo.

A limbo that I put myself in because I am an idiot. A total idiot who had nothing to gain from she did but everything to lose. And the worst part is part of me wants it to end this way. Part of me feels like I deserve it to end this way. In this weird non-competition between me and his fiancé, she should always be the winner.

Still, I wait for the call or the text, even if it’s just to say we aren’t friends anymore, because I need something to occupy my mind. Apparently the phantom sound of a vibrating phone is what is going to occupy mine. Which is fine, just fine.

I deserve it. And before it had even finished happening I knew that I would always live to regret it. So, I have to live with that now.

Which is fine.

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